When the Cradle Falls
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Here Lies My Childhood
Wall, South Dakota
Ann's Motel
The shiny, cylindrical object innocently rolled over the edge of the table. The object's precarious freefall was stopped by a hand catching it, several inches from the ground.
"Noah, be careful," Dean reminded as he sat down, placing the bullet on his palm back onto the table, making sure it was standing face up so it wouldn't nosedive again.
"Sorry," the young boy said. His face was obscured by his mop of black hair, as he carefully and quite skillfully slipped rounds of bullets into a sawed off. Once the chamber was full, his small hands quickly shut it, making sure the safety was off.
Careful to point the gun away from himself and his father, Noah laid the weapon back on the table, straightening out the rest of bullets, insuring there would be no more renegades.
"Okay, all done," Noah announced, not even bothering to hide the pride and excitement.
Scraping a hand over his face, Dean covered his mouth for a moment, feeling the hollow feeling in his gut chasming. Not only were his insides being swallowed up, his eardrums had been pounding along with his heart for several days now.
Forcing a smile, Dean stood up and reached across, messing up his son's hair. "Good job bud. I'm gonna step out for a minute and call Mom. Alright?"
"Make sure she and Cara haven't killed each other yet!" Dean heard as the door slammed behind him.
Making a beeline for the Impala, Dean ignored the bustling scene around him. Their motel was across from the famous-at least South Dakota famous-Wall Drug. Signs could be seen for it for a hundred miles. It was something Bobby often talked about with a certain level of fondness. He had even taken Dean and Sam there several times when they were young.
But the novelty Western strip mall was drenched in a hue of creeping terror.
Gripping the steering wheel, Dean could no longer banish the memories bombarding him. Seeing Noah sitting there, just a child, so eagerly and loving loading his weapon, in preparation of his first hunt, stopped Dean cold.
For only a few decades before, Dean remembered being that same age, loading his own sawed off. His first hunt had been chasing a ghoul. The details were a little hazy now, but what was razor sharp was how excited he had been. Dean had been training for a few years at that point. And although he was excited to go on the hunt, we was more excited to get to spend some quality time with his father. Sammy had been relegated to Uncle Bobby's so it was just father and son.
Wrenching his hands away from the steering wheel, Dean wiped at his perspiring forehead, trying to think of anything else but the harsh reality of his first hunt.
"God, what the fuck are you thinking?" Dean harshly whispered to himself. He was such an idiot. He was a stupid, careless, selfish man, and an even worse father. How could he be so frivolous with his child's life? Especially knowing what he did and remembering what had happened his first hunt.
As more and more time passed since Cara and Noah's possession and John's death, Dean gained more clarity. He was still a self-loathing pit of anger and pain, but he got more perspective. Looking back on the past few months, he barely wanted to take Alice on a hunt. And then-with little regard to her safety-Dean took Cara with him, in a moment of weakness, on a hunt that had almost gotten her shot-by her own father-and then decapitated for a clown with a taste for human flesh.
Having to stop and laugh at himself, Dean recognized his own hubris. He couldn't keep his family safe. He had never been able to and he never would be.
But God, he had to be insane for taking his ten year old on a hunt, knowingly, and well-planned ahead. But evidently well-thought out.
Not only was he insane, but so was Alice, who greenlighted the little father-son getaway.
God it was a crazy, fucked up world his children had to survive in.
Immediately straightening at the door opening, Noah quickly arranged the mess of research to make it look a little more organized. He was trying his best to contain his eagerness. He had to stay focused and cool for this hunt, or he knew this may be the last one for a while if he couldn't stay on task.
"How are they?" Noah asked, trying to keep a smile off his face. It ended up looking like a smirk.
"Huh?"
"Mom and Cara."
"Yeah. They're hanging in there."
"Have you heard from Uncle Sam?"
Dean sighed, a whole other set of worry washing over him. Sam was at Bobby's, having a little R&R. The past few hunts they had gone on had shed some more horrifying light on Sammy's condition. After Dean had been taken by the slutty demonic bitch Talla, he had learned that Sam's visions were tied to Yellow Eyes. And during the past few months, they had met other people with similar conditions and circumstances to Sammy.
It meant that he wasn't the only one, and it also meant the situation was a lot bigger than the Winchester family.
Dean didn't even want to get started on how Noah was tied to all of that.
"Yeah he's at Uncle Bobby's."
"Good. He needed a break."
"And how about you? Have you heard anything else or…"
Noah shook his head, suddenly solemn. Ever since Dean was kidnapped and found, Noah hadn't heard anything else, thank God.
"Okay good. Look Noah...there's something we need to talk about."
Noah shifted, and sobered when Dean took a seat.
"What's wrong?"
Dean sighed, glancing out the window.
"Dad?"
"I can't take you on this hunt."
"I-what?"
"I'm sorry Noah. I know we drove all the way out here and-"
"Wait, you're serious?"
Dean took a deep breath. "Yes, Noah."
"Why? Is it because of my leg?" To make a point, Noah stood up and began to pace the length of the room vigorously. "Because it's fine. The cast has been off for over a month and I'm fine. There's no pain. And look if it's me hearing things, I swear I haven't been. It only happens when someone is in trouble. And we'll be careful we won't get into trouble."
"It's not that, Noah. You're just not ready to-"
"Not ready? You said-you and Mom both said I was ready! I've been training like crazy since my cast came off. I can shoot a gun and throw a knife even better than Cara! And I can research too!" Over the table, Noah fanned out the papers. He pointed to his handwritten notes, highlighted articles, and drawn on maps. "I'm the one who found this hunt. And I'm the one who figured out it was a black dog and tracked it to here!" Noah's finger slammed down onto the map, the circled area smack in the middle of the Badlands.
"I know Noah but it's different when you're actually—"
Noah scoffed. "Different. Yeah I wouldn't know what that's like."
Up until that point, Dean had a certain level of patience with his son, but he'd had enough Noah's insubordination. "If you cut me off one more time you're gonna be in trouble," Dean snapped.
Hearing the shift in Dean's tone, Noah glanced down. "Sorry." Although his voice didn't sound at all apologetic.
The words hung in silence, as neither seemed to know what to say.
Looking back down at his notes, Noah solemnly began to reshuffle the pages back into a specific order. Once they were in a stack, he slid them back into their red plastic folder.
Moving onto his bag once, Noah picked up several articles of clothing and stuck them back into his duffle.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked tiredly, wishing he had a drink.
"Well, we're going home now, aren't we?" Noah asked. Now that they weren't going on the hunt, there was no reason for them to be there anymore.
"We can still stay," Dean offered.
"No, that's okay," Noah responded, back turned to his father.
Dean stood. "I'm gonna go get some food. Do you want to come with?"
Noah glanced back at his father. "No I'm good. I promise I won't go anywhere though."
"I'll be back in five minutes," Dean said, a bit set off by the fact Noah had mentioned sneaking out. Wasn't he a little young to even be considering that yet? Dean hadn't thought he'd have to worry about it until they were a little older. "Don't leave."
"I won't. I promise."
"I'm making a salt line on the outside of the door. If it's broken…"
Noah just nodded, not wanting to cut off his father again.
"Right," Dean said. "I'll be back then."
When Dean returned with two burgers, two fries, and a chocolate shake, he stopped at the door, relieved to see the salt line was intact.
But what he wasn't expecting was to see all of the research, weapons, and Noah's things laid out. He also thought Noah was going to be sulking, maybe watching TV passive aggressively, But instead, Noah sat behind the table, facing the door, his hands folded expectantly.
"What's up?" Dean asked, placing the food on the table. He was prepared for a round two, with his anger back in check.
"It's not fair."
"Here we go," Dean muttered. He pulled the cheeseburgers and fries out of the bag. He slid the milkshake towards Noah, hoping to appease him a bit. The young boy eyed it, but didn't take the offering.
"I'm just saying it's not fair that Cara got to go on a hunt and I didn't. And the only reason I didn't go the first time was because I was in a cast. That was the only thing stopping you from taking me, because you're all healed up too. So what's different now?" It was true—Dean's injuries after his run in with Talla had seemed worse than they actually were, and he healing curve was much quicker than anyone would've expected.
But still, the question caught Dean off guard.
Of course, the father knew why. He was thinking straighter, and the whole Yellow Eyes business was really freaking him out. And there were the memories of his first hunt.
But Dean didn't know what to tell his son.
He couldn't tell him the truth.
"It's just...different now because we've planned this out. We knew it was coming. The last time with Cara, things hadn't settled down yet."
Noah frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."
"It's because there was so much going on that we were distracted by a lot of things."
Noah was at a loss for words, trying to make sense of the things his father was saying. If anything, the things Dean was saying were only proving Noah's point.
"Yeah but we'll be more careful this time. I'm prepared; I'm ready."
Dean sighed. He glanced down at their untouched food and then back at his son. Even after being told no, Noah had a shininess in his eyes, indicating his eagerness for this hunt. Dean wondered if John had thought the same thing, about to take his son-just a child-on a hunt, one that would permanently change him forever.
"Noah, it's one thing to prepare, but doing it is completely different."
Shaking his head, Noah absentmindedly lifted up the bun of the burger in front of him, as if he was looking to see the ingredients.
"But why didn't you tell me before we left. Or before we're driving? Why would you tell me the day before?"
"Guess it just took me awhile to get to my senses."
"But I still wanna go. Look, I know I'm still a kid but I'm not. Not anymore. Not since Murmur."
Dean immediately stiffened at the mention of that monster. That monster that had possessed his son.
"Don't say that," Dean muttered reflexively.
"Sorry, I'm a kid, but I'm not innocent," Noah declared. "I mean I've already lost my innocence. I've already killed someone."
"You never killed anyone," Dean responded immediately, the parental instinct kicking in.
"But I was there for it. I was awake."
Dean felt the vague sensation of throwing up. "It wasn't you."
"It might as well have been."
"But it wasn't."
Noah sat up. "But have you ever been possessed?"
"No…" Dean admitted hesitantly.
"Do you know what it feels like? Because I do." Noah intoned. He had shoved his burger, fries, and shake further away.
"I'm sorry." Dean didn't know how many times he said sorry and he doubted it would ever be enough.
Noah seemed to be ignoring him, too focused on his own words to even hear the apology. "I can do this hunt. I know I can. I've killed before. I can do it again."
"Noah Leonardo."
Freezing at the tone, the young boy tensed, knowing that he was in trouble. Apparently he had pushed his father too far.
"Yes?" He asked in a small voice.
"That that is exactly why this hunt is a bad idea." Dean was up on his feet, once again pacing the length of the quaint motel room. Noah passively watched, head not moving, only eyeballs tracking his father.
"First of all, you weren't the one to kill Aunt Jan. It was that bastard possessing you. Okay? I really need you to understand that. You're not a killer, Noah. I need you to understand that," Dean said, his voice shifting from angry to pleading.
"You've got to understand that the reason we hunt is so we can save people. Hunting isn't some video game where you get a higher score after you kill something or shoot someone. Hunting is real life. You've seen and firsthand how messy it can get, how out of control things can get so fast. It's not something to take lightly. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Dad."
"Good. And I know what you've been through, but intentionally tracking down a monster with the intention to kill it is different. In this area, I know what I'm talking about, and you don't."
Instead of retorting, Noah wisely reached forward and took a sip from his milkshake. He looked up at Dean with baleful eyes. It reminded Dean of the puppy dog eyes Sam had perfected to a T. It immediately made him soften up a bit.
Sitting back down, Dean carefully pulled the milkshake away from Noah. "Noah, I remember my first hunt. It was a ghoul. Just a stupid, single ghoul. And I was around your age. And like you, I was excited. It was the moment I had been training for my entire life.
"But, it got messy and complicated. Someone who was just a victim ended up getting killed by the thing.
"The point is...a hunt never goes the way you think it will. Something unexpected always happens, and that never leaves you. I don't know...maybe this is all over your head but, you just have to always have your guard up."
"I understand. But...nothing is gonna happen to us. You don't wanna lose me and I don't wanna lose you, so we'll both be careful." Tentatively, Noah reclaimed his milkshake, sipping, as if nothing was amiss, and they were always going on the hunt.
While Noah continued to eat his meal, Dean stared at his son. Noah's words had a double meaning to him. It was more than just Noah not wanting to lose his father. There was weight behind it. After all, Noah had heard his own father beg for death from a demon. Perhaps Dean had never really considered what that had done to Noah, because it seemed like the young boy was back to normal after that, eager to forget the deep wounds that had left deep scars.
"Do you want my pickle?"
"Huh?" Dean looked up to Noah holding up a few slices of pickle that were on his burger.
"Sure. Thanks, buddy."
"Do you want to watch the Coyotes when they play the Bears? It's so funny they're playing now," Noah laughed. He plopped down on the severe cough; the remote was still in one hand.
"Coyotes? That the South Dakota team?"
"It's actually Arizona's. But it's just funny someone is playing the Bears when we're here."
Dean nodded along. At least for the duration of his awareness of his children's lives, he knew the Bears were the football team for Chicago. The Blackhawks were the hockey team. The Bulls were the basketball team. And if Dean tried to ask between the White Sox and the Cubs, between Alice and Cara-very passively-it was always the Sox. But Jan and Noah both swore they would win the World Series one day.
So who really knew?
"Yeah...it's really something."
The slight smile slid off of Noah's face, as he watched his father.
"I guess we don't have to go if you really don't want to."
Dean promptly took a huge bite of his burger. As he chewed furiously, he used the back of his hand to wipe the grease away. Good thing Alice or Sam wasn't here. They would've given him a disgusted look and told him to take smaller bites and use a napkin.
As if we here subconsciously mirroring Dean's actions, Noah repeated the movement, taking a huge bite of burger, swallowing it loudly.
Noticing how carefully Noah watched and copied his father caused to Dean to feel even worse. As a kid, Dean had idolized John. It wasn't until he himself was a father that he truly realized who John was. It was a complicated relationship that Dean had with his father. It was a man who let him down again and again, but in the end, saved his life.
And Dean didn't want Noah to look up to him like he was some kind of hero.
"You're a good kid, you know that?"
Noah frowned and shrugged, wordlessly.
"You're a better man than I'll ever be."
There was another wave of silence in the room. Dean was surprised the words had even come out of his mouth. It was an obvious sentiment, but he couldn't believe he had said that. Especially since the death of his father and his children's possession, he hadn't been able to express how he was really feeling. His inability to let people know what he thought had caused a serious breakdown with both Alice and Sam. It seemed his first instinct with them was to lie. But with his children, it seemed to be so natural for him to be honest—at least about certain things—with them. They really brought out his soft side.
"Dad, what…" The frown on the young boy's face became troubled. "What are you talking about?"
"Look...we'll do the hunt. Okay? I think you can handle it."
With a strange mixture of confusion, concern, and relief, Noah continued to frown, not exactly knowing how he should react or what he should feel. His father's abrupt changes of heart really left him in a state of confusion.
"Oh...okay? So we're still going on the hunt tomorrow?"
It felt like Dean was betraying every fiber of his being as he set the burger down and made eye contact with his son.
There was a beat of silence before Dean composed himself. "Yes. We're going on the hunt. I'm sorry for confusing you. I know you're ready. I know you can handle it. Okay? We'll leave tomorrow morning."
"Sure, Dad." Noah looked down and finished the rest of his meal.
Once it was done he stood. "Are you going to watch the rest of the game?"
"No," Dean responded, immediately.
Reaching for the remote, Noah nodded. Pointing it at the TV, the game disappeared and silence filled the room. "Well, I guess I'm gonna go so bed to I can get up early tomorrow."
Without preamble, Noah pulled the covers off the bed nearest to the bathroom. Climbing into the bed, he unruffled the pillows, arranging them in a pattern that was comfortable. He laid on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
Sighing, Dean looked at their abandoned meals. It was so rare that he didn't finish food. But now, he didn't feel very hungry.
Dropping the remnants of what he thought could possibly their last supper into the garbage can, Dean sighed and flicked off the main light in the room. He grabbed a pile of sleep clothes from his duffle and went to the bathroom to change.
When he emerged, dirty jeans and shirt balled in his hands, Dean stood in the doorway of the bathroom, the light spilling across the otherwise dark motel room. Noah had changed positions and now had his face buried in a sea of pillows. With a slight smile, Dean couldn't help but chuckle. He never knew how the kid could sleep like that, let alone breathe.
Flicking off the light, Dean checked to make sure the salt lines were intact, door locked. Once he was done, he migrated back over to Noah's bed. Bending down, Noah kissed his son's dark and messy hair.
There was no response or movement from the boy, and Dean knew he was passed out for the night. The father always had to stop and marvel with how quickly Noah was able to fall asleep. Even if there was something troubling him, none of his problems ran deep enough that they stole his time in dreamland.
Climbing into his own bed, Dean laid on his side, staring at the door. He wished he was still able to fall asleep with much each as his son. And also, Dean wished that even after tomorrow, whatever happened, that wouldn't leave Noah awake.
"Please, just let him sleep tomorrow night," Dean muttered. It was so quiet he wondered if he had even said it out loud, lost among the lull of the night.
"Wow, Dad! Look!" Noah was leaning out the passenger side of the Impala, window completely down. The car was moving at a glacial pace of five miles an hour, as there was a hoard—yes actually of hoard of dozens—of buffalo leisurely crossing the road.
"Oh trust me I see them," Dean muttered in irritation. Yeah, sure, the beasts were cool. But when they were standing between him and some animal killing people camping here, that was a problem.
Reaching for his digital camera, Noah jovially snapped a picture of the timid beasts.
"I really wanna pet one," Noah nearly squealed.
Dean let out a puff of air. "Gotta save it for the black dog." It was meant as a joke but regardless of response, he was nervous as hell. They were going to one of the campsites which was nearly fifteen miles away from the entrance. And although Dean wanted to cut and run—by some miracle—Noah was making him calm as hell. Maybe it was Noah's carefree attitude—Dean didn't really know.
And yet, he was still incredibly wary of it.
Noah turned to his father and gave a carefree smile. "Hopefully not."
At least was Dean at least hoping Noah wouldn't try to pet the beast.
That set the bar a little lower than he was hoping.
'You really wanna pet it?" Dean asked, casually. He had put the car in park, as there was a steady stream of buffalo.
"Yeah…they're so gentle and…'docile'…I guess unless you charge at them," Noah responded, consulting the pamphlet.
"Doesn't it also say you're not supposed to get within a hundred yards of one?"
"Yeah…I guess it does. I bet I could catch a prairie dog, though!"
It took another fifteen minutes for the buffalo to completely move out of the way. The entire time, Noah was chattering away about how cool the Badlands were, while sprinkling in some of research about the black dog to his father.
The lore around black dogs was pretty loose. Black dogs seemed to first appear in the lore in England. They were considered to be death omens or harbingers of less than stellar luck. Based upon that, there was even less lore than there was in the United States. Noah had originally wondered if it even was a black dog, but all the signs were there.
Thinking back to over a decade ago, Dean remembered fending off the Japanese goddesses, the Trinkas, in a forest. Dean knew that just because a monster wasn't from this side of the pond, that didn't mean they couldn't inexplicably find their way over.
"What are some of the signs of a black dog?" Dean asked. They were finally cruising down the winding dirt road, essentially heading into a canyon.
"They're similar to werewolves in the sense that people see dogs. But there's not a full moon. And they're fast like a wendigo, but not as fast or as smart, either. Another way you know you've seen a black dog can include giant scratch marks, howling, and seeing red eyes in the dark, or what looks like a big wolf."
"How do you kill them?"
"Also like a werewolf, a silver bullet should do the trick."
"Where do you shoot them?"
"Head or heart. Doesn't matter."
It was funny. As much as Cara loved reading and Noah insisted he hated it and school—besides the social aspect—the kid was a walking encyclopedia. His memory was really something.
"Good. And when I tell you to do something?"
"I do it without question!"
"Right. That means if I tell you to run?"
"I run far and fast."
"And if I tell you to hide?"
"I stay hidden and quiet."
"And when I tell you to shoot?"
"I aim, shoot, and ask questions later."
"Right. And what's the most important thing? Even more important than killing the monster?"
"Our safety is more important than killing the monster."
"Your safety is more important," Dean reiterated. "Noah, if I tell you to leave me behind you—"
"I'm not gonna leave you behind Dad."
"Look Noah, if you can't listen to everything I tell you, I'm turning this car around." Dean sighed, remembering the conversation they had the previous day. "Look, it's better to always be prepared. Right?"
Noah nodded. "Yeah, Dad. You're right."
"Good man," Dean responded, descending deeper into the Badlands.
"This damn tent," Dean muttered as he shoved one fiberglass pole into another. Attached to it was the polyester shroud of what would hopefully—maybe one day—be a tent.
"Wait Dad, this part goes in the ground. Here, do you want me to stake it?" Noah asked, holding a metal stake in one hand.
"No I got it," Dean muttered, taking the stake away. For his entire life, he had been trained on how to survive if he was stranded alone without any supplies and how to make it back to civilization. But apparently learning to put up a tent had never been part of that vision.
After a few more minutes, and a slew of under-the-breath curses, the tent was finally set up. The sun was beginning it's descent in the sky, and Dean figured by ten o clock, the two would be ready to go find the thing.
The original clue that something was going on in the Badlands was the enormous decline in the prairie dog population. There were buffalo and long horned sheep that were found maimed, giants scratches on their sides. Hikers and campers claimed to see a giant wolf. A young man who had been camping had disappeared—but although no remains were found, it was evident to Dean the man was dead.
Thinking about that, Dean looked around. The campsite was sparsely populated, which was a good thing. Hopefully no one else would be killed by Clifford the Demonic Dog.
Turning head back around, Dean continued to watch the low-set sun bleed the sky orange. With the tent sufficiently set up, he and Noah sat side by side in camping chairs, just taking in the view.
Dean knew he had been too worried to even stop and take a look around. The place really was striking. There were brownish hills that sloped along the horizon, sealing them in what seemed like a perfect circle, walled in on all sides.
Of course the sense of security was an illusion, but Dean was going to make damn sure that sense of security was a reality for his son.
"Wow. I mean wow. You really don't see stuff like this in Illinois," Noah commented. "And not even Uncle Bobby's come close to this. No offense to him."
Dean smiled, able to forget for a moment they were on a hunt. But, the smile quickly faded once he thought about his own father. Dean couldn't recall John Winchester without feeling a gut-wrenching amount of pain. Even after everything John had done for him, Dean still couldn't help but think how the two of them hadn't ever really been able to just sit next to each other and have an easy conversation, maybe watch a sunset.
"Hey Dad?"
Dean looked at his son. "Yeah?"
"Where do you think monsters come from?"
Wow these kids always managed to catch Dean off surprise. "I don't know. I guess I never really thought about that."
"I wonder if maybe they're like people. You know? Like we all started good. And then Eve at the apple. Maybe something similar happened to monsters."
"There are good people and there are bad people Noah. But all monsters are bad. They aren't like us," Dean said. He'd seen enough crap to know monsters were pure evil. He also knew people didn't become evil cause some naked lady took a bite of an apple, but he didn't say that.
"Oh," Noah said.
"You know that. Don't you?" That was the thing about hunting: it was so black and white.
"I mean, I guess. I just…I know demons are bad. Really bad. They're…I don't know they're demons."
Evil fucking bastards, Dean thought.
"Demons are evil. You're right. But all monsters are evil too."
"Oh, okay," Noah said, as if he was thinking about whether or not to commit the lesson to memory.
"The sooner you learn that rule, the better off you're gonna be," Dean said, as a closing statement.
"Yes sir," Noah replied. He was sincere in his intentions, but the way he responded was with a playful edge. Still, it put Dean in a weird headspace.
"You know, you don't have to call me that," he said.
"Sir?" Noah asked, even more confused.
"Yeah. You don't need to call me that. Actually I don't want you to call me that."
"It was just a joke…"
"Well, I'm just asking you to never call me that."
Noah looked at his father with a shrug. "Okay? I won't."
"Thanks. Wow. Look at this sunset."
"Yeah. It's really something."
Noah felt his sleeping bag rustle, as a hand jostled his shoulder. There was also a voice that accompanied it. "Noah. It's time."
"Yeah. Okay." Noah rolled over in his sleeping bag, facing the center of the tent. His father said it would be better if he got some sleep before they went hunting, but Noah hadn't actually slept a wink.
Sitting up, the sleeping bag falling around him, Noah pretended to yawn.
"Are you ready?" Dean asked.
Noah nodded.
"Really? Are you sure you don't need to sleep some more?"
"I'm sure. I feel great."
"Well I guess that's awesome," Dean responded.
Noah sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked around the dark tent. "Yeah. But you're still not as awesome as me."
"Please" Dean allowed, aspirating his breath. "I wish I was awesome as you."
Noah shed his sleeping bag and zipped up the nearby sweatshirt. "Yeah. I know I'm about as awesome as you can get but I think you just need to get your head in the game, Dad."
"What game?"
"Just the game of hunting if you know what I mean."
"Alright, it's time to focus now, Noah."
By now, it was half past to midnight and Dean was still lecturing about how dangerous a black dog was. And as sick as he was with talking about it, he would rather his youngest child be alive and unharmed.
Before that, Noah felt like he was having fun, until his father hit him with a wall.
But Noah finally replied. "Look…Dad…I know both of our lives are on the line here…so...I guess I just wanted to say..." Noah trailed off, not sure how to articulate what he was thinking.
Alarm bells and red flags popped up all around Dean. He was quite familiar with death speeches. Had given them a few times. Had heard them a few times as well.
Didn't actually think he'd be hearing one from his son.
"No. Noah. No. We're not doing that. Everything is fine. Nothing is going to happen to you because you've trained for this moment." Although just yesterday, Dean was ready to pull the plug on the entire thing, today he couldn't do that. Now with what was about to happen, Dean had to make sure Noah was in the right headspace.
Nodding, the young boy reached forward into the duffle that was between the two sleeping bags. Noah pulled out a black handgun.
Rifling around in his own bag, Dean removed the loaded magazine for the gun. He handed it over to Noah. "Load it."
With a nod, Noah shoved the missing piece of the gun shut, securing their fates with a click.
BREAK
"You doing okay?" Dean called over his shoulder, scanning his flashlight back at Noah.
"Yeah. Really. I feel great," Noah assured for the thousandth time. He zipped up his sweatshirt a little higher, trying to fend off the night chill.
"Okay if you ever need to-" Suddenly freezing, Dean crouched down a bit and took a tentative step forwards, towards the sloping edge of the hill they were climbing, near the area where the hiker had gone missing.
"What do you see?"
"Shh!" Dean whispered sharply. "Weapon out. Get behind me."
Immediately, Noah scurried behind his father and fumbled for his gun. He pointed the weapon into the dark, not sure if his father had heard something or seen something.
It felt like the darkness closed in around them, like they were trapped in a shrinking room. The only source of light came from the expansive canopy of stars, and the pinpoint of light from their flashlights. Standing still, Noah suddenly became aware of how heavy his breathing was. In an attempt to quiet his heavy panting, it was in those few seconds that Noah realized his breathing wasn't the only one he was hearing. Thinking for a moment it was his father, Noah quickly realized Dean was as quiet and still as a statue.
Just like his father had thought, there was something out there in the darkness. Watching them.
Squinting even harder into the darkness, Noah let out a silent gasp when there was a shift in the gradiency of the night.
Two red slits appeared about two feet off the ground. They were slanted and glowing.
Eyes.
"You see it?" Dean muttered lowly, mouth not moving at all.
"Yeah."
"Don't move."
"Yeah. Got it." Noah didn't think it was even possible for him to move if God himself told him to.
The ground rustled near the eyes as they shifted suddenly and moved more towards Dean's light.
Dean took one step back, his reaching back behind him. It made contact with Noah's shoulder, nudging his son back as well.
The two stood in silence as the footsteps slowly approached and crossed over from the dark into the stream of light.
Once the creature came into the light, Noah felt himself frowning in confusion.
It was a black dog. It definitely was. But it still seemed odd. The paws were huge and the ears were flopping around at strange angles, one of them stuck inside out. The jet black fur seemed to have a strange, downy quality that made it shimmer in the light.
The most surprising part was how small the creature was.
"Why is it-"
"It's a baby," Dean said, his voice giving away how caught off guard he was.
"A puppy?"
"Sure looks like it."
Feeling his guard drop, Noah moved to the side so he was no longer hidden behind his father. He took several steps forward, trying to get a better look at the creature.
While he was walking, Noah felt himself yanked back by the hood of his sweatshirt.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded.
"What? I just-"
"Are you crazy?! You're about to approach not only a wild animal but a monster?" Dean had grabbed Noah by his arm and shook him, trying to emphasize his point.
"I don't know I thought-"
"I don't want to know what you were thinking Noah!" Dean released his arm. "I swear if you pull one more stunt like that, you are sitting in the car while I finish this hunt!"
Stung by how angry his father had gotten-especially considering the bonding they had done earlier-Noah took a step away and put a frown on his face. "Okay. I won't do anything."
Ignoring the pouting quality in Noah's voice, Dean shook his head and turned his attention back to the animal. Not immediately finding it, Dean swept his light across the surrounding area.
But the thing was gone.
"Where-where did it go?" Noah demanded, seeing how frantically Dean was looking around.
"I don't know but-"
A low growl erupted somewhere nearby. It was so low the ground around them vibrated.
"That's not the baby," Noah realized.
"No it's not. Run!" Dean suddenly yelled. He forcefully pushed Noah ahead of him.
"Where?" Noah demanded, already moving forward.
"Up!" Dean replied from behind him. "Noah go!"
In response, Noah turned on his heel and ran towards the looming shape. It was difficult to see the hill, but it was slightly darker than the night sky. Powering forward, Noah began to trip up the narrow, dusty path. Hunched forward, his hands grabbed at the rough ground as he ascended the path. He could hear Dean behind him, urging him forward. And beyond their footsteps, he could hear the low growling and the chasing footsteps that were unmistakably getting closer.
I can't I can't I can't Noah started to think in his head. Each step up the hill felt like it was tearing his kneecap out of its socket. Yeah, it was healed and he was given an okay from the doctor, the guy probably didn't think Noah would be sprinting for his life up a mountain, in the dark.
And all while he was thinking about how much he wanted to stop and just lay down, there was a thunk behind him, accompanied by the sound of Dean grunting.
Stopping, Noah turned around, nearly pitching back down the mountain when his forward momentum changed direction.
"Dad!" Noah yelled. He shined his flashlight down the trail to see Dean on his stomach, being dragged down the trail. Behind Dean, Noah shined the light and let out an expletive when he saw the mother black dog.
Her fur was mangy and matted, and Noah could see the drool glistening from her white teeth. Teeth that were clamped around his father's leg.
"Dad!" Noah yelled again as the monster started to vigorously shake her head back and forth, like a dog with a toy.
"Noah run!" Dean yelled back. He was busy trying to reach for the gun that was in the waistband of his jeans, gritting against the pain of the animal's teeth. Luckily the creature had mostly grabbed part of Dean's boot, so only a few teeth had actually sunk into his skin.
"But Dad-"
"It's even worse because we're too close to the babies! Noah just go!"
Growling to himself, Noah reluctantly turned around and took a few more steps up the mountain. After a few more seconds of hearing Dean grunting in pain, Noah fell to his uninjured knee, hands looking for something solid to hold onto, but only finding fine grained dust.
Keep going keep going just keep going. Noah had promised Dad he would do anything to keep himself safe. He would listen to everything he said and run if he was in danger. And that's what he was doing. He was doing exactly what his father wanted him to do.
"But I'm just supposed to leave him?" Noah asked out loud to himself. How could Noah just leave his father behind, as he was dragged away by a monster?
Noah weighed the choices for several seconds. And although not that much time had passed, it felt like he had aged noticeably.
Standing up after that endless stretch of time, Noah looked up the mountain. His eyes had seemed to adjust to the dark slightly, so it was more apparent, the shape of the mountain he was supposed to climb.
Sorry Dad, I'm gonna have to disobey that direct order.
Turning on his heel, Noah felt a fireball of pain clustering in his knee. He still had his gun in one hand, which felt heavier than a weighted stone.
Running down the mountain, Noah raised his weapon as he closed in on the beast. The only thing he was focusing on now was saving his dad, making sure his dad was okay. Nothing else mattered except saving him. And in that mindset, a little bubble closed around Noah. He was no longer aware of the pain shooting up and down his leg or how heavy the gun had felt before.
Everything was just calm.
There was no anxiety, no worry. There was only the quiet that perhaps a lion felt before pouncing on a gazelle. There was only the knowledge the gazelle didn't possess, that in one second their vision would go black, mind blank.
Shutting one eye, Noah looked down the barrel of his gun. He moved the weapon slightly so the space between the monster's glowing eyes was within his sight.
Taking a deep breath, Noah let it out, his pointer finger, coming closer to the trigger of the weapon.
Exhaling, Noah grounded his feet and gave a final look to the monster.
Bracing against the kick he knew was coming, Noah squeezed the trigger and prepared for the recoil.
He finally pulled the trigger. Immediately, there was a small burst of flames from the edge of the weapon. His entire body jerked as there was the sound of a small bomb going off.
Faster than he could even process, the growling was reduced to a single, painful yelp, followed by a hollow thump.
Letting out a shaky exhale, Noah dropped the gun, which felt like a thousand pounds again. The hand that had been holding the gun was trembling.
"D-Dad?" Noah asked, calling into the dark, his flashlight pointed at the dead body of the black dog. There was a steady stream of dark liquid running from where the bullet had entered the skull.
There was a grunt. "Yeah, buddy. I'm here. Are you okay?"
"Umm…" But Noah was still focused on the black lump of fur on the ground.
Dusting off his leg, Dean noted the damage. A few teeth had sunk into his calf, and it hurt, but compared to other things he had been through, it was nothing. Taking a deep breath he stood up, slowly placing more weight onto the leg that had been a chew toy.
Nudging the monster's body with his boot, Dean was satisfied that the creature was dead as dead.
Turning back to his son, Dean noticed how unsteady the light from Noah's flashlight was.
"Hey Noah."
"Huh."
"Hey." Dean dropped to one knee. He tapped the side of Noah's face, trying to move the young boy's focus away from the carcass behind them.
Turning his gaze to his father, Noah still felt an empty feeling in his gut. "Is it dead?"
"Yeah it is."
"I killed it. I killed her."
"You saved me," Dean said. "You did a really good job."
"I didn't listen to you. You told me to run and I didn't. I disobeyed a direct order. And you said keeping myself safe was the most important thing when we were on a hunt."
"That doesn't matter right now. You're okay and I'm okay. That's all I care about for now. C'mere." Dean wrapped an arm around Noah, hiding his head in his shoulder, so he wouldn't be looking at the monster he had killed.
"It's okay son; it's okay," Dean reiterated, a hand on the back of Noah's head.
Noah began to shake. No tears came out, but his body shook like he was having a seizure.
"Noah. Noah?" Dean asked, pulling his son away so he could see his face.
In the dark, Dean could tell Noah looked out of sorts as he seemed to be collapsing towards the ground. "What hurts?" Dean asked.
"It's my knee," Noah offered weakly, trying to actually hide the numbing pain he felt from shooting something dead.
"What kind of pain are you feeling?" Dean asked, as he pulled away. At this point, he knew he was going to have to play both doctor and therapist.
"Like my knee is gonna fall off I dunno!" Noah yelled, his physical pain exacerbated by the mental pain that was manifesting by killing something.
Without speaking, Dean straightened up-the bites in his leg as enormous as a mosquito bite. Reaching down, he grabbed Noah and held his son like he was a baby.
Dean began to walk down the mountain.
"I can walk I can walk!" Noah asserted, kicking his legs.
"I'm not gonna risk you hurting it anymore," Dean replied.
Sighing, Noah crossed his arms but remained silent.
As they trekked down the mountain, Noah kept replaying the moment the blast from the gun illuminated the darkness and the wretched sound the beast made as she tumbled in a heap.
And it was all because Noah moved his finger not even an inch.
What kind of crazy power was that?
A few more moments passed and they were near the base of the mountain. It was around that time that a small animal scurried in front of the flashlight Noah was pointing down the mountain.
The same as before, it was one of the baby black dogs.
"Oh no," Noah muttered.
Dean gave a rough sigh, remembering that there will still monsters that needed to be put down.
"No, Dad. You can't. They're just babies." Dean hadn't even needed to say anything, but Noah could tell from the aggravated sigh he wasn't planning on letting the babies live.
"Noah, you saw what they're going to turn into," Dean said, trying to keep his voice gentle.
"Wasn't one enough? Please. No more," Noah felt himself begging.
Dean almost jolted to a stop. They were pretty but another iteration of what Alice had said when she found out the ghost was actually Amy Kincaida and not the drunken man.
"You've seen what they'll turn into."
Noah just shook his head. He discreetly tried to wipe away some tears, but Dean saw them. Even if Dean didn't, he still would've been able to hear Noah sniffling.
"I can't!" Noah finally proclaimed. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I can't. I can't—so now you can send me back home cause you were right. I can't kill again. You're right. It was different from Murmur. I can't do it again."
"If I leave you at the campsite will you be okay?"
"Okay. Yes. I'll be there," Noah said.
Dean didn't respond. For the rest of the way to the campsite, Noah's eyelids felt heavy. He didn't think he had slept, but he had definitely felt like he was dreaming through half-lidded eyes.
When they finally reached the flaps of their tent, Dean carefully lowered Noah to his feet. Immediately, his injured knee buckled.
"Alright; here we go," Dean murmured as he gently guided Noah to his sleeping bag.
"Thanks. I've got it from here," Noah responded, as he hugged his pillow and turned to the side. One leg was curled up, but the other remained limp.
"Right," Dean said. "I'm leaving a silver blade right by the entrance if you need one. You have salt by you?"
"Yeah," Noah whispered.
From where he was, Dean knew Noah was okay. He knew there was only one adult black dog and the others were babies. And Noah was deep enough among other people that the black dog wouldn't venture there.
"Okay. I'll be back." Bending down, Dean placed a kiss on Noah's forehead, and reminded him to say there.
Once he was out of the safety of the tent, Dean cocked his gun.
He had work to do.
Noah awoke just as he saw "Explore Minnesota: Land of 10,000 Lakes."
"Yeah. Maybe not that many," No muttered to himself. "We're in Minnesota now?" He asked from the passenger seat.
"Yeah. We are," Dean supplied.
"How long was I asleep?"
"A couple hours."
There was silence for a moment.
"You get the rest of them?" Noah asked, trying to sound mechanic.
"Yeah I got them. And you know it's okay to feel upset or sad or whatever you're feeling."
Noah thought for a while. He was in the front seat of the Impala with no memory of being placed there. "I guess I'm scared to see how my knee is."
"It'll end up being fine." Dean replied.
Noah wanted to give a contrarian answer, but instead he stopped. "How many of them were there?"
"Three," Dean responded, knowing Noah was talking about the number of pups.
"And they didn't…" suffer?
"It was quick," Dean replied.
"Are you mad at me?" Noah finally asked. He bit his lip, crossed his arms, and looked out the window. They were surrounded by trees.
"No. You saved me," Dean replied.
"But you told me to run and listen to you and keep myself safe. I didn't do any of those."
Dean sighed. How did he qualify is rules with what actually happened in the field?
"Look, Noah…you followed your instincts."
"My what?" Noah supposed he had heard the word but didn't actually know what it meant.
"It's basically a feeling that you feel in your gut. Instead of using logic, it's a feeling."
"So…the feeling I had to pull the trigger instead of run was basically my instinct."
"Yeah. Basically. I guess."
"But…aren't you mad at me?" Noah asked again. Even after everything that had happened, his main concern will still pleasing his Dad.
"I could be, but you saved me. You've saved so many others that would've met that monster."
"But…but I didn't listen to you in the end," Noah sighed.
Dean sighed. "Noah, hunting's…complicated. And sometimes you have to throw out the rulebook."
Noah still didn't seem to understand.
"You know in football when your coach gives you a play and tells you what to do?"
"Yeah."
"Well, maybe when you're in the play, but you see an opportunity to get the ball that isn't part of the plan. So, maybe you decide to not follow the play and end up getting a touchdown. Your coach is kind of irritated that you didn't follow the plan, but in the end he's happy you score a point.
"Do you get it now?"
Noah nodded slowly, not saying anything.
"Do you…do you want to talk about it?" Dean asked after a few minutes.
"I don't know what to say," Noah admitted. "How am I supposed to feel, Dad?"
"I can't tell you how you're supposed to feel, Noah. And you know, it's okay if you don't know what to feel or say. It's okay to feel confused."
"I just…I guess I understand how a demons evil. I do. I really do. But that black dog…she was just an animal. What makes her different from a wolf or a bear?"
Dean frowned. He guessed he hadn't really ever thought of that. Yeah, the black dog had killed people, but he guessed he could see that it was because it just wanted to protect its young or eat some food. "Because it was supernatural."
Noah frowned. That was the only qualifier?
"And I mean I guess I know that's it's a monster, but she didn't seem to know any better than the buffalo that were in front of the car."
Dean was kind of floored by Noah's questions. He often forgot that some people saw the world in shades of gray, including hunting. Noah, the little philosopher, really reminded Dean of Alice right then. He was compassionate and questioning, caring just like his mother.
"Buddy, I don't know. I don't have all the answers for you. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear."
"Maybe I'm just overthinking it," Noah said. He wiped his nose and curled his uninjured leg up onto the seat.
"It's a lot to process."
"Yeah." Without another word, Noah reached forward and turned up the volume knob of the radio. Boston's "Peace of Mind" blared through the speakers.
"People livin' in competition. All I want is to have my peace of mind."
Pulling open the passenger door to the Impala, Alice knelt door and wrapped her arms around the person riding shotgun. "C'mere baby. C'mere."
"Mom," Noah said. He wrapped his arms around his mother and buried his head in her shoulder. He thought about how after what he did, the black dog puppies would never see their mom again.
He shuddered.
"Shh," Alice said, running a hand through his hair. "It's okay.
"Mom," Noah muttered again. This time, his voice broke and began to shake from sobs that erupted like a bullet leaving the chamber of a gun.
Gripping Noah tighter, Alice looked over his head to Dean, who watched from the driver's seat. He had the keys clutched in a fist, one foot out the door.
Alice nodded, as if saying I've got this.
Dean stared at the sight in front of his. Noah's was sobbing into his mother's arms, and Alice was holding back tears, rocking him back and forth.
And to think.
Dean was the one who had done that to them.
Yanking himself out of the car, Dean slammed the door and stalked towards the house. When he was nearing the top of the driveway, he saw Cara standing in the open doorway. Her hair was a haphazard ponytail—half of if hanging out.
"Hi Dad," Cara said softly.
"Hey honey."
"How it go?" She asked.
Dean shrugged. "The monster's dead."
"I heard Noah killed it."
"Yeah. He did."
Cara nodded. She could see and faintly hear her brother sobbing uncontrollably about killing something.
And it wasn't even the most traumatic thing that had ever happened to them.
"He's been through so much," Cara commented.
Moving so his arm was around Cara, Dean looked out at the open Impala door. "He has. We all have."
With father and daughter standing in the doorway, and mother and son in the car, the family of four was reunited, unaware the traumas they endured were only the beginning of their suffering.
Hope you all enjoyed! I really appreciate everyone that has stuck with me so far. I recently started graduate school so the workload has increased a bit! I appreciate all the favorites and follows and I would love any feedback! Hope everyone is excited for fall!
V.