November 26, 1988
Nine-year-old Dean Winchester moving through the freezing rain in the Mark Twain National Forest at night to confront a monster and save his father is a bit small for his age, but as far from a child as he can be. He learned to shoot four years ago, and he learned it with the intent to take a life if that was needed to protect his family. He studied monster lore to be able to kill them and with more intensity than other little boys studied dinosaurs or baseball. It is this mindset even more than his father's military-style training that makes Dean the perfect little soldier.
Childhood trauma does strange things to people. Some never overcome it, mentally or emotionally freezing at the age they experience it, or even splintering into multiple personalities or extreme neurosis. Dean's mind had teetered on collapse with the fire and his mother's death. His extreme stress reaction, mutism, and nightmares were symptoms. At age four Dean had learned that the things of horror stories were real. His reaction was to latch onto what he had left of his safe haven, his brother and his father. Adding to the emotional and mental trials Dean faced was his father's coping method; John's retreat into alcohol pushed Dean even further into the role of an adult. Years later his younger brother would sometimes snort at what he considered his older sibling's childish antics, never fully understanding that each act was a gift of trust in him from Dean.
This small lethal weapon moves carefully to avoid slipping on slick fallen leaves, mud, and icy rocks. Dean flanks the barn, finding an incline he cautiously climbs. His fingers stiffen from the cold, and several times the boy stops to rub them together and keep the circulation moving. He has pulled the hood of his dark blue jacket up over his head and tightened the strings, grateful for the warm waterproof garment that Pastor Jim gave him. He's happy with the boots too, even though the leather lets some water through, he knows his old sneakers had lost their tread and wouldn't have allowed him any traction.
As Dean draws closer to the front, he moves onto his belly, ignoring the cold mud that covers him while low crawling to the edge. His eyes are the only colorful thing left on him with his unintended camouflage. The boy freezes in place, barely moving as his eyes sweep back and forth over the area where he last saw the Wendigo. Finally the monster moves and the motion allows him to locate it.
The monster moves toward a large Maple tree, climbing it with incredible speed and skill, as sinewy as a snake with a poison grace. Dean's heart races as the Wendigo pauses before settling into a fork almost parallel to his own position where it can watch the entrance to the old barn. It perches like a cat watching a mouse hole, preternaturally still. Dean lowers his eyes knowing that many things and some people can feel the weight of a stare. He breathes shallowly, trying to control every motion, willing his pounding heart to slow before it gives him away. He moves his hand smoothly at a steady rate to his pocket and, holding his breath, he sneaks the flare gun out.
Dean wishes he had some way to communicate with the men inside the barn, some way to know for sure whether or not his father is even still alive, but the young Hunter doesn't allow himself much time to think or to regret. He sights across the gap and pulls the trigger.
In movies and television, a flare gun will blow a hole in a person or explode causing a major fire. In real life flares are used to signal and run on a small rocket motor. The exhaust propels the flare but not at speeds that can punch through or even embed itself in a body. Flare guns are dangerous, more often burning the shooter than anyone else. Dean's hand is slightly scorched, and he cries out in pain and surprise. But he is lucky; the flare hits its intended target, snarling in the tangled and matted hair. The Wendigo's head catches fire even as it leaps toward the small boy.
The Hunters inside the barn hear the yell, and Bobby Singer leads Creedy and Joshua, the less injured men, out of the rickety structure in time to see a small form thrown from the top. The men lift their flamethrowers and fire as the crazed Wendigo jumps down after it. She whirls towards them, but the air circulation just helps the flame grow engulfing her head. The monster falls to the ground, and through the sputtering inferno the men watch as the small figure lifts a machete in its right hand and brings it down chopping off the monster's head.
Dean drops the weapons and groans, his right arm now cradling his left. He looks up blinking blearily. "My dad?"
Creedy is stomping out small fires trying valiantly to spread through the cold rain. Joshua hasn't moved, staring amazed at the small figure. Bobby rushes to take the trembling boy into his arms, but pulls back when Dean cries out in pain. He shepherds the boy into the building trying to undo his jacket at the same time so he can triage the injuries.
John Winchester gasps in surprise as he sees the small figure, and then again in pain as the boys hurtles into him. "Dean?" John moves him back slightly to get a better look. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Adrenaline release, pain, and shock have Dean trembling on his knees by his father with tears running down his muddy face. John notices the boy's holding his left arm still, and with gentle fingers he pushes the coat down to see a shoulder knocked out of its joint. John explains this to his son and then grasps him firmly pushing it back into place. Dean cries out in pain, and his father shushes him.
"Come on son, man up. You can't be a Hunter if you're going to cry about being hurt." But even as the harsh words leave his mouth, John gathers Dean closer, checking him for other injuries gently, relieved to find only bumps and bruises. He takes the backpack off the boy, not surprised at all that it contains a first aid kit. John pulls out a sling and fits it on the boy, tightening straps before using it to immobilize Dean's left arm. He strips Dean's wet jacket the rest of the way off and wraps the emergency blanket around his son. Then he buttons his own jacket onto the boy.
The other Hunters have left John with his son, hearing but not seeing their interaction. What he heard has Bobby angrily muttering about assholes who don't deserve to be fathers as he drags the Wendigo's remains over to the pile of dead bodies and pieces. Joshua tosses the scorched head onto the pile and then goes to help John up. With Creedy helping Harvelle, Joshua takes his place as a human crutch for John, and Dean trailing behind swaddled in his father's coat, the hunting party exits the barn and starts toward the parking lot.
Bobby joins them after throwing salt and then dumping the rest of the fuel from the flame throwers onto the bodies. He takes the flare gun and loads a fresh round, shooting it into the bodies and kindling the pyre. A Hunter's funeral is fitting because at least three of the bodies are Hunters. The other victims, well, at least their spirits won't be trapped in the place of their cruel deaths. The rain will make sure the fire doesn't spread.
. . . . . . .
Sun rise the next morning finds five men and a boy still asleep, sharing the one room in an impromptu slumber party necessitated by the ice storm. The big dark haired man opens his eyes first to find Dean has curled on his right side next to his father on the sofa bed last night. Happier memories of bringing home his first-born son shoot pains through John's very soul. This boy with his big heart is so much like his mother; and John feels compelled to do everything he can to make sure Dean will be able to survive.
John's brows pucker as he listens to the congestion in his son's light snoring. Bobby had told him Dean has been sick, and the boy's journey through freezing rain last night couldn't have helped that any. John insisted on Dean having a hot shower before bed last night, helping the embarrassed boy into flannel pajamas before dosing him with Nyquil to knock him out and give John time to think. John is so grateful to the boy, and that the little boy is safe, but he steels himself for what he must do later. Right now though, he gathers the boy closer and presses a kiss to his forehead.
Hunters always have a variety of tools stash in their cars, and John uses a cane Harvelle had in his toolbox to limp into the restroom to get ready for the day. As soon as the roads are clear he'll be heading to Minnesota to get Sammy.
. . . . . . .
"You're gonna make him do what?" Bobby Singer is fighting mad at John Winchester yet again. He has just set up chains for Bill Harvelle to tow the big black car behind his pick up the 600 mile journey back to Jim Murphy's place in Blue Earth. The older man cannot believe his ears. John has been chewing Dean out, accusing the boy of abandoning his primary job – looking after Sam. And then John tells Dean that as soon as the kid is recovered from his injury, he'll be running extra laps for penance.
"That boy just saved our hides." Bobby continues his rant. "He held things together for you for weeks with no money for food and holes in his shoes. He kept his head when plenty of grown men would'a been flapping around like headless chickens. He's a kid, John. Just a kid. Can't you see by looking at him how much he needs you?" As Bobby draws in breath to continue, a small voice stops him.
"Uncle Bobby, stop, please. Dad's right." Dean stands trembling before his dad. "I've been worried about Sammy too, Sir. I shouldn't have left him. I'll do better next time."
"See that you do," John says.
Bobby looks at Harvelle who just shrugs. The guy from Nebraska has no intention of interfering with how John Winchester is raising his kid. He just swears to himself that Joanna Beth will never be involved.
"You are a…." Bobby starts, but looks at the boy standing next to the dark haired man and clamps his mouth shut. "If you need anything, boy, you call me, hear? I at least know when to be grateful." Stomping off to his own car, Bobby peals away to head back to South Dakota.
. . . . . . .
John and Bill Harvelle talk occasionally during the ten hour trip back to Minnesota, while Dean who sits between the two men – thanks to NyQuil - spends much of the time dozing next to his father's side. Bill sees John settle the boy more comfortably against him, and he can tell how much the man loves the boy.
The men talk about the Wendigo and other hunts, Harvelle's eyes darting to the boy frequently. Finally he says "I don't get it, Winchester. Most father's'd be proud of that boy. What he did. Shoot. I'd rather have him at my back than several other guys we know who call themselves Hunters. You're damned hard on him when he's awake, but look at you now. I just….well, it ain't my business, but I just don't understand."
John looks over at Harvelle, and then he looks out the window. Harvelle's beginning to think John isn't going to answer at all. "I can't be kind. Kindness won't keep him or his brother alive."
Harvelle grunts. "Kindness might give him something worth living for."
John Winchester snorts. "He's got Sammy for that. They both – they've got each other. And that's going to have to be enough."