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Faltered: Chapter 5
John had certainly been surprised, the boy was a natural. Not only could he shoot a gun but he could take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. Dean had taken to other training as well, tracking and hunting, surviving in the wild, care of weapons, standing guard. John had found his own little silent soldier, to mold.
He had stuck to practical training at first and not the supernatural.
John was not quite sure how to burden the young man with that knowledge that the fearful young boy really did have something to fear.
John hated to put that upon Dean after he'd finally made a connection with the boy and seen him come out of himself. The boy still had episodes where he wouldn't look at John.
He still hadn't spoken. John was coming to believe maybe the boy had lost the capacity in the fire. But most days his son was alert and ready to work.
It was after a particularly gruesome hunt that a whiskey soaked John came home convinced that he could not keep his son in the dark any longer….
"Dean sit." John ordered like a sergeant. The barefooted ten year old in his night close did so without hesitation, his eyes remaining neutral.
"I have something very important I need to talk with you about." John's voice was low and quiet. Sammy was already asleep in the next room and John didn't want to wake him. Sam was too young; to unscarred to hear what he was going to say.
Dean sat in straight in the chair like he'd been taught and waited very seriously.
Dean had taken his role very seriously over the past two years; his father trusted him and he was in charge of the family whenever his pop went away.
He had been training very hard.
He knew lots of ways now to protect Sammy and he always carried on him the small pen knife his father had given him. He kept it clean and sharp just as he'd been taught.
When his pop said something was important Dean paid attention.
"Son I've been training you for two years now, you've done better than I ever would have imagined." John's tone was a little sad.
Dean self consciously moved his hand to rest over his bad knee, he had always been ashamed of it.
John continued. "There are thing out there though that you are not yet prepared for."
Dean knew that his Poppa went off and fought bad things when he left town. Dean imagined that he must be fighting horse thieves and Indians like the Marshalls he'd heard about.
Jim often said when Sammy asked where Pop would go that John was off saving people.
Dean wanted to save people like his father, he knew he needed to learn all he could from the man so he would be prepared. He wanted to save people like his mother.
Dean looked up at his father waiting for what he was to learn next.
John's face grew cold and stoic. Dean was starting to grow uneasy. He tried to keep his focus.
"Son, there is evil in the world and I'm not talking about the bad men with their faces on the wanted posters hanging in town. I'm talking about the evil that Pastor Jim preaches about in the church. Devils, Dean they're here I've seen them, fought them. Demons that takeover good people, monsters that attack Innocent victims, spirits that take their vengeance out on anyone who's in the wrong place at the wrong time, and more. "
Dean started unconsciously shaking his head and gripping the chair. He didn't know why his pop was saying these things. He didn't want to hear them.
"You've seen the evil. The Devil was what took your mama Dean. I know you've heard the town's folk say it must have been a candle or a lantern that broke. It wasn't. A demon took her from us son. I didn't want to tell you this but someone has got to protect Sammy when I'm not here and it's going to have to be you."
John still saw the image when he closed his eyes of the two young children cut open and eaten by a monster, he'd been too late to save them. In his nightmares those children were Sam and Dean.
Dean's face had gone pale and John could see him trembling.
"It's alright son, I was scared too but demons, monsters, and ghosts they have their weaknesses and I'll teach you, we'll start in the morning." John finished and sank down at the kitchen table placing his book in front of him.
Dean sat for a long while back pressed against the back of the chair. His eyes searched the large room of their modest house, every shadow thrown by the fire light because a new torture in his mind; every dark corner a looming terror.
He wasn't safe. His father had often made that point before; the world was a dangerous place.
After the fire Dean had feared everything. The world had seemed large and strange.
When his father started his training he had started to feel a bit safer. He could protect himself and Sam. Now that there were Monster's in the world to fear.
Dean didn't know what to do.
Dean was no longer seeing the room or the shadows he had retreated back into his head, hashing and rehashing the worlds that his father had spoken. Then a voice cut through the panic.
Dean's eyes flew across the room to search each shadow and dark spot until they focused on the source of the voice.
"Go to bed son." John said tiredly. Dean obeyed without thought, thankful for the direction.
John watched the small boy's faltering walk and felt the need for a very strong drink.
There were orders in their house not to have a candle or a lantern burning when you went to bed. Most nights this was not a problem; often the moon was big enough that no light was necessary.
Tonight it was black as pitch. It was all Dean could do to crawl into the bed he shared with his brother. Then he couldn't see his hand in front of his face.
He felt that the darkness was trying to swallow him and he was terrified. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and laid still, eyes wide.
He trembled a bit and wished he had a match so he wouldn't be in the dark. Then he heard Sammy's soft breathing next to him.
Panic gripped him if he couldn't see it, if he couldn't fight it, he couldn't protect Sam.
He lay awake gripping the blanket around him, focused on Sam's easy breathing. Eventually sleep fell upon him with a heavy hand and Dean didn't move or stir until just before dawn when a cold hand took hold of his shoulder and shook him.
Dean was jarred from his uneasy sleep and lashed out at what he perceived to be an attacker.
John easily blocked the small fist that flew at him.
"Good reflexes boy, but watch who you're swing at. Now get up there's work to be done." John said gruffly and left the room.
Dean blinked to try and clear his bleary eyes. The sun was just starting to come thru the curtains and Dean was thankful for even the dim light.
Dean grabbed the trousers he'd left on the floor the night before and pull them on and tucked his long under shirt in. The pants were a bit big so John had fashioned a belt for the boy out of an old gun sling, John didn't believe in suspenders they didn't let you bend and move like a hunter needed.
Dean bent way over and put his boots on. Propping his feet against the bed's foot board in turn to better reach the laces as he tied them since his bad knee didn't allow him to crouch down very well.
He'd grown out of his good shirt. It had been handed down to Sammy. He had not yet gotten a new one so for now he put his vest on over his undershirt and pulled on jacket.
After making sure Sammy was still sound asleep he left the room. He went outside to the well and drew a bucket up. He washed his face and hands and rinsed out his month.
He hadn't seen his pop since he'd woke up but he knew where he would be.
Dean pulled hard on the heavy door. Inside he found his father pumping the large bellows that was connected to the coal fire in the Blacksmith shop.
"Close the door, the wind's not helping" Dean quickly did as his father said.
"Go sit over there." John nodded to a stool at the work bench. Dean did as he was told. Once there he noticed that there were a number of things laid out on the work bench. It looked like water, salt, a railroad spike, a wooden cross, a shiny knife, a piece of chalk and an old book.
Dean curiously lifted the cover of the book. The words inside didn't look like anything he's seen before, the letters looked strange and backwards.
"That's Latin." John said from behind Dean causing the boy to jump.
"It's a powerful tool against Demons. Usually spoken for exorcisms…"John stopped short. "Of course that might be hard if you're mute."
He lifted an eyebrow at the boy. He still kept hope that one day Dean would wake up and talk.
The boy didn't so John moved on "maybe I'll have Sam learn Latin. Pastor Jim will probably be able to teach him to speak it; of course you will need to study it also. You'll need to be able to read it."
Dean couldn't imagine being able to read the strange words in the book but he nodded anyway.
"That's holy water in the bottle, salt is good for repelling spirits, Irons good for spirits too, the knife is silver that's good for killing lots of monsters…"
Dean touched the blade and wondered how many monsters it had killed. He wondered if he saw a monster would he be able to kill it or would he be too scared. If it was a matter of protecting his brother he had a feeling he could do It.
TCB….