MONSTER JOB

By: Karen B

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Summary: The Winchester brother's burning desire for saving people brings them to a hunt along an abandoned boardwalk. Here they encounter a half-sunken boat, a salty bay, wind, rain, lightening, fog, dreadlocks, scurrying shadows, sharp claws, and one, tricky, monster-of-a-job.

Disclaimer: Not the owner

Rated: Ridiculously shameless hurt/comfort Sam, big brother Dean, and splash of Bobby added in just for fun.

AN: Story is complete. Chapters post fast.

Don't worry about a thing, every little thing is gonna be alright"~ Bob Marley

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It was dark and damp and the blowing wind reigned over the night.

Sam kept close to Dean as they stalked through the thick, gray fog along the long stretch of wooden pathway.

At one time it must have been a quaint boardwalk. With benches for fisherman to sit on when they got tired of standing, or old couples to come and watch the orange and pink swirls of the setting sun. Maybe enjoy a picnic, some fudge and saltwater taffy, take a romantic stroll, or share a kiss. Long abandoned, the boardwalk was now weathered and warped and missing a few planks. The tall wrought iron lampposts running alongside the walk no longer shed any light. Every glass globe was smashed and electrical wires exposed to the corrosion of saltwater.

Dean had parked the Impala at the North end of the boardwalk, in a sandy, nesting seagull-infested parking lot. There wasn't much here. To the right of them, salty bay water churned and foamed. To the left of them, stood the burnt out shells and nubs of commercial buildings. It was all that remained of a once a flourishing shopping district.

So far the only sign of life they'd found were a few scurrying shadows. Tiny bodies with long thin tails freely racing about near a row of overflowing dumpsters, the mice foraging and nosing about through piles of rotting trash.

"What do you think?" Sam asked as they paused next to a half-sunken sailboat, the soft murmur of the bay restlessly lapping against the decaying haul, its sails long gone.

Dean didn't answer, to busy analyzing the area.

The sharp clang of the boat's tarnished brass bell rang out eerily as the waves rocked the forgotten vessel like a cradle against the boulders it had beached itself against so long ago.

Dean sighed. They couldn't even depend on the light of the full moon as it was hidden behind the clouds.

They were hunting a rare and scary fang and claws cannibal. One they honestly didn't know much about. What they did know about pier monsters was that they were strong and fast and ambushed their prey, dragging them down into the ocean where they were never seen again. The creature had already taken out six people in the last four months. Two of which were hunters, hunters that had gone in stealth and sharp and quiet and concealed, but still ended up dead.

Sam and Dean decided on a different approach.

Ambush the ambusher.

They'd go in loud and straight forward.

It was a risky maneuver. But the Winchester brothers were trained well by their father. They were always intimately aware of their surroundings, cautious, and alert, while at the same time pretending not to be.

Sam could sense his brother's hesitation.

"Dean? What are you thinking?" Sam asked again, shining his flashlight back and forth cutting through the fog.

"I'm thinking something smells fishy." Dean shrugged, stuffing his hands down further into his pockets, fingers wrapping naturally around the cool butt of his gun.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. "Of course it smells fishy, the ocean's right over there." Sam directed the beam of his light to the choppy waves of the bay.

"No, Sammy, that's not what I – "Dean froze, and started to draw his weapon, but stopped when he looked down. "You bastard," he snipped.

"What?" Sam quickly dropped the beam of his flashlight. "Dean," he chuckled lightly when he saw the orange striped tabby, all tail and whiskers twisting in and out between Dean's legs. "Just a cat, man," he scoffed.

"Hate cats." Dean wiggled his nose. "I hate you," he squawked at the feline still rubbing up against his legs.

"Well, Miss Kitty loves you," Sam laughed. "How can you hate something so adorable and cute?" he asked, keeping the cat in his spotlight.

"You know they make my eyes swell and tear and my throat itch. Ahem," Dean cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes for proof. "Get the hell away from me sandy-poop." Dean crinkled his nose and let a big, loud, wet sneeze.

The cat hissed and its tail puffed as it darted off disappearing behind a coil of rope.

"Hate cats," Dean muttered wiping his nose across his sleeve.

"Dude, disgusting," Sam commented absently, sending his light searching back out through the murkiness of the mist. "Over there." He gestured with the beam; now spotlighting what appeared to be an old fishing shack surrounded by brush and trees a far distance from the end of the boardwalk.

"I'll check that out," Dean said getting back to the job. "You check out what's left of the S.S. Minnow here."

Sam nodded, turning on the balls of his feet and stepped away from Dean.

"Hey." Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's elbow, stopping him. "You find Ginger and Mary Ann…"

"I know, I know." Sam smirked. "You call dibs on Ginger."

"Bro." A silly smile spread over Dean's face and he nodded. "I call dibs on both hot chicks. You and The Professor can get your nerd on in the Howell's hut. Ha," Dean laughed dryly.

"Jerk." Sam reflexively tried to pull away from Dean's hold.

"Sam." Dean held him in place, a dead-serious look coming to his eyes. "Remember," he snatched a quick glance around.

"I know, Dean," Sam said dully. "Winner of the scavenger hunt wins."

"A six pack and a free game of pool," Dean specified, letting go of Sam.

"Was thinking more along the lines of remote control privileges," Sam countered, noting every sweep of the wind and contrasting pattern of light and dark.

Dean released Sam, looking pissed. "Ain't never gonna happen, little brother." Every one of Dean's senses was being utilized, yet looking as comfortable as a man in a Lazy Boy with a beer in hand, watching the 'big' game.

Sam huffed, red-faced. In all his life he never got control of the controls. Not unless Dean wasn't in the room. "Take this," he went to hand Dean the flashlight.

"Don't need it. I've got the eye of the tiger," Dean refused the offer. "Call it your handicap, Sammy," he winked and walked away.

"Don't get too cocky, Dean," Sam whispered, running his fingers through his hair nervously as he watched his brother disappear down the boardwalk into the fog.

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Twenty minutes later, and finding nothing in the surrounding trees or inside the fishing shack other than a few squeaking mice, Dean searched around outside the dilapidated building.

"Let's see here," he said, crouching down along the backside of the shed as a light drizzle began to fall. "First thing on the scavenger hunt list…" He reached for a nearby stick and started picking through newspapers, cups, and other blood soaked debris. "Freshly gnawed on ribs," he growled. "Gross." He wrinkled his nose at the stringy meat still hanging off the human bone. "And…" He half turned, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and flipping it open. Using it for light, he scanned the nearby area. "Crap," he snarled seeing large muddy footprints –the web-footed, clawed kind. They were fresh and they were leading back toward the boardwalk. The thing probably had been watching them from the old shack for quite some time. And how the fuck did they not see it?

"Ambush hunter," Dean answered his own question. "Disappears into its own surroundings…that's great," he uttered under his breath while swiftly dialing up his brother and waiting impatiently for Sam to pick up."Of course not," he muttered when the cell phone went straight to voicemail. Before Sam's recorded message had finished, there came the frightful, nightmarish howl of a cat, followed quickly by the sharp clanging of the ships bell, and a gunshot. "Crap." Dean flipped the phone shut and pocketed it. Already on his feet, he drew his gun and struck out through the darkness toward the ship.

Damn it. He shouldn't have split them up. He tried to justify what he'd heard as he ran. Maybe kitty box was just calling out for its mate. Or …maybe the wind was responsible for the clang of the bell. If it weren't for the fact Dean's instincts were burning like a beacon in his gut, and the fact Sam had fired his weapon he'd go with both those first two ideas.

"No such luck," he gasped pouring on the speed, turbo charged legs still not moving fast enough. "Sammy," he panted out of breath. "So help me if you're hurt or…or…I'll…I'll…" Dean sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, biting off his words.

As he neared the vessel he tamped his adrenalin down and forced himself from an all-out run to a dead-slow walk, approaching the broken down boat with caution, gun at his side.

There was nothing.

No cat.

No Sam.

Even the wind had died down.

The only sound was the soft patter of rain hitting the water, and the only movement was the night fog curling over the black-as- lacquer bay.

Moving noiselessly over the slanted, weathered wood, Dean was on high alert. Completely focused and eyeballing the area. He was trembling now, his blood sieging through his veins – cold as ice – breath hitching and finger itching to pull the trigger at the first sign of trouble.

The boat was covered in algae and practically one with the boulders it was smashed up against. A rope ladder hung off the side of the vessel. Dean tucked his gun at his back needing both hands to climb.

As he climbed, the ladder swung left and rocked right, the dry rotted rope creaking under his weight and threatening to snap.

"Captain Morgan you are not, Dean," he muttered, drawing his gun back out and pulling himself over the tarnished rail easing quietly down onto the rain-slicked deck.

Up here the boat was bigger than it looked. He quickly found his sea legs and made his way over the bowed, and cracked plywood as the boat rocked in time with the water below.

He noticed an open hatch, and decided to check below first. The twisting steps were rickety and slimy, and Dean was extremely careful of his footing. He found himself in the galley. The kitchen was full of old paint cans, dirty rags, cracked china, a pair of rubber fishing boots, and nothing more.

The dripping, sagging floor above him suddenly creaked, and then squeaked.

Narrowing his eyes, Dean practically floated back up the spiral stairs. He stood and rotated around seeing a few empty crates, a busted fishing rod, and a dead cod. The wind blew hard, bringing with it the putrid smell of raw sewage or was that bear crap? He gagged as the wind continued to blow, pressing his nose into the sleeve of his jacket, realizing he didn't hear the clang of the bell. Was this a ghost ship? What did they get themselves into?

He moved forward to scope out the captain's cabin. The ships wheel was missing, the floor covered in broken glass, torn maps and empty beer bottles. Dean stepped in a little further, his foot hitting something solid, a hollow clank ringing out. He glanced down. "Son of a-" It was the ship's bell, and it was dotted with fresh, wet blood.

He gritted his teeth. This was a good and a bad thing. Good, because he knew Sam was still aboard, big brother radar told him as much. Bad, because the kid was hurt.

Back out on the open deck it was deathly quiet. The moon silvered out from behind a dark cloud revealing more drops of red that reflected under its eerie glow. Dean pressed his lips together, forcing himself not to call out to Sam. He followed the blood trail, inching alongside the outer cabin walls. He and Sam used to dream about owning a boat. Of sailing the high seas, fishing rod in one hand, ice cold beers in the other. Some hard work, sandpaper, epoxy, new planks and screws, this could be that boat.

Just as Dean came around to the port side, he froze in a typical shooting stance, not surprised at all by what he saw.

"You fugly bitch," he hissed, temper flaring.

The pier monster was in plain view. Standing as tall as a grizzly bear on its hind legs, eight-and-a-half, if not nine-feet tall. Blood dripped into its oversized eyes from what looked like a fresh bullet graze. There was a deep scar ringed around its neck, probably from another hunter's failed attempt at chopping off its head. Its webbed hands and feet had claws as long as knives, lengthy tangles of slimy, leafy-green seaweed hung like dreadlocks and cascaded down over the creature's bulging shoulders.

As nightmarishly terrible as the creature was, more nightmarishly terrible was the fact his brother's back was draped spinelessly over one of the pier monster's tree-trunk sized arms, webbed hand wrapped tightly around him and holding him high up against its chest, covering its heart. Sam's large frame made one lovely human shield.

"You bitch," Dean repeated, raising his gun thinking headshot.

The moon took that moment to slide back behind a cloud, and the small shower started to come down a little faster. Dean strained to see. He couldn't tell if Sam was breathing. Between strands of his brother's shaggy hair blowing about in the wind, he could just barely see Sam's facial color. It was white as bone. More disturbing was his little brother's right arm hanging in a funky way toward the deck and flapping about freely. Broken, or dislocated, or both? Dean couldn't be certain.

The creature ducked its head and hunched over Sam, its bulky body swaying to and fro in time with the rocking boat, Sam limply swaying with it. Its sharp talons clicked against the wooden deck daring Dean to take the shot.

He didn't.

"Damn you, Sam."

Dean wanted so badly to drop the bitch flat and dead to its back.

Right now!

Right there!

Hopefully all it would take was one swift bullet to its fugly heart, but he couldn't risk it, couldn't risk Sam.

"Yow, mon, every-ting cool here," Dean slurred in a Jamaican accent, gun muzzle trained slightly off to one side. "Just put him down." As soon as the monster did, Dean would take the kill shot. "Put him down and walk away," he said, Jamaican accent gone. What was he thinking? Trying to negotiate with a monster?

As predicted that would never happen. The pier monster's teeth ground together, and its lips curled into an almost smug look on its face.

"Oh, you…on the deck," Dean muttered. "Put him down… on the deck," Dean clarified. "Softly," he added.

It was very clear by the glint of intelligence in the bitch's eyes that it knew exactly what it was doing. Knew it had something Dean wanted, and that something was keeping its sorry ass alive. That was of course unless Sam was already –

"Now!" Dean trained his gun back on the beast, a tingling of anticipation in his trigger finger as he drew a bead on the thing's right leg.

The creature sneered at Dean and raised a webbed foot to the ships tarnished rail, giving Sam a squeeze.

Sam grunted breathlessly and his body shuddered, the fingers of his swaying hand going into a spasm.

"I swear…" Dean gulped in some air, taking a slow measured step closer, relieved that at least Sam was still alive.

The creature growled from deep within its chest. Moving awkwardly with the weight of Sam in its arms and hanging half over the side. The screeching sound of razor sharp claws cutting into steel sent a chill racing up Dean's spine.

"Don't!" Dean barked, freezing like a statue.

If the creature dove into the cold, black waters of the bay taking an unconscious Sam with it…every little ting would not be okay.

"Just don't," Dean lowered his voice, but not his weapon.

The pier monster showed no sign of fear, digging its claws into Sam, holding tighter, threatening to break bones – a child unwilling to give up its toy.

More grunts came from Sam, and his eyes fluttered once.

"Sam, wake up," Dean called out, eyes still on the creature gun raised higher. No choice, he prepared to take the headshot. It might not kill the thing, but it could slow it down. "Sam," Dean called more urgently, gaze locked on the monster. "I need you."

Sam's eyes flicked open and closed, open and closed.

"Sammy, help!" Dean hollered.

To Dean's shock, the monster remained where it was, seemingly distracted by something off to its right. Maybe its head wound was worse than it looked, or perhaps the freak was trying to decide if it could jump fast enough with Sam in tow and still avoid Dean's bullet.

Sam's head rose up slightly, disoriented eyes searching. "D'n?"

Dean smiled. Sam would always come through for him. "I'm right here." Dean let his gaze drift away from the monster. "Right here, little brother."

"What?" Sam frowned at his older brother – curious and confused.

"We've got ourselves a real problem, kiddo." Dean gave a curt nod, his gaze going back to the pier monster. "Banana boat here wants to take you down where its wetter."

Sam turned his eyes upward, suddenly realizing his predicament.

"You see what we're looking at?"

The wind picked up blowing the creatures slimy dreadlocks against his cheek. "Nuh," Sam muttered in panic, wiggling about.

The monster howled and gripped him tighter, driving the pain in Sam's arm straight up to lodge in his head sending everything spiraling about.

"Dead monster walking, Sammy," Dean confidently said, taking another step and pausing. "Going to put your ugly ass fish head on a plate…little lemon…little garlic," Dean said sternly. "Little cayenne pepper," he added, tightening his grip on his gun.

The creature in return tightened its grip on Sam.

"Gah," Sam bit out and his eyes rolled up into his head at the pressure that threatened to break bones as the creature hugged him closer.

"You're dead, Mr. Tallyman," Dean threatened, gritting his teeth, battling to keep a handle on his emotions. He was pissed and scared and pissed. If the monster moved or he didn't time the rock of the boat just so…he could miss the shot. There was no margin for error.

Sam's body was stiff, mouth partially open, nostrils flaring.

"Sam, you stay with me," Dean called to him.

Sam groaned, but opened his eyes and kept them locked on Dean's, though he appeared to still be pretty out of it.

Trust me. Dean gave a quick minuscule smile. I got this. He gave a wink, then his eagle-eyed glare switched back to the monster, studying every breath of the creature, every twitch of an eye, every muscle contraction.

Dean eased back on the trigger. Everything moved in sloth-like motion as the pier monster found another foothold and pushed higher upward, twisting out over the water, tightening its hold on Sam. It was going overboard and it was taking Sam with it.

"Meow… meow…meow." The musical sound came as the orange tabby appeared out of the darkness, doing a balancing act as it walked down the rail toward the pier monster.

The pier monster turned to snarl at the cat, distracting it for a split second and loosening its hold on Sam.

Dean reacted, rushing forward. "Six foot, seven foot, eight foot, die!" he pulled the trigger sending a single silver flash lighting up the dark, the thunder of his gun echoing over the water.

The monster jerked as the bullet struck its heart sending a spray of blood out over the bay and into the blackness.

"Me say day, me say day-ay-ay-o," Dean sung out excitedly as the monster let out a bellowing howl, but his excitement faded fast when Sam cried out in pain, his injured arm having slammed into the rail as the creature fell toward the boat deck.

Dean moved in to catch Sam before his brother could hit the planks, but the creature took one last breath and flung Sam gracelessly over the rail into the chilly water before dropping flat to the boats deck, blood pouring out of its slimy body.

"Nooooooo!" Dean screamed, his triumph abruptly stolen. "No, no, no." already on the move, his gun slipped from his fingers falling to the wooden planks with a dull thud. He was stripped of his jacket by the time his right foot hit the bottom rung, hip-hopping up and over the ships rail and dropping feet first – a rush of screaming wind in his ears and emptiness beneath his feet as he fell.

TBC…

AN: Story is complete. Next chapter soon.