*AN: The words are from John's journal and his notes about Wendigos – the time and place is my interpretation.*
November 23, 1988
Scenes of crawling back out of the ground usually symbolize rebirth or new purpose in movies and books. For John Winchester, it's not. He is scrabbling up through the dirt and mud and slush to keep doing the same crappy job and live the same crappy life he has ever since Mary was killed. His joy in life was buried when the love of his life was.
Only right now he gets to face his less than joyous life with the added perk of an only partially healed leg. Some yellow-eyed son of a bitch somewhere was laughing at him. John's not laughing. He went on long road marches in the Marines that didn't exhaust him as much as shimmying his way up out of the cave at the break of dawn. But when there's no helping something, better to bite the bullet and do what needs done. His mom taught him that.
As the dawn continues trying to lighten the sky through dense trees, John struggles out of the cave with his pack and collapses next to the hole in exhaustion. Step one of getting back to his boys has been accomplished. And he knows he needs to be there tomorrow - Thanksgiving. "You hear that Mary. Not giving up because I know you'd never forgive me if something happened to the boys." John's not embarrassed that his prayers are verbal letters to Mary, he's just careful not to make them out loud while other people are around. He doesn't have to worry about it here. In the eight days since he fell into the cave, he hasn't heard anyone nearby except the Wendigo.
John took the time to sketch the monster into his journal which is tucked into the inside pocket of his coat. This one – so far from the normal habitat for Wendigos – has other unusual characteristics. While at least seven feet tall and thin past emaciated and into skeletal, the monster's body has matted hair with noticeable breasts. Definitely female. The flashing eyes are a murky pea green, not the clear jewel tones of Mary's or Dean's. The mouth, horrible lips twisted and black, barely covers long yellowed fangs and a tongue bluish in hue. John looks around warily. The lore says Wendigos prefer darkness, not that they are nocturnal.
"Cannibalism plus magic equals a dark, dark road. I've never seen something so hungry." John writes near the sketch. He hopes the boys never know what it's like to feel so consumed from inside, like the overwhelming pressure he feels, the obsession, to find Mary's killer. No amount of alcohol dulls his pain. Everything else he has to deal with, and –yeah, God help him, including the boys – is a distraction. "I hope the boys never understand how bad I am at – well, everything – without their mom."
Using his makeshift crutch, John gains his feet, takes a bearing for direction and begins to head back toward the parking lot where Robertson's truck should still be waiting. He buoyed by the thought that if he can push himself – he should be out of the forest by nightfall. Yeah, he won't have the keys, but he learned how to hot wire a car from Bobby Singer. Robertson isn't around to complain anyway. Once John gets back to his boys, he plans to turn this hunt back over to Bill Harvelle. Harvelle can gather a group of Hunters whose legs aren't broken and whose heads aren't too thick to be prepared. Wendigos are tricky, fast, and hard to kill.
John has two little boys who are probably worried about him by now, and he promised Sammy they'd have Thanksgiving.
. . . . . . .
November 25, 1988, afternoon
Not everyone is pleased that Dean talked Bobby into allowing him to go. Ellen started mumbling under her breath about idiot men who didn't know how to say no to a child, a sick child at that. The other two guys are studiously said nothing to defend Bobby's decision to his disgust. But the one who is most upset about the plan is Sam.
"Dean, don't go." Sammy clings to his big brother. "You can't leave me here. Deeeaaannn." Ending on a wail, Sammy takes a deep breath to start over again, but it's difficult and messy with snot and tears streaming down his red face. Dean moves with his brother still practically hanging on him over toward a box of tissues and tries to mop up Sammy's face as he bends a little to look his brother in the eye.
"Shhh, Sammy. You've got this all wrong. It's okay, little brother. It's okay." Dean wipes Sammy's face. "Blow." Dean commands as he holds a tissue to the five-year-old's nose, and the hiccupping little boy does. "Sammy, look at me." Dean runs his fingers under his brother's chin to raise his eyes. "Now, you trust me, right? Don't I always take care of you? Don't I always come back when I say I'm gonna? You know I'll never leave you, Sammy, you're my brother." Sammy blearily nods. "I'm just going to go for a couple days. You're not going to be alone – Pastor Jim and Mrs. Harvelle are both going to be here. You'll get to be like the big brother to Jo. Okay?"
Sammy tries to snuggle closer, looking younger than his five and a half years. "But, Dean, I don't want them. I want you." He snuffles again. "What if you don't come back, like Dad." Then his tilted hazel eyes fix on his brother with a sad puppy dog expression as his lower lip quivers. But Dean is even more determined to find their father. He has kept his word, ate lunch, took medicine, even napped. Now he's packed and planning to go find his dad – for Sam's sake and his.
As Dean continues to calm Sammy, Pastor Jim and Bill Harvelle turn concerned eyes on Bobby Singer. "Just explain to me again how you got roped into agreeing to let a nine-year-old come with us on a hunt." Harvelle sounds exasperated. The idea of actually letting a kid go with them makes no sense to him. At best, it will split their attention as the try to find the boy's father. At worst – well, in their line of business, best not think about the worst. Then there's the fact that Ellen is going to give him hell about it.
Bobby takes a hefty shot of Hunter's Helper before the preacher removes it from his hand. When Bobby tries to take it back, Jim growls at him. "Not if you're planning to drive with a kid in the car." And Bobby lowers his hand with a sigh.
"Well, you told me to make it right with him." Bobby trails off with a wave of his hand. "And, balls! I told you not to make me. That kid. I just…he…Well, I don't know how he does it, but it ain't my fault. Besides, he's a Winchester. That stubborn don't come with an age limit. We'd be there, and Ellen'd be calling saying he's missing. Then we'd have to search for him too." Bobby looks longingly at the whiskey bottle. "I'm getting a beer." He stomps off to the kitchen.
Pastor Jim sighs. "He's got a point you know - about Dean. Kid has a need to keep his people as close and safe as he can, like a sheep dog. Look at him, you'd think Sammy was his son not his brother." He snorts. "I'm afraid he care takes John too."
Bill scuffs his toe across the floor and grunts. "What he's doing ain't easy. But John and me – we've talked some. He's trying to make them tough enough to survive, you know. This. It's not like Dean doesn't already know, and they're not going to be able to keep Sammy ignorant much longer." Bill shrugs.
Bobby comes over to the Winchester boys holding his duffel and Dean's. "Tell your brother goodbye, and then you go climb into the backseat of that Chevelle. We've got ten hours of traveling ahead, and Ellen's laid out a little nest back there. Pillows, a sleeping bag, the works. You know the deal, so…"
"Yes, sir." Dean's eager, but Ellen catches him one more time. Checks his temperature and has to admit it's down under a hundred, barely. She hands him a care package with juices, water, Tylenol, cold medicine and some hard candy to soothe his throat. She also slips him a ten dollar bill. When he tries to give it back, she wraps her hand around his. "No, Dean. You give it back if you don't use it, if you want. But if you end up needing to call us, you've got to have the money."
With one last hug for his brother, Dean scampers into the car dressed in a warm parka and boots Pastor Jim had in a clothing relief box in the church basement. He crawls into the nest and falls asleep in minutes, completely comfortable sleeping in a car.
It leaves Bobby brooding though. That kid in the backseat is so trusting, so willing to help, and completely hardened to this life that drives Bobby in search of a bottle. He peeks at the quietly snoring boy and allows himself to wonder what it would have been like to have a son. He wonders if he and Karen had had a kid or two, would he still have become a Hunter, like John Winchester, or would he have been concerned enough for his boys that he could have put his wife's death aside and work toward giving his child the kind of life he never had. He hopes the latter.
But Bobby admits to himself that he'll never really know the answer to that question, or what it's like having a son. And somehow that thought makes him want to punch John Winchester again. And he knows that's envy talking.