Author's Note: This piece was inspired by a beautiful picture of a tree on a community I belong to.

The rain hadn't let up, and had, in fact, started to tear downward with a newfound fervour, accompanied by the deafening rhythm of thunder that threatened to rip the sky apart with the sheer volume; lightning arced and slashed through the heavens, lighting up the grounds below and all around as far as the eye could see for split moments in time, like fractures in vision. Panting, the young man ran, slipping on the soaked grass and mud, falling to one knee, before he scrambled back up, trying to find shelter in the horrific storm… and to hide. To hide from what, he did not know, but it was behind him somewhere; hunting, and bloodthirsty. Every now and again, he heard a growl, and he had already lost his guns trying to fight it. He'd only seen flashes of it in the lightning bursts, and that had been enough to terrify him, even with all he had seen in his time, especially his time with the League.

Nothing could have prepared him for the towering monstrosity that had tried to tear him apart with huge, dripping fangs and shredding claws. He'd narrowly avoided being slashed by it, by ducking like a coward; there had been no other option. That had been when he'd lost the Winchester. He'd been forced to drop it when the beast had swiped at him with vicious and deadly strength and speed. It had clean almost torn through the wall behind him. He'd lost the pistols before then, trying to fire at it. When he'd realised he would not have the time to reload, he'd dumped them. There had been no other way.

Breathing heavily, he ran across the field, knowing he needed to find somewhere to cover himself in this storm. More than once he had seen the great arms of lightning slam the ground, shooting up huge gouges of dirt and earth. He wasn't safe out in the open…

When he heard the bloodcurdling howl, that certainty shot up… he needed to hide, and quickly.

His duster was holding him back, but he needed it. The last thing he needed was to get hypothermia without it. Gasping with the pain in his side from so much running, he all but fell to one knee with exhaustion, rain running down his face like raging rivers, obstructing his vision for short moments of time; his hair streaked downwards with the downpour.

There, in front of him, was a façade of a shelter; a tree, huge and looming, its branches billowing dangerously in the wind that tore over the fields. The leaves trembled as if frightened, and the wood creaked from strain. Even as he watched, the sky boomed deafeningly, and lit up like fire, just as an arc of lightning shot down and struck the tree like an anvil. It split under the strength, and caught fire with a roar.

Tom Sawyer all but fell backwards with the shock, even as a different kind of roar from behind him tore his head around, his hair flying with the action, eyes wide. A shadow was barrelling towards him on all fours, and he could see the gleaming fangs; the monstrous visage was illuminated in blinding brilliance as the sky brightened with the storm again, and despite himself, Tom cowered.

Time seemed to slow; dragging painfully as the beast tore towards him, fangs dripping hungrily as taloned paws surged it forward towards its prey. The yellow eyes glowed with intent, and another bellow ripped free of its throat.

And that was when it struck.

Tom's entire body shook with terror as he heard the impact… until he realised he wasn't in agony. There was no pain. Shakily, he removed his arms from his head, and saw the creature in the dying light. The yellow eyes wavered, and the fangs snapped at him, but when Tom inspected the sight before him, he saw the shattered and torn leg, burned and ruined. Two legs in fact… the entire rear half of the creature had been slammed by lightning. It was suffering; struck down and beaten. It growled agonisingly, ears twitching with a spasm that racked its entire body, and then it whined.

Another shadow loomed out of the darkness, hair and clothes billowing eerily with the elements, and from within their coats came a dagger, shining in the sparse light. Tom watched them, small and afraid, even as the weapon hovered over the creature's head. When the jaws snapped at the wielder, the blade crashed down, and split into the skull… and the creature died.

Tom panted, and looked up, trying to identify his saviour.

Lightning flashed.

Mina Harker looked down on him, and then offered a hand.

"You would have been killed," she said simply, pulling him to his feet, and supporting him calmly.

Tom nodded, looking down on the body again as the storm flashed.

"What was it?" he gasped, looking Mina in the eye from their close proximity.

Mina's blue eyes stared down at the corpse for a few moments, a silver dagger sticking out of it, before her gaze met Tom's. Her answer was blunt, but to the point; explanatory.

"A werewolf."

Fin