"So Dean, you are the only athlete to ever compete in two different categories. How do you feel about that?"
"It's a real honor. I got to see so many more people and master two completely different disciplines. It is a great feeling to have been as successful as I was," he responded. The audience was filled and his teammates were all sitting in a row in front of them. Lights flashed from the photographers and pens scratched furiously at paper trying to get down every word. Every time a question was answered there was a flurry of hands all waving to be picked next.
"Winchester, which did you enjoy more? Swimming or shooting?"
"I've been shooting since I was little so it was easier. I'm newer at swimming and there is a lot more direct competition since you can see how your opponents are doing and I like that better."
A few questions went by, to other teammates, then he felt like he was being interrogated again. "Dean, which team do you prefer to spend your time with?"
"I enjoy both teams. Both filled with talented competitors," he responded smoothly.
The reporter was not going to give up that easily though, "But which would you rather be with more of the time?"
Dean just glared at the reporter, "Both are groups of fine people that I am glad to be on a team with. Next question."
Another person asked, "what are your plans for when you get back home?"
"I'm planning on traveling a lot, beyond that I don't know what I'll be doing."
"What about training for the next Olympic Games?"
Dean looked over at the teammate to his right, confused, "do you think they will invite me back next year?"
The man looked at him incredulously, how could Dean not know that they would definitely invite him back the following year. He had just won multiple gold medals for the country. The US officials would have to be out of their minds to not let him back next year. He took too long to respond because Dean just shrugged his shoulders and answered, " I don't know. If I can come back I will, but in the meantime who knows what will happen. Life is dangerous."
"Speaking of dangerous," another reporter pressed, " there have been lots of rumors going around about your scars. Would you care to put any of them to rest?"
He laughed, "rumors huh? What have people been saying about me?"
"Well, you haven't mentioned your family nearly at all. So some people think that you may have had a bad home life, while others think the scars are the result of gang fighting."
Once again laughing, "no, nothing like that. I haven't ever been in any gang fights. I may not have grown up in five-star hotels, but I had a good childhood. Most of my scars are from hunting accidents or roughhousing with my kid brother."
"And what about your pentagram tattoo? Many people are kind of freaked out by it."
He scoffed, "there is nothing to freak out about. It's actually a symbol to ward of evil. It's for protection. Anyone who is freaked out about how I mark my body can bite me."
~.~
Soon the games were over and talk of them stopped. Dean vanished from the public eye, many reporters and news outlets tried to track him down and ask him further questions. They had no such luck. He took a boat all the way back to the USA, no airplanes for him.
He got his baby from the storage unit by the dock he had left it in. He hid his medal in a black bag stashed in the side panel of the trunk. No one needed to find them, they were just something for him to be proud of. He didn't want anyone, especially his family to know. They wouldn't understand. Especially not his dad, he would question why he wasn't hunting for that time.
Speaking of dad, that was Dean's first objective when he got back to the mainland. He met up with him, lying smoothly that he had been on a wendigo hunt deep in the woods out of cell service. John was none the wiser.
He noticed that Dean was moving a bit slower than usual, almost asking if he had been hurt on the hunt. But decided against it he figured if his son was hurt he would let him know. Dean wasn't hurt from any hunt anyway, just sore from overworking his muscles competing.
They fell back into the routine of tracking down a hunt and taking care of it. Sam was at college, and dad never let Dean forget how he was disappointed in his younger brother. Dean wasn't happy anymore. Endless hunts, same takeout food, scummy motels. All over and over again.
He dreamed about the Olympics. In the beginning, he woke up proud the memory of winning fresh on his mind. Then his dreams warped into nightmares. He swam through blood, thick and hot, his father's voice saying that this blood wouldn't have been shed if he had been home. Innocents died because Dean took a break from hunting and wasn't there to save them. He woke up panting, scared that someone would find out. He wouldn't even go near a swimming pool while Dad was around.
Every once in a while, on solo hunts, he would sneak into a community pool in the middle of the night. Practicing made him feel better, the water always soothed his nerves. He never had nightmares on the nights that he swam. He wished he could always be as free as he felt when he swam.