Nov. 1, 1988
John Winchester feels like his skin is crawling and some kind of cat has its claws dug into his stomach from the inside. He can hardly breathe sitting there in a cheap cabin outside of Mason City, Iowa, watching the clock tick towards midnight – to the five-year anniversary of Mary's death. He ponders this as he swigs rotgut whiskey and laughs at how old he feels in a bitter way. Next month, he'll turn 34. The month after, Dean will be ten. And Sammy, his baby, is five and a half tomorrow.
John knows he's already had too much to drink when he snorts and the whiskey goes up his nose, almost choking him. Sammy isn't really *his* baby, not that he's claiming he ain't the father, but Sam is Dean's baby. Dean latched on to Sam, and vice-versa, right after Mary died. They came together like two iron filings stuck to a magnet, and John doesn't envy anyone who tries to come between them.
He wishes he had had a brother like Dean after his Dad left. It was just him and his mom for a long time, and John spent most of his time when he wasn't in school in the house alone because his mother needed to work. He hadn't wanted that for his boys, and this life sure wasn't what he and Mary had planned. Mary – God, the thought of her death still cuts. And how she died. And what he found out about afterward, the monsters, the demons. No amount of alcohol makes it better.
The boys are in bed, supposedly asleep, but John can tell that Dean has his eye on his dad. The boy's going to end up with an ulcer the way he worries. Good thing the kid's already a good shot and took to unarmed combat like an old hand, otherwise his "momming" everyone around him might be taken for weakness, and his boys can't afford to be weak. Weak will equal death.
"Go to sleep, Dean." John's a little surprised about how slurred his words are, and amused as the nine-year-old's eyelids tighten, as he continues to pretend he's sleeping. And John makes the decision to leave now, earlier than he needs to for his hunt, because it's not good getting drunk and maudlin in front of his kids. He knows because he's done it, and Dean had to take care of him. It makes him scared that he'll lose his older son's respect.
"I've got a hunt down in Missouri, Dean. Little salt and burn. I expect you to make sure you boys get to school and eat right." John pauses and looks over at Dean, "You hear me boy?"
"Yes, sir." Comes the quiet voice from under the covers, and he sees Dean peering out at him with Mary's eyes, and it all just hurts too much. Five years tomorrow. Five years since that demon sonofabitch killed her, and left John to try to muddle through the best he could.
"This one's a paying gig, Dean. So I really need to take it. I've left some food money on the top of the 'frig. Don't be wasting it on candy." John walks over and ruffles Dean's hair. "I should be back in a week or so. I expect you to look after your brother."
John barely hears his son's answer as he gathers up his duffel to leave.
. . . . . . .
Nov. 23, 1988
"…And the pilgrims learned how to fix corn and cook wild turkey from the Natives." Sam is just finishing up telling Dean all about his kindergarten class's Thanksgiving pageant, every single minute of it Dean's sure, as they finishing walking home from school.
Dean is holding Sammy's hand tightly as he draws closer to where the landlady is leaning on a snow shovel waiting for them. Dad has been gone twenty-two days now. The rent on the room is two days past due. He's not sure what he's going to feed Sam tonight, and he's cold and wet. The snow has turned slushy and seeped into his shoes. Dean draws himself up, lifts his chin, blinks his eyes and promises himself he won't cry no matter what happens.
"Boy, this snow needs shoveling, and I've got two rooms need cleaning." Her tone softens as she turns toward the younger one, who steps back behind his brother, big hazel eyes blinking shyly. "I'm Mrs. Marvin, that's what you should call me, and what's your name?" She moves a little closer, and it's hard to tell whether Dean is moving to block her or Sammy clinging to him is making him turn.
"This is my brother, Sam." Dean nods. "Sam. Be polite." Sam steps out halfway and holds his hand out to shake, like Dean taught him. Mrs. Marvin holds the mittened hand a moment before turning back to the older boy.
"Well, are you planning to earn your keep?" She challenges Dean.
He throws off his worries for a moment and meets her eyes. Letting him work means she's not throwing them out today, and Dad might be back tomorrow. It's going to be Thanksgiving; Dad might be back for it. All Dean has to do is keep holding on one day at a time. Besides, yesterday the room had food. If these do, he'll have something to feed Sammy for dinner. Maybe breakfast too, and with no school he'll have time to look for more cans. "Yes, Ma'am. Just let me get my brother settled and I'll be right out."
By the time Dean finishes shoveling and salting the walkway, Mrs. Marvin is back to lead him to the other cabins. "I could use some help tomorrow, too." She says, explaining her regular lady doesn't want to work on the holiday. The cabins are pretty messy, but by the time Dean has them straightened, he also has an opened box of cereal and half carton of milk, an unopened can of spaghetti, an almost full orange juice bottle, a small jar of peanut butter, four eggs, and half a loaf of bread. He can't believe people would be so wasteful. There's even a pair of gloves left behind that Mrs. Marvin tells him he might as well keep.
Dean's smile is huge when he pushes into the room with Sam to show him everything, but it gets bigger when his little brother takes out the snacks he was given at his class party that he saved to share with his brother.
"Look, Dean. There's two cookies, and some M&M's. They're your favorites." Sammy's delight is written all over his face. He's a smart kid and he can tell that they've been running low of food. He'd been waiting since right after lunch to surprise his brother.
Dean cups Sammy's face with one hand a minute, smiling back. "Let me get this stuff away, and we'll eat. Then we can share your treats for dessert. There's no school tomorrow, so if you want we can find a show to watch on TV, or I'll read you your favorite story."
"Dean? When's Daddy going to be home?" Sam pesters his brother while Dean puts things in the 'frig and washes out a saucepan before opening the canned spaghetti. Dean puts the milk away for breakfast and pours two glasses of juice. Putting away what is left in the bottle, wondering if he shouldn't just add water to make it last longer. But he decides to go ahead and splurge. It might help with how scratchy his throat is starting to feel.
But he's a little less worried. He knows he can fix three meals with what he collected today. It's nice to not have to worry that they won't eat tomorrow. Maybe if he can find plenty of cans tomorrow, he'll be able to buy two pieces of chicken from the Git'N Go for a special Thanksgiving meal. Then he remembers that Mrs. Marvin says she needs his help again, and he starts daydreaming about what types of things people might leave in their rooms. A pie would be nice.
"Dean. You're not listening." Sammy whines, and Dean ducks his head. Sam's right, he wasn't.
"Sorry, squirt. What did you say?" Dean turns an indulgent eye toward his little brother.
"I said I want to find a holiday special movie with a family having Thanksgiving like your 'spose to." Sam sniffs at him. His chin gives a little wobble. "How come we can't be like that, Dean?"
Dean sighs. Before Sam started kindergarten, he never complained about not living like all the other kids. Dean's getting to the point where he wishes no one in school ever talked about how holidays were supposed to be or how families were supposed to act. It's hard enough trying to take care of his little brother without everything else telling Sam that Dean's doing it wrong. He picks up the bowls to do dishes. "Sam, just go put your pajamas on. As soon as I'm finished cleaning up, we'll find some kind of show."
. . . . . . .
Nov. 6, 1988
The vengeful spirit was as easy to dispatch as John thought it would be, and he had a couple hundred dollars in his pocket. The money would come in handy because Dean was outgrowing his shoes and needed a new winter jacket. Seems like one or the other of the boys always needed new clothes. John pushed into a bar in Waynesville, Missouri, and thought twice about trying to increase his wages by hustling pool. Most of the guys in here looked like soldiers from nearby Fort Leonard Wood. John didn't want to con them.
John was looking to meet up with another hunter here anyway. He had checked in with Bill Harvelle to let him know he had taken care of the job, and to thank him again for throwing a paying one his way, when Harvelle told him there was a hunter asking for help with something in the Mark Twain National Forest area. John was the closest hunter to the guy, he said. Once John agreed, Harvelle wished him luck and invited him and the boys to Nebraska afterwards to have Thanksgiving with his wife and little girl.
John had said he'd think about it, but he wasn't really planning to. It hurt too much to see how in love Bill and Ellen were. Reminded him too much of Mary. Besides, Pastor Jim Murphy, his old Marine Corps buddy, had been pestering him to come to Minnesota. That's where he's been heading before getting sidetracked.
"You John Winchester?" The man asking had old-time hunter written all over him, and John wondered if this guy was going to be okay with John's methods. A lot of the older guys just went in guns blazing without doing any research first. John liked to know everything he could about what was going on before going after whatever was causing problems.
It didn't take long for John to have picked the other hunter's brain about what was going on, and the guy, Paul Robertson, was surprised but okay with John wanting to do some research first. He had already lost his partner to something that was killing campers, he wanted to stay alive.
John thought about calling the cabin to check in with the boys, but he figured they were okay and he was still well within the timeframe he had given Dean. Pretty soon John got caught up listening to Robertson tell the tale of a hunt gone wrong. He was racking his brain trying to think of what kind of monster they were going after, and agreeing that it might be good to call in at least a couple more guys.