First Hunt

Chapter 2

They left Bobby's house just as soon as Dean and Sam finished helping with the dishes. Sam gave him one last timid wave as they walked out the door and got back in the car.

“Listen up now Dean,” Dad said. “How do you kill a ghost?”

“Salt and burn the bones.”

“Werewolf?”

“Silver bullet.” He'd been studying his Dad's journal since he learned how to read.

“Vampire.”

“Cut it's head off.”

“Wendigo?”

“Fire.”

“Get the notebook out of the glove compartment, there should be a pen in there too. Draw three protection symbols.”

Dean did as he asked and showed them to his Dad.

“Not good enough.” Dad tossed the papers at him, “The lines have to touch. I've told you that. Do it again. Get it right.”

“Yes, sir.” He drew them again.

“Lines aren't straight enough. Again.”

It took three more tries before Dad was satisfied with what he drew.

“Ok. Next. If we get separated how do you find me?”

“First hotel in the phone book. Look for Adam West.”

“Good. Now, Latin. Grab my journal, go to the pages with the exorcisms. Recite them.”

That went on for a few hours. Sam was always better with Latin than he was, he hated it. The entire drive was spent drilling hunter lore into his head. He'd had dreams where he was reciting exorcisms over and over as shadowy figures drew closer to him, correcting him the closer they got. They pulled over for lunch and Dad took his journal back and put it in his bag.

“Let's go. We're only two hours away from where we need to be. Eat fast. I want to get there before it gets dark.”

Dad tucked his gun into his waistband then handed him a 9 mm. “New rule Dean. Never, ever be unarmed. You never know what's watching. You're old enough now to have one of these. Safety's on, put it in the inside pocket of your jacket.”

“Uh, ok.” His entire world changed right then. He'd trained with guns, Dad had drilled he and Sam endlessly on how to use, clean and take care of them but until that moment he never really thought about carrying one with him all the time. He'd kept one under his pillow in the hotels, but this, this was different. The weight felt odd in his jacket and he thought everyone would see he had one and try to take it away. Dad nodded at him after he tucked it into his jacket then got out of the car and started walking into the diner, he followed. He became hyper aware of everyone looking at him or walking by. The gun didn't make him feel strong or confident, it made him paranoid and scared.

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Funny, now I feel paranoid and scared if I don't have a weapon on me. I'm walking in an empty forest less than two miles from the safest place in the entire world and I have a gun tucked into my pants and two knives. I'm tracking every movement that I see or hear. Purgatory made it so much worse. I'm still surprised I didn't shoot or stab more people out of reflex when I got back from there. I came close plenty of times. At least Sam was smart enough to make sure I knew where he was at all times those first few months. Of course he has his own paranoia. I think that was the last meal Dad and I had where he saw me as a kid. Sherry's Diner, that was the name. I remember the waitress giving Dad odd looks because of what we were talking about. She looked sorry for me, kind of scared too. Roadhouse and diner waitresses. They see so many screwed up people, yet always manage to treat us well, even when we don't deserve it.