A/N: Let's backtrack for a moment and travel back in time, shall we? This chapter takes place circ 1986.

Thank you to my beta HappyPancreas.

Chapter 6

The Butterfly Effect

Some time ago, in a state not so far away…

Angel was pissed.

It was his own damn fault; he shouldn't have been playing with his food, a habit which was a carryover from Angelus, his soulless alter ego. Hadn't he learned his lesson yet? Once his soul had been cursed back into him, he lost his inclination for torture and hunting of the human variety. These days, Angel left the humans alone and saved his hunting for whatever wildlife he could find.

The small part of Angelus that remained enjoyed this.

The evening was cold and damp with a thin layer of frost lay upon the ground like a blanket. The autumn weather in the Rockies was deceptive as the temperature that day had been a pleasant seventy-four degrees, according to local weather report Angel heard on the car radio on his drive out to the range; the night, however, had temperatures in the low thirty's and Angel supposed the residents of the nearby town had seen its last mild-temperature day.

Winter was arriving early.

As a vampire, Angel was immune to the cold.

He had spent the better part of the evening stalking a particularly cunning and cautious mountain lion. As the superior predator, he could have ended the hunt as soon as he picked up the cougar's trail, but preferred instead to prolong the hunt; he enjoyed his forays into the Rocky Mountains and liked for it to last as long as possible.

Cougar wasn't tasty, but it filled him up enough to keep the edge off for at least a week while he survived on pig's blood from the butcher. If fresh animal blood was not desirable, then day-old blood was even less so; nothing, however, could compare to the real deal – human blood, which Angel hadn't touched in close to a two decades.

Which brought his thoughts back to his prey – his noticeably absent prey thanks to the two Wendigo that were at this moment trekking east.

On any other day, the wildcat would have good reason to be spooked enough to take flight. Normally, the cannibalistic Wendigo were fast and surefooted, unmatched in their viciousness. Tonight, however, the their footsteps stumbled and crashed through the mountain forest and a chilly wind had carried the fetid stench of the creatures to Angel.

A stench that almost but not quite masked the other, not so unpleasant aroma.

Blood

Angel tilted his head and inhaled the faint traces of the coppery fragrance of life, an indication that the Wendigo were injured. He smiled and thought that perhaps the night wasn't a waste after all. Their foul flavor rated slightly below the blood of rats, if not more rancid but the blood smelled deceptively delicious and sang a siren's song that appealed to the demon inside him.

His inner demon snarled and the fangs broke through his gums.

He knew the blood would taste unpleasant yet it didn't stop his craving, but it would be enough to get him through the day until nightfall. Besides, the bastards needed to pay for ruining his dinner.

Tomorrow, Angel vowed, he would get the cougar. Compared to Wendigo, the feline would taste like fine champagne.

Decision made, Angel turned east to track his new target.

It took him only minutes to intersect with the Wendigo. As he got closer, Angel realized that his senses had been mistaken. Yes, there were two creatures and yes, they were both injured but they were not alone. Each of the foul, unkempt creatures also carried a burden.

Food.

Wendigo were insatiable killers and normally fed from wildlife, stranded campers and hikers.

Seeing firsthand how injured the carnivorous creatures were, Angel realized that tonight, a victim had fought back. One Wendigo carried a large burden, an unconscious man; the other carried a much smaller burden, a young child approximately four or five years old, also unconscious.

The Wendigo trudged east, occasionally veering sideways and bumping carelessly into the trees-apparently the man made quite an impact on the Wendigo before being knocked unconscious. The reason, Angel decided, was the child. The man had been protecting the child.

Over the last few decades, Angel had avoided people as much as possible. Yet, although humans were not to be trusted, a lesson that he had learned more than once, his conscience (his soul) would not allow him to abandon the humans and leave them to die.

Once in a while an opportunity arose that allowed Angel to compensate for his tumultuous past and he could choose to do the right thing. Sometimes, he was successful, other times it came back to bite him on the ass.

Angel hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

He followed the Wendigo to a cavern in the foothills of the mountain just a few miles away. The cave was old and shallow but Angel could tell that the Wendigo had only just taken up residence. One glance at the sky and he knew he had to move quickly, dawn would arrive soon and he needed to distract the creatures.

The crack of the branch under his foot echoed like a gunshot in the cold still night and provided a suitable diversion. Inside the cave, the creatures tensed and paused.

The largest, and least injured of the two, emerged from the mouth of the cave. There was a snarl followed by the snap of a neck being broken, then the night was still and calm. The remaining Wendigo, smelling blood, went outside.

Snap. Crackle. Pop.

Moments later, Angel entered the cave. Glancing around the pitch-black interior, his eyes had no problem seeing the cave clearly. The Wendigo had carried their dinner into the cave and dumped them unceremoniously on the hard, cold ground. There were a few skeletons laying around, picked clean by the greedy cannibals, but the cave still retained its earthy smell along with the smell of fresh, mouth-watering human blood.

Immediately, he decided that he couldn't leave the man and the boy. The cave might offer shelter from rain, but would not offer any protection from the cold and they would be dead in a few hours if he left them. If, however, Angel stayed, the cave would offer little protection from the sunlight and he would be burned to ash by noon.

He knew he needed to move the man and the boy; his only dilemma lay in how he would move both of them at once.

A rustling sound drew his attention back to the cave floor. The boy, having regained consciousness, appeared to be unharmed and blinked warily as he sat up.

Angel watched as the boy looked around, but it was too dark for the child to make out anything in the dark cave. His young eyes widened briefly in panic and his little hands clenched into fists but just when Angel thought the boy would become hysterical, he seemed to pull himself together. The child took a few deep breaths and felt the cave floor blindly until his hand bumped into the soft flannel of his unconscious companion's shirt. He grasped the shirt and pulled himself closer to the man's prone body. The little hands patted the man's arm and the boy whispered.

"Daddy?"

"He is hurt." Angel tried to speak quietly, unwilling to alarm the boy but still the child flinched and gave a startled gasp.

"We need to move, but I have to carry your dad. He is sleeping." Angel continued.

Angel knew the boy must be terrified, the child's eyes were wide and darted in all directions, the little heart hammered as if it would explode from his chest but his voice was clear, belied only by the faintest tremor.

"He will be okay? My Daddy will be okay." The first was a question, but the second was a confident statement. The boy believed it.

Angel tilted his head. The man's heartbeat wasn't as strong as before and his breathing sounded raspy, an indication that he was in danger of exposure.

"If we can move him to some better shelter, he will be okay, but we need to move fast. How are you feeling?"

"My daddy says I am very fast. I am okay, I am not scared." The boy whispered the last part as if to re-assure himself.

Angel regarded the boy. He was wearing a light jacket that offered some minimal protection from the cold, and more importantly, the dampness. If he didn't move the man and the boy soon, they would both be in danger.

"Okay kid. I am going to carry your dad and we are going to a cabin I saw earlier, it will give you both better shelter and we can build a fire to get you and your dad warmed up. Do you think you can walk three miles?"

The boy nodded. Angel remained skeptical, but he had to try. He reached down to pick up the man but drew his hand back immediately. The man was wearing a damp flannel shirt and no jacket. They had to hurry.

Angel picked up the man and hefted him over his shoulder. He started to walk out of the cave and felt the kid grab his hand tentatively. Angel looked down at the small boy whose face was turned toward the entrance of the cave, his face set with fierce determination.

"I'm ready" the boy said.

Together, they left the cave.

"Do stars really twinkle, Mister? 'Cause I see them stars up there and they don't look like they are twinkling at all. Why do people say that stars twinkle?"

It was the latest in a long line of "why" questions that the boy had asked since he and Angel had left the cave. At first the boy had been silent, but the silence had lasted only a few minutes. Then the boy had asked his first question.

Why is it so warm during the day and so cold at night?

Why did the sun go down?

Why did the moon change shapes?

Why did the trees look friendly during the day but spooky at night? ("not that I am scared, y'know." kid had hastily assured him.)

When it came to kids, Angel's experience was limited and guilt-ridden, reminded him of the many children he had orphaned when he had been Angelus and, as a result, he had kept his distance.

With this kid, however, Angel didn't have time to feel guilt.

He had to keep coming up with answers to all of the questions the boy asked and his answers must have satisfied the kid, because each time he answered the question the kid would think for a moment and then give a nod of agreement. Then he would ask another question.

They had arrived at the cabin just as the first rays of light were appearing in the sky. Angel deposited the man on to the floor of the cabin and directed the boy to stay put so he could gather some firewood. Cognizant of the approaching dawn, Angel returned outside to collect dead branches from the floor of the forest. Unfortunately, most were damp.

The people in the cabin needed the warmth provided by a fire, but if he couldn't find any dry wood, it would be a smoky one. Luckily, he discovered a woodpile around the back of the cabin and was able to pull dry wood from the bottom.

It took four trips with his arms full of wood and he would have made more, but he cut it close as it was. Each time he returned to the cabin, he was asked more questions.

Why did day take so long to start?

Wouldn't it be nice if there was a light switch for daytime?

If paper came from trees why did the wood take so long to catch fire?

This last question was asked as Angel had tried (unsuccessfully) to start a fire. After a few attempts, the flame finally caught and the wood began to burn.

Next, Angel turned his attention to the man on the floor. Glancing around the cabin, he spied an inner door that was hanging off one of it hinges. Angel pulled the door off and laid it out on the floor in front of the fire then carried the man over and put him on the make shift bed. He replaced the man's damp shirt with his own and hung it to dry.

At this point the boy was silent, his expression somber, as he tracked Angel's movements while he cared for the man.

Enough time had passed that the sun had risen in the sky and morning light was beginning to stream in through the windows. The cabin only had three windows and if Angel moved carefully, he would be able to avoid their burning rays.

The blood seeping from the wound on the man's leg was a different matter. He needed to look at the wound and see if it was in danger of infection, a task he had been dreading since he carried the man out of the cave.

Desperate, Angel searched for a distraction.

"Hey Kid - what other questions do you want to ask me?"

"In the song Yankee Doodle, is he calling the horse or the feather "macaroni"?"

As he answered the (never-ending) series of questions, Angel searched for something to clean the wound. He was about to give up when he spied the man's flannel shirt hanging near the fire. Quickly, he tore a thick strip from the bottom and turned his attention to the man's leg. Blood had seeped through the denim material.

Angel closed his eyes. Mistake. It was definitely a mistake. His inner demon fought to break free. It would be so easy to give in...

A growl rumbled in his throat. Guiltily, Angel looked at the kid, but he seemed unaware as he stood by the window looking outside.

As if from a distance, he could hear the kid asking another question.

"When does it stop being partly cloudy and start being partly sunny?"

Fangs broke through his gums and Angel's face changed. Then man on the floor opened his eyes.

The eyes, an exact match to the hazel eyes of the kid, were unfocused and glazed with pain. The man groaned and then grimaced.

"Sammy?" he whispered, hoarsely.

"He's fine. Lay still. Your leg is badly gouged and I am trying to clean it." Angel heard the tension in his voice and the man must have heard it too. Eyes glazed with pain, he searched Angel's face.

"Who are you? Sammy?" The first question was a whisper; the second question was a call for the boy.

The boy, Sammy, turned his head and raced over to his father.

"Daddy! You are okay." Sammy reassured his father, his little hand patted the older man's hand. "Mister brought us here."

The man grabbed Sammy's hand and the boy smiled at him. "You're okay? You are not hurt are you, son?"

Sammy shook his head.

"I woke up in a dark cave and you were hurt Daddy. Mister carried you here."

"Cave?" The man furrowed his brows as he tried to remember. A moment later, his eyes flew to Angel's in a panic. "Wendigo! They can track us..."

Angel shook his head and looked at Sammy as a silent warning to the boy's father.

"Sammy, can you go get some more wood for the fire. I put a stack just outside the door."

Glad to help, Sam nodded. As soon as he was far enough away, Angel leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"The Wendigo are dead. I think your boy slept through the whole thing. They tore up your leg a little though."

John shook his head. "No, you're are wrong. Wendigo don't die easily and they will track us." He fought a wave of pain and closed his eyes. "My son! We have to go."

"They are dead."

Again John shook his head. "They are strong..." He began.

"I'm stronger." Angel said grimly. The man opened his eyes in response to the tone in Angel's voice.

"What are you?" he asked, his voice faint.

"You don't want to know, but you and the kid are safe. I promise."

He passed out and Angel wasn't sure if the man heard his reassurance.

He could control his hunger.

He focused instead on quickly bandaging the man's wounds and distracting the kid or, perhaps more accurately, distracting himself by distracting the kid.

To his surprise, Angel liked the kid more with each passing second.

The man went in and out of consciousness. He seemed to sense something about Angel, but couldn't put his finger on what was bothering him.

Angel questioned the boy and discovered that they had gone camping together to celebrate Sammy's birthday. He discovered that Sammy had an older brother, but he was staying with an "Uncle Bobby" while Sammy and his father camped. Angel heard the guild in the kid's voice when he spoke about his brother. He was torn: obviously he longed for his brother, but was happy to have his father all to himself.

He questioned the kid about his father's background, but the kid didn't seem to know much. He told Angel that his father was a salesman who sold "stuff".

Given the man's knowledge about Wendigo's and how hard they were to kill, Angel had his own suspicions about the man's line of work. Angel needed to tread carefully. If he was a Hunter and the man suspected Angel's true nature, he would kill him first and not think twice.

The thought struck Angel that a hundred years ago, he would have done the same thing.

"Hypocrite!" He said out loud, mocking himself.

Sammy heard him. "What's a hypocrite?" He asked.

Angel explained the definition to the boy. The boy thought hard for a moment and looked at Angel.

"Mister, sometimes I say something ugly to my brother, but I feel good inside. Does that make me a hypocrite too?"

Angel chuckled.

The man opened his eyes again.

"Water." he said hoarsely.

Angel got up and walked over to the sink, careful to avoid the rays of sunlight that streamed through the windows, aware of the older man's eyes that followed him as he moved through the room and returned with water. He helped him sit up and held the glass to the man's lips and, after a few small sips, helped him lay back down.

"Sammy?"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Do you still have the present your Uncle Bobby gave you?"

Sammy nodded.

The man closed his eyes for a moment then opened them.

"Can you show it to me?" he asked.

Sammy nodded. He came forward and knelt beside his father. He pulled a chain out from under his shirt. Angel saw that there were three items on the chain. One of them was a silver cross.

The man looked over at Angel meaningfully. Angel nodded approvingly at the Hunter to let him know he received the message loud and clear. He leaned forward.

"Your son is safe. As soon as it's dark, I will go to the Ranger station and get help. Just a few more hours and you will be on your way."

Angel saw expressions of hope and disbelief cross the man's face before unconsciousness claimed him again.

Sammy looked at him.

"Mister," He began... Angel smiled.

Five hours later, Angel showed the ranger to the cabin. Angel had been reluctant to leave the boy alone in the cabin, but he couldn't take him with him. Instead, he ran as fast as he could. The Ranger was a man of experience with a well stocked station and, within minutes, they were loaded with supplies and on their way back to the cabin.

They had brought a stretcher for the man. As they carefully moved the man onto the stretcher, the kid threw him a thoughtful look. When his father was secured, he held out his small hand and Angel shook it.

"Thank you for taking care of my daddy, Mister." he said solemnly.

"Thank you for letting me take care of your daddy." Angel replied, a smile on his face.

He went over to the man who was conscious again. The man reached out a hand and Angel shook it. With surprising strength, he pulled Angel close.

"Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"A curse." Angel said honestly. "My name's Angel, I live in the town. Next time you come my way, look me up. I will buy you a drink and tell you about it."

"John Winchester. And I might just take you up on that one day."

Over the last twelve years, they crossed paths occasionally. While their relationship could never be classified as friendship, they did help each other out when the need arose. A few nights before, John had called him and asked him to keep an eye on his youngest son, Sam.

At the time, he did not hesitate to assure John he would watch over his son. However, as he watched Sam and Buffy grow closer together, he often thought back to that first meeting on the mountain. Inside, the snide voice that belonged to Angelus whispered one refrain. You fool, you should have left him to die.

A/N: Feedback?