Henry Standing Bear considered himself a spiritual man. He made use of the sweat lodge regularly, and sometimes irregularly as needed. He believed in spirits great and small, and that there was more to the world than mere humanity. But like many who held beliefs in a world focused on science and modernity, he kept his beliefs personal and quiet. His spirituality was between himself and Maheo, the Creator. Although he would occasionally discuss his beliefs with Walt, and more rarely with Cady.

What's more, during his time in Vietnam he saw... things. The former marine special operations commando saw enough in the black of night, in the dark of the jungles, to keep him open-minded.

That being said, decades ago when John Winchester drove to Durant with a toddler and a pre-schooler in the backseat and started expounding on his new found belief in the monsters that killed his wife, Henry was hesitant to encourage the idea. Yes, he firmly believed in spirits and their opposites, monsters. No, a man wracked by grief for his late wife did not need cause to fall further from mainstream society and potentially into madness. More often, the truth actually was a case of faulty wiring and bad luck versus monsters in the shadows. Most often, the survivors needed a safe place to grieve so they could forge ahead. That's what sweat lodges were for.

Henry did not disbelieve Johnny's story. He merely wanted to offer a different opinion and maybe a balancing perspective.

John Winchester didn't want alternative theories; he knew what he saw. He didn't want to try a sweat lodge to purify his way of thinking and help him cope. He wanted solid contacts for the most reliable versions of Native American lore. Preferably from someone who believed him, but he accepted a list a names and a good word from the only Native American he knew.

"He also accepted free baby-sitting while he met with various professors from the reservation." Henry finished.

Dean squinted at him, digging through hazy old memories as the Indian talked. "Sammy peed on you," he blurted. "And you started cussing, I could tell it was cussing, but it wasn't English and you wouldn't translate."

A broad grin broke over Henry's face. "Yes, he did. And no, I will not. I later complained to Martha Longmire that her daughter never became a fountain of urine when I changed her diapers. She laughed at me."

By then, Sam was turning red from embarrassment and buried his nose in the Red Pony's beer mug so he didn't have to look at either man he was sitting with. Sam knew men like Bobby and Pastor Jim had changed his diapers as a baby; but it was one of the few subjects his brother didn't tease him about. He assumed that Dean didn't want to start the fight over what their dad should have been doing instead of leaving it to others. If Sam asked (and pressed Dean for an answer) he would have found out that Sam's diapers reminded his brother of their mom and how Dean used to help by throwing away the dirty diapers for her.

"So, you believe us that what's after Walt isn't human?" Dean asked.

"I am open to the possibility," Henry told them. "You gentlemen missed the first victim. Maxwell. Also from Walt's unit, but he married a local girl and chose to stay with her family after the fighting ended. He died several weeks ago in the same manner. His wife, Oanh, was quite upset that local officials seemed... superstitious over his demise."

"Will Walt be open to the possibility?" Sam wanted to know.

Henry leaned back in his chair to consider. "Walt...I do not know. He has expressed some belief in Cheyenne traditions and some belief in Christian tradition. But it will be a somewhat large leap for him to accept that the spirit of an unborn child has returned from the Vietnamese afterlife to avenge its dead mother. Even I have a hard time believing it. This will be my first monster. I do know that he did not give your father's theories any credence."

Dean shrugged. "Fair enough."

"What did you mean? When you said our Dad didn't tell us much about his time as a soldier?" Sam asked.

Henry sighed deeply. "The 'police action' in Vietnam was...complicated. Traditional warfare broke down. The enemy was not only the men in uniforms. Far too often we found ourselves fired upon by men and women in civilian clothes, farmers in their fields pulling rifles from ox-drawn carts. American soldiers began to distrust any native, and treated them as combatants."

Sam and Dean nodded in understanding.

"I have not asked, I do not know; but it would not surprise me if the situation deteriorated until a pregnant woman felt threatened by the approach of a marine corps unit and open fired. And the marines would return fire. Even men as good as Johnny Winchester and Walt Longmire."

All three men fell silent to mull things over. The younger two tried to wrap their brains around everything the older had told them.

Henry broke the silence. "So. What is the next step?"

"Can you get us a copy of the police and autopsy report for Maxwell?" Sam asked. "And maybe find someone who can translate the Vietnamese?"

"I will try," Henry agreed. "What will the two of you be doing?"

"I'm gonna pull the next shift of guard duty while Sammy puts in his time at research figuring out how to gank the thing."

"Your profession seems to involve a lot of research and paperwork," Henry noted.

"Yep. 70% research, 10% interviewing witnesses, 10% playing bodyguard, and 3% ganking the monster of the week." Dean explained.

"And the remaining 7%?"

"Getting our asses kicked by the monster of the week. Y'know, until we've done enough research to know how to gank the thing."