March 14, 2000 in Troy, New York
They had been there for three weeks and on the hunt for two. To be honest, John was surprised. With all of the paranormal activity in the area, one would think that research for a werewolf would be simple to find. To make matters worse, Sam and Dean were both down with a nasty case of the flu. Even John couldn't bring himself to drag either boy on a hunt, despite pleading from Dean.
This time, John was gearing up to hunt solo, in a densely wooded forest in southern New York State. So far there had been two victims and a gut feeling pushed John into action. With a resigned sigh, he went to check up on his sons and inform them of the plan.
"Dad, are you crazy?" Dean asked angrily. "You can't go alone."
John shook his head. "I can, Dean, and I will."
Sam turned his head toward the loud voices and sighed. His eyes shone with concern. He may not necessarily agree with John all the time, but the last thing he wanted was for his dad to get hurt.
John took note of each response and readied to speak again.
"Look. You two are barely on the mend. There is no way I'm taking you on a hunt yet. I'll be fine." He offered a smile before leaving the room.
John would never admit it, but he was nervous. Grabbing a light jacket, he headed out. Thoughts of the danger his sons were in were mostly quelched when he checked the defenses in the small apartment.
Settling in the driver seat of his truck, John sighed again. This case was really unusual. Every werewolf attack had occurred in a nearby wood. It was almost as if the werewolf was staking its claim on the wooded area. He had never seen or heard of any case like that before.
When he finally arrived, the moon was shining brightly over John's car. A small path was slightly illuminated and, from the reports, this was the same path the victims were attacked on. Gearing up, John walked the path with extra caution.
About 100 yards down the path, the forest was so dense that it was nearly impossible to see the path in front of John. Turning on a flashlight did little good. From his left, John heard a low growl. He had no time to move before he was thrown backward into a rock.
Trying to reach for his gun was futile as the werewolf slashed at his chest and arms. John knew that, after a few blows, the next blow would kill him. As he braced himself for death, a gunshot echoed around him, followed by three more. A light shone on the body slumping in front of him, releasing John from the deadly force. It took effort not to fall on the werewolf.
John looked over in the direction of the gunshot as he grabbed his discarded gun. The light was coming closer to him steadily, doing nothing to ease John's worries. With a small, pained moan, John aimed his gun at the light. The light stopped moving when the gun was pointed at it.
"I promise I won't hurt you. Just let me see how badly the werewolf got you."
John's body eased a bit when he heard that the person had at least rudimentary knowledge about hunting, but his gun was still trained on the light. Moments later the person was kneeling next to him, checking his pulse and the damage on John's arms. Belatedly, John realized that the flashlight was a headlamp strapped to the woman's forehead. With a small hiss, the person moved the flashlight beam to John's chest. John reached up, grabbed the flashlight, and aimed it at the person's face.
"Sir, I can't help you if you're blinding me." The words were spoken kindly and belonged to a young female face.
The woman couldn't have been older than twenty-two years old. Curly auburn hair framed a soft kind face, one that couldn't possibly belong to a hunter. Questions formed in John's mind as he released his grip on the flashlight.
"Are you a hunter?" John asked skeptically.
John heard a box click open, followed by the sound of a quiet sloshing. "Yep. Now please hold still. This will hurt."
Before John could ask, a cold, burning liquid was applied to his wounds. He couldn't help but gasp at the sudden pain.
"Sorry about that. I would offer you something to numb the pain, but I don't carry liquor or narcotics on me."
The shock from the pain ebbed, enabling John to smell the unmistakable odor of isopropyl alcohol. He took a steadying breath-he wasn't sure if it was for the pain or for his nerves-and relaxed his muscles.
John heard more rustling and the tearing of paper. The woman put a gentle hand on John's shoulder. "I'm going to stitch you up and apply some bandages. I know this is really uncomfortable for you, and I'm sorry. Maybe it would help if I told you my name. I'm Carrie."
John nodded. "Thanks, Carrie. I'm John." John was uncomfortable giving Carrie his name, but he figured it might help distract from the pain. Besides, it wasn't like he would see her again after this anyway.
Carrie's smile was barely visible in the minimal lighting, but John could see it. Over the next half an hour, Carrie didn't really say much; for that matter, neither did John. The night was silent other than the soft sounds of Carrie's breathing and John's heavy breathing, punctuated by the occasional grunt from John. Fifteen minutes into stitching John up, Carrie removed her jacket and put it around John as best as she could. After the stitches were in (and done quite well, if John cared to comment on it) Carrie began carefully wrapping the wounds in sterile bandages. She took this time to ask John a few unobtrusive questions. After a few minutes, John asked a question of his own.
"How do you know how to do all of this?" John wasn't really sure what he meant by that; it could have been the medical knowledge or the hunting knowledge. All he knew was that Carrie accidentally pulled a bandage too tight, eliciting a pained grunt from John.
"Sorry about that." Carrie said as she carefully finished bandaging. "I'm not used to questions like that." Carrie put away the trash in a plastic ziplock bag and placed it neatly in her first aid kit. As she helped John up, she deliberated the question carefully. "I've been doing this for a while. Learned how to hunt a few years ago, but was stitching family up before that."
John nodded. "You're pretty good."
Carrie gave an awkward smile and leaned John up against the rock he had been pinned to earlier. After grabbing her first aid kit and putting it into her backpack, she looked at John.
"Did you drive here?" When John nodded, Carrie gave a relieved sigh. "Good. I wouldn't be able to transport you otherwise. And yes, that means driving your car."
John groaned. "Well, it's better than the alternative, I guess. I need you to just drive me back to my house."
Carrie agreed and helped John navigate to his car. They drove in silence, but when Carrie turned off the truck at the Winchester's house, Carrie made sure that John was still feeling all right.
"I'm fine. I wanted to thank you though. I wouldn't have made it home if you hadn't been there."
Carrie merely smiled and helped John to the door. "Anytime. Have a good night, John." With that, she walked off towards the center of town.