November 26, 1988 afternoon
Cold medicine mixed with a sleeping pill knocked Dean out for a solid eight hours before he struggles to open his eyes midafternoon. He groans because his head hurts so badly, wiping gummed over eyes. The nine year old flounders out of the bed in a nondescript motel room he doesn't remember ever seeing in before. That part doesn't worry him too much; he's seen plenty of motel rooms. Instead he looks around woozily wondering where his little brother is.
"Sammy?" But even as Dean calls out for his little brother, he starts to remember. He left Sam with Pastor Jim and Ellen Harvelle in Blue Earth. Minnesota. He came here to Missouri to find his father with the Hunters. Memory slowly returns and tears help clear his eyes. Uncle Bobby – no, Bobby Singer betrayed him. Instead of taking him with the other Hunters into the forest, he drugged him and left him in a motel room. Dean pushes the hurt from that down deep, taking a few breaths to get steady again. He scolds himself for trusting the older man – he knows better. Can't really trust anyone but yourself. And that thought gives him a panicked moment of worry over his little brother. Sammy is his responsibility, and it feels…wrong not to have him nearby.
Now that he's more awake, Dean realizes that he actually is feeling a little better. Whatever virus has been kicking his butt seems to have loosened its hold some. His chest feels less tight, fever's gone, at least for now, and the lead weight feel in his arms and legs has disappeared. Dean washes up in the restroom and realizes he feels better than he has in days. He spots the food and juice on the table and checks it carefully for tampering before eating a sandwich. And while he's there, he reads Bobby's note, snorting. Yeah, right, everyone does things for "his own good" instead of trusting him to know how to take care of himself. Dad knows better. Dean can take care of Sammy and himself just fine.
Right now, though, the nine year old is in some crappy motel several miles from the area of the forest where his dad needs help. Dean knows the other Hunters are most likely searching the area and caves, trying to avoid a Wendigo and the park rangers. He had been listening carefully at the breakfast this morning, and heard them talk about Anasazi symbols for protection and fire as the weapon of choice. They stranded Dean, unless he can find a way to get closer to the parking area his time would be wasted walking closer to the area they figure his dad is in. He figures he has about two hours until sunset, and no supplies except a sandwich, a juice, and a knife. And then he remembers that their car is parked outside.
Dean smiles to himself, the car, the Impala is his home, and he knows that the trunk has weapons and medical supplies. He has helped sort and arrange these supplies and knows where there's a flashlight and an extra duffel he can use, and Dean knows there's a key hidden in a magnetic box near the front tire for emergencies. That knowledge helps him make his decision.
Dean puts on the warm coat and hat that Pastor Jim gave him, and ties on the boots. He stuffs the knife and food stuff in his pockets, and heads out for his father's 1967 Chevy. While he has moved the big black car before for his dad, the Impala is hard to drive when your legs aren't very long. Glancing around carefully, Dean retrieves the key, and then he moves the seat forward as close as he can and gets behind the wheel. He starts the big engine and backs up slowly, praying that football games on TV this holiday weekend will leave the roads bare as he struggles a little bit getting the car on the road that goes through Mark Twain National Forest.
,. . . . . .
Crazed laughter rings through the woods as the four Hunters stand in a loose square, covering each other's back with flame throwers, as they face woods where the sound bounces around not letting them pinpoint the monster's location. The men had spent the morning checking out the cave system, and then reformed to head toward the old homestead. They have a pretty good idea that that must be the Wendigo's lair because the thing has done its best to drive them away ever since they've drawn closer.
The chill autumn day has been drab and overcast, growing colder with that biting intensity that heralds precipitation. A few drops of freezing rain have fallen even through the branches of the tall trees. Clearings and the rocks an dead leaves under the trees are growing more slippery. Almost all the men have fallen at least once, but the men managed to drive the monster away to allow the other to regain his feet. All of them have been hit by rocks or tree branches, too, with cuts and bruises to prove it.
Bobby wonders if the harrying isn't planned. "Bill, if we all keep shooting flames at that damned thing, we're gonna run out of fuel. We need to find somewhere more defensible. Draw some of those symbols."
Bill Harvelle grunts. Last time he fell, he bruised his hip pretty badly. Between moving and stopping and the biting cold, the hip is becoming stiff and he's showing a definite limp. "Hell, Singer, I know that. I'm just not sure if this thing is herding us to its pantry or chasing us away. And as much as I don't want to make it easy on this thing, we need to get in there to look for Winchester and Robertson."
Creedy has been inching his way backwards until he is standing almost back-to-back with Joshua. "Whatever we're doing, we need to do it quick before that thing chucks more tree branches or rocks at us. This is your hunt, Harvelle. Call it – do we cut and run or make a dash for that bermed barn there." The ramshackled out-building was set partially into a natural cave shelter, berming it from the elements on three sides. While there were remnants of a chimney, the homestead itself had been worn away by time. As the hunters draw closer, they start smelling the unmistakable stench of rotting meat.
"Well, I think that settles whether it's that thing's lair." Bobby drawls. "Now the question is how much of a trap is it to go in there?"
Harvelle shakes his head, and then shrugs. "We need to check it out. And we need to regroup and come up with a plan of attack. That roof'll keep the worst of this freaking cold rain off us."
Bobby nods in agreement. "Okay, so we stay back to back and move together toward the door on one…two…three."
. . . . . . .
John Winchester's as comfortable as he can make himself on the ground. He is still safely within his circle reclining on a sleeping bag, but he is woozy from blood loss and thirst. John has tied strips of clothing into bandages to cover the gouges left by the Wendigo, but blood continues to seep through. The stress of this hunt, the broken leg, the fall into the cave, the blood-letting have all combined to exhaust him. The cold has started to settle down into his bones, and John is pretty sure he's dying.
The Wendigo has been there creepily staring at him off and on. He can tell she is trying to assess the situation and find another way to get him, or even to get past him to munch on her other pieces of hung meat. John has cut her off from her food supply. "Yeah, well, maybe I can starve you to death." He mutters angrily when she returns again chittering at him. "We'll die together."
John has dozed off and on, but he's pretty sure it's still Saturday, afternoon, by the sun's position. Two full days past when he promised his baby boy he would be back no later than – scout's honor, pinky promise. John wonders how the boys are doing, and if – with him gone – Sam and Dean'll be strong enough to face what's coming in their future. He figures he's done what he could to make Dean ready, and that Dean has already replaced him as a parent for Sam.
Tiredness has been crashing over John, and he is starting to not care any more, starting to think going to sleep and not waking up would be so much easier than what he has lived with all his life. An absent father, a working mother, the loneliness of an only child, the isolation of poverty, the horror of war. Fot ten years though, he had love. He had Mary, and although it wasn't easy and he lacked a road map or compass for how to succeed in a relationship, Mary had enough persistence for both of them. John feels like he is fading and he may be hallucinating because he's being surrounded by voices.
"He's alive. Here, get into the circle. Get in my pack – there's a medical kit. Damn his pulse is thready. I need that IV kit – do you know how to set that up, Harvelle? Creedy. Hold him. I need to clean these out so I can stitch him up." Bobby is working furiously on the boys' father.
The protective runes are keeping the Wendigo out, and as Bobby works on John Winchester, Harvelle checks over the other victims. They are all dead. He cuts them down and begins collecting identifications and useful items from their packs, especially anything the Hunters will be able to use as weapons. He sets Joshua to work gathering paper and anything that will work as kindling. To keep the supernatural secret from the world, Harvelle is sure they will need to salt and burn the bodies along with the monster's. which he is now more determined to kill.
"Huh! Singer. Didn't expect you." John's voice is barely above a whisper. He is grimy, but so pale that his skin almost glows under the dirt and thick scruffy beard.
"Why not?" Bobby snorts. "I ain't killed you yet, so I obviously want you alive for some reason." His words are a tad harsh, but his hands are gentle as he cleans, stitches, and bandages John's many injuries. He uses a hunting knife to slice open the leg of John's jeans before setting to work binding the broken leg better.
John tries to shrug, but Creedy is holding him down. "Can't think why that might be."
Bobby Singer shakes his head at the younger Hunter. "Don"t be an idgit, Winchester. I ain't letting you die because I promised those boys I'd get you back safe to them. So you better just nut up and live, man. They ain't losing you like they lost their ma. They deserve better."
As the Hunters finish their tasks, they come closer to Bobby and John. Harvelle brings with him the wheel from an old car tire, and he builds a fire in it. The men gather closer, the way mankind always has, letting the light and heat soothe them….keeping the monster at bay for a time.