Sam knew it was bad when the second Bandit got out of the car, he started growling low in his throat, his ears pulled back and his spine straight. They hadn't even entered the forest yet and he was already on high alert.
Dean looked at the dog, then at his brother, who looked tense.
"Sam?"
"Bandit," said Sam, in a clear tone of voice.
Bandit growled, before pawing at the ground four times. Sam
winced.
"Sam," repeated Dean.
"It's a level four," said Sam. "I've been teaching Bandit different degrees of danger when it comes to hunting."
"And he understands, that. Come on Sammy," said Dean incredulous.
"When you've had to hunt two Wendigos and five shifters in the same month, you pick up things pretty damn fast Dean. He knows something is wrong, the trick was getting him to tell me what his instincts are warning him about," said Sam.
Dean stared at him.
"Two Wendigos and five shifters? In one month?" he repeated.
Sam shrugged.
"To be fair, the army knew something was off because of the local legends, they just needed help tracking the damn things down. Locals were warning the soldiers about the area, but you know there's always some idiot who will dismiss them. It just happened that this colonel kept ignoring the warnings and dragging me to their deaths," said Sam.
"This I have to hear," said Dean, leaning against the car.
"I was discreetly sent in to find the missing men after the colonel kept insisting some insurgents got them. My unit goes in, finds the signs of a wendigo and once we locate the men...or their bodies, we start laying napalm as heavy as possible until that thing is good and dead. After the second time that idiot caused the near loss of an entire platoon I dragged his ass into the damn cave with us to show him the thing," said Sam annoyed. "As for the shifters... We managed to catch a nest of the things while cleaning house on a base after the first Wendigo."
"And you got paid to do this," said Dean. He still had trouble believing that part.
Sam coughed.
"Actually we were given the medal of honor, because apparently we found a few lost soldiers thought killed in combat that were war heroes. I guess they went in to track down other victims and got unlucky," said Sam quietly. "The fact we killed the 'bear' was enough to satisfy the locals."
"I still can't believe you have actual, authorized permission from the freaking government to hunt," said Dean.
"Yeah, well after the second one I took a piece of the thing and had Bandit memorize the scent. Took me a few days to teach him to signal me if he smelled anything like it again."
"I still say we don't need the mutt," muttered Dean. Mostly because Bandit had a habit of stealing his pie.
"Yeah, well this 'mutt' means we can legitimately claim we're Search and Rescue, and he has the training for it. We'll see how long you complain about the pie theft after he saves your ass," said Sam.
Search and Rescue was the official branch he and his men were part of. Unofficially they were military trained (and government sponsored) hunters.
In fact Sam had an actual piece of paper and a real ID that stated as much, and he had numbers that people could call to prove it.
It was weird, not having to lie completely about his job, but it was a nice change of pace because the cops couldn't exactly arrest him for helping people. Besides, everyone loved dogs and boxers weren't considered a dangerous breed.
"Ok professor, what exactly do you think we're dealing with here?"
"Judging by what we've heard, I'm guessing it's another wendigo," sighed Sam. "I hate dealing with those."
"And?" said Dean.
"Give me an hour or so, and we'll go in with some real firepower, plus a proper med kit," said Sam.
Three hours later...
Dean looked at the massive pack on Sam's back and the ease he carried it.
"Damn Sammy, you bring a nuke or something?"
Sam rolled his eyes.
"I completed basic training Dean, this is fairly light compared to those," said Sam. He tossed his brother a different bag.
"What's this?"
"Consider this an apology for not calling you in five years. Open it," said Sam.
Dean did...and stared. There was some real firepower in the bag, along with ammunition. A little deeper down revealed body armor...in his size no less.
"Body armor?"
"I don't know about you, but I'd rather have it and not need it, then need it and not have it. Besides, that's experimental body armor...of sorts."
"How experimental?"
"As in it's been blessed fives ways to Sunday, is lined with silver and iron, is quadruple mesh to withstand severe slashing from inhuman entities and has better bulletproofing than the ones the standard soldiers get. And that's before you get into the runes of protection and other spells hidden all over it."
"Uh-huh. How much did this cost Sammy?"
Sam coughed.
"It's something we've been playing around with, but would never be able to get the higher ups to approve for official use. And I had a feeling I'd be running into you sooner rather than later, so I had one made up for you in mind. We're actually field testing these for use," said Sam. "The armor itself is actually some leftovers that never got approved because someone in congress was being a complete tightwad."
"Sammy, you didn't answer the question," said Dean.
"I told you, they wanted me to bring in actual hunters to train platoons to deal with the supernatural rather than have their men killed. If I can bring in at least twenty of them, I'll have fulfilled my end of the deal," said Sam. "This was just an investment on their part."
Bobby was already making calls, mostly to see if Sam's offer was legitimate. He could think of several younger hunters who could do some good and get some actual training to keep them alive.
So far that was looking positive.
"So am I going to see your new friends?" asked Dean.
"If we ever run into a level five, then I'll call them in. Level four is still within the range of what we can deal with, so long as the help is competent enough. Besides, Bandit has hunted Wendigo before," said Sam, heading towards the woods.
Dean only realized later Sam had thrown him a rather backhanded compliment.
In the woods...
"So what's Search and Rescue doing all the way out here?" asked Hailey.
"Our father left us a rather strange message, so we got worried. I heard about your brother and thought we could help, especially Bandit," said Sam.
Hailey had been skeptical of Sam's offer...until she called the number and verified his credentials.
"And him?" sneered Roy.
Dean rolled his eyes.
As they reached the campsite, Sam didn't bother to put down his gear and neither did Dean. The second the call for help rang out, Bandit started snarling, indicating the creature was too close for Sam's comfort.
To keep up the ruse, they ran towards the call...however they didn't let their guard down.
"Our packs!" said Hailey.
"Great...so some freak is out there stealing our gear," said Roy.
Sam kept quiet.
"We need to set up a proper camp. This thing is going to come back and it will be impossible to hunt at night," said Sam.
"You're in no position to give orders," said Roy.
Sam stared him down, causing the hot headed hunter to back off pretty damn fast.
"I think the person with the most experience in search and rescue and dealing with hostile entities should be the voice of reason," said Dean carefully. Roy had been showing only the barest level of respect to Sam, despite the fact he was a soldier. And it pissed him off.
Sam didn't bother to chase after Roy. He was more worried about the civilians.
The next morning...
"Bandit," said Sam. He took out his clicker, and clicked it three times, then twice more after a long pause.
Bandit's ears pulled back, his teeth barred...however he was silent. He knew this scent well, and hated it down to his bones.
His nose began to search for Dean...his scent was well known to the dog, and within moments he was leading his partner to the pack mate.
Sam used his belt knife to cut as many as he could down. Bandit guarded them, his nose up for the monster.
Once they had the survivors out, Sam pulled out his pack.
"What are you getting?" said Hailey.
Sam pulled out...a flare gun?
"Dean," said Sam, tossing him another along with some extra shells.
Dean armed his temporary weapon. This was more effective than the Molotov he had earlier. And killing the wendigo was soooo satisfying.
As they got into the car (after insuring the civilians made it out alive and Sam gave the older brother some much needed basic first aid) Dean looked to his brother and the dog he insisted on keeping.
Any doubts on that 'mutt' as he oh so affectionately called him had died seeing how efficiently Sam had taken out that thing. Sam was a good hunter, but now? Now he was so much better at it. Bandit sat in the back seat, panting happily. Sam had treated him with all the remaining beef jerky they had once they were out of the mine shaft.
"I hate camping," said Dean.
"Agreed," said Sam tiredly. He wanted a soft bed, a hot meal and a even hotter shower. Besides, Bandit had rolled in something and he needed a bath, stat.
"And Sam?"
"Yeah Dean?"
"That dog reeks."
Sam laughed, even though he agreed with his brother on that one.
Dean had a disgusted look when Sam didn't even bat an eye at the fact Bandit insisted on being a total bed hog, despite still being wet. Seeing the dog wiggle around with wet fur made his nose turn up. And he had stolen Dean's food when he wasn't looking, again.
One of these days he was going to have words with that mutt.
At least he didn't make a mess in the car.
"Well, I verified that offer of yours is legit," said Bobby.
"And?"
"And you know as well as I do hunters are a paranoid lot. They need to see that they're going to be taken seriously and not treated as lunatics before they even remotely begin to trust this unofficial 'program' of yours," said Bobby gruffly. He had agreed to act as research, but that was it.
But no hunter worth their salt was going to agree to a government paycheck without some actual proof from multiple hunters that this wasn't a joke or a way to track them down and arrest them for doing what was necessary.
They were a community unto themselves, spread out the entire US, and one hunter wasn't going to convince them this was for real.
Sam sighed.
"Any idea where I can start then?"
"Try the Roadhouse. It's an unofficial hunter's hangout. The owner is Ellen Harvelle, but she's no fan of your father. If you want to try and get some potential help, that's a good bet," said Bobby.
"And by no fan you mean..." said Sam, already sensing a problem.
"Her husband was killed in a hunt with your father. She's always blamed him," said Bobby.
"Great..." said Sam tiredly. It was better than nothing.
Still it was a lead for him to work with. And his superiors were demanding results.
Ellen was even more suspicious than Bobby had hinted at, though Sam could hardly blame her considering what he had let slip.
Which was why Sam was more than willing to broker a deal.
"Would you be willing to let Jo come with us...if I agreed to get a ticket for you to come as well to prove this deal is real?" said Sam patiently.
Ellen's eyes soften slightly.
"Exactly what sort of hunt is it?" said Ellen.
Sam took out his computer and pulled up the list of 'hunts' that the military had identified. Hot zones where local superstition hinted at a more 'supernatural' problem than a human one playing up the local myths and legends. All of them were classified as 'level three' or lower.
The higher the body count, the more the level rose. Anything above a level seven was automatically classed as a "no-go" without a major commitment armed with some serious hardware to deal with it.
Coincidentally anyone classed as 'in the know' was automatically given either an anti-possession tattoo or, in the case of religious reasons causing an issue over minor body modification like tattoos, a series of protective talismans to prevent any infiltration from things like demons.
Ellen looked at the list.
"This one," said Ellen.
Sam looked at it. It was a level two threat, one that indicated they were dealing with a particularly unpleasant local witch.
It was simple enough that even a soldier could eventually figure out who to shoot, and most witches were susceptible to bullets.
Sam started making some calls.
"We can leave next Friday, and I have two tickets for you and Jo," said Sam.
Ellen looked skeptical, but kept it to herself. She would reserve judgment after the hunt was over.
