The starry-night sky glistens over Blue Mountain, Montana. The December moon is partially wrapped in a thin white cloud. All is tranquil, except for the sound of shovelling which echoes all around the mountainside.
A dark-haired man wearing a denim jacket wipes the sweat from his brow as he removes the shovel from the hole. He looks up, and scans the night sky frantically, as though searching for a beacon. The man then reaches into the pocket of his jacket, and tosses a tin box into the hole.
After refilling the hole with the shovel, he stands and waits, glancing about impatiently, hoping to be found.
"Hello Sir." a young boy's voice speaks clearly through the chilly air.
The man jumps with fright and turns to find a boy wearing a scout's uniform, with a buttoned-up shirt, a pair of khaki shorts and boots too big for his childish feet. He carries a heavy-looking backpack on his back, and clutches the straps tightly, ready for adventure.
The man gulps. "C-Can you help me?" he stammers.
"Of course, Sir!" the scout chirps brightly. "How can I be of service to you today?"
The man observes the boy nervously. "I need you to find my boyfriend. He's been missing for nearly six months now, and the police aren't doing anything to help. Please...I'm desperate."
"Sure thing!" the scout grins. "Do we have a deal, Sir?"
"A...deal?"
"Of course, Sir! The scouts ask for a donation in return for their services!"
"Um...I have some money...$20 I think..." The man dips his hand into his pocket, withholding his stare.
"Oh no, Sir!" the boy chuckles. "The scouts do not want your money!"
"Then what do you want?" he frowns, suspiciously.
The scout grins, showing the gap-teeth of an innocent 8-year-old, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. "We want your soul!"
It's the 26th of December, and the Winchesters are still hanging around greasy diners of Wyoming. As Dean munches on a steaming sausage-and-bacon breakfast, Sam sips his coffee and checks the morning newspaper.
"Dean, check this out." Sam says, placing the cup onto the saucer. "MAN FOUND DEAD IN MONTANA FOREST. Police discovered 27-year-old Joshua Wolfe last night on the Blue Mountain Trail near the city of Missoula, Montana. His body was barely recognisable, as the flesh was torn to pieces-"
"Sam, please." Dean drops his fork back onto his plate in revulsion. "I'm trying to eat."
"Police suspect that the wounds were inflicted by a wild animal, possibly a bear or a coyote; common predators found on Blue Mountain."Sam continues. "However, Mr Wolfe's partner, Alex Porter, discovered what appeared to be a suicide note earlier that day, which Mr Wolfe had left on the fridge for his partner to find."
"So what? He intended to kill himself and then got ravaged by a wild dog?"
"Possibly...but there were no weapons or tools found on his body which would suggest that was his plan..." Sam ponders. "Dean, do you think this could be a case?"
"Nah..." Dean says dismissively. "People's suicides go wrong all the time, Sam. The guy was just unlucky."
"Montana isn't far from here, Dean." Sam says persuasively. "We've been wandering around Wyoming aimlessly for a week now. Let's get out and do something!"
"Fine." Dean surrenders. "Just let me finish this."
He digs his fork into the last greasy sausage and swallows it whole. Sam's sneers with distaste, as he rolls up the newspaper, ready for the journey ahead.