"You ready to go, Dean?"

Seventeen year old Dean Winchester lifted his head from the magazine he was reading at the sound of his father's voice, and squinted at him before nodding; wordlessly tossing the reading material to the side. He had been waiting for this hunt all week! He picked up his jacket and beanie, and his travel bag, and walked out of the shared bedroom at the motel.

His father John was already in the Impala, starting the car up with no difficulty. How his father managed to make everything look so easy? That was beyond him; beyond his current set of 'abilities'. Tossing his bag in the back with the other larger bag that his dad carried, Dean slipped into the front seat and kicked his feet up. They peeled out of the motel that his father had already paid off, and drove towards the nearest highway.

"Has Sammy called?" Dean asked forty minutes into the ride. They were headed to very rural Ohio, in search of … something. His dad didn't really tell him. Dean had been on many hunts with his father at this point, but none that ever required the details later. John grunted in some sort of non-verbal answer, and Dean rolled his eyes. Of course. Sam probably called earlier that morning from Bobby's, wondering when he was gunna come home.

It took them another forty minutes to reach the heavily wooded area that they had decided – or found out, really – that the … thing was hiding in. Silence followed the two Winchesters as they got out of the car and into the woods, the sky already beginning to darken with the incoming rain shower.

"What are we going to need?" Dean asked his father, not yet past the stage of asking him for help.

"You'll need a gun. I can take this thing out easy; I don't want you getting hurt tryin' to fight this thing." John said gruffly as he stuffed his jacket with a revolver and ammunition, some fire-crackers for some God-forsaken reason, and some other things that Dean had no interest in. Grunting his own answer, Dean picked up a simple Smith and Wesson SD40 with extra ammo and allowed his father to shut the trunk. Locking the Impala, John pocketed the keys, motioned for Dean to follow him, and began to hike into the woods.

The hike was long. Fifteen minutes into it, John broke out the snacks and Dean munched on a microwave palm pie (kind of like the ones you'd get from McDonald's or a gas station). They didn't have much to talk about- Dean didn't know what he could and couldn't ask about the case and John honestly seemed far too focused on the task at hand to care for his son's questions.

Eventually, John called for a break.

Dean stood in the hastily made clearing, looking around for signs of anything that could be potentially supernatural. There weren't any. He flinched, a raindrop falling on his head from the now semi-dark skies, the clouds swollen with water. He frowned, and tugged his beanie down over his head a little more. Why had he agreed to go with his dad again? Oh right. Because Sammy had been a little shit and had gone through his dirty mags and-

"I'm going to take a piss. Stay here." John called, already sounding far enough away to take said piss without Dean interrupting. Knowing he wouldn't have to answer, Dean moved to the shelter of a large tree, sitting on it's protruding roots. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the dirty bark, the sounds of the raindrops hitting the leaves lulling him into an uneasy sleep.

Dean jolted awake when a twig very close to him snapped. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed his gun and hauled it out, pointing it directly in front of him. "Dad?" He called, unsure of how long he had been asleep for. Crap. He was supposed to be the damned lookout! Silently cursing, Dean took a few steps into the clearing, straining his hearing for the sounds of his dad either walking around or talking to someone on the phone or something.

Nothing. Nada.

"Shit." Dean huffed, lowering his arms and looking around the clearing when another twig snapped. He quickly lifted his gun again, looking around him for any sign of the thing that could be chasing him. He didn't want to accidentally shoot his father. "C'mon dad, where are you." Dean breathed, keeping his gun up as he took a few more steps further into the clearing. There wasn't much else he could do. If this thing had to die by fire, it was too wet to make one and he didn't have his lighter with him, nor salt.

If it had to die through any other means…

Wait.

Dean lowered his gun, and set his jaw, fear quickly piercing into his body. He wasn't here to be the lookout.

He was here to be the bait.