Okay, so, Tia of 2people had an idea for a story, as explained in the summary, and well, I offered to put it into words... i guess that's it...

anyways, happy reading! :DDD

Prologue

Note to self; Never piss off a wendigo, I thought as said creature tossed me across the wooded clearing. My body hit the ground with a 'thump', but instead of groaning at the pain, I embraced it as I was taught to. This son-of-a-bitch was going down.

My dad had always taught me and my little brother not to be afraid of the dark. He made us believe that the dark should be afraid of us. But of course, this is John Winchester we're talking about: headstrong, don't take no for an answer, marine. Any normal person would take one look at his type of "family business and run in terror. Needless to say, we weren't normal, not in the least bit.

The wendigo came charging at incredible speeds, snarling and growling and baring its ugly, rotted teeth. In one split second it was upon me. Time seemed to slow and my senses became clearer, clear enough to smell the carnage on the creature's rancid breath. In contrast to the slowed moment, I had no time to react or brace myself as a wall of flames suddenly separated me from the once civil beast. In seconds, the fire disappeared as quickly as it had come, revealing not only the now-crispy wendigo, but also my dad holding a gas canister and lighter. Behind him, my brother Sammy stood tall and lanky, a loaded sawed off in his hands.

"Good job Dean," my dad subtly commented on my act as human bait before walking over to the charred corpse. "Just next time, wait til' we're ready."

I was about to argue that the thing had seen me before I had noticed it was there, but realization that a quarrel would be pointless hit me.

With a short dismissal, Dad sent us back to our car – a 1967 Chevrolet Impala – while he finished burning whatever remains were left of the wendigo. Obediently, we left without protest.

As the Chevy came into view, Sam offered his sawed off to me. I took it and the 1911 nickel-plated colt I had stashed in the waistband of my jeans to the back and popped open the trunk. After putting away the weapons, I followed Sammy into the car, taking my spot in the front passenger seat.

A while back, Dad had made a deal with me that if I could research, find, and finish five hunts on my own without dying, that baby was mine. So far, I had finished three of them, and I wasn't about to give up anytime soon.

"Dean," Sam's voice interrupted my thoughts. "I'm tired." Poor kid was growing too fast. His metabolism wasn't seeming to keep up with his height.

"Go to sleep Sammy. Dad'll be back soon," I answered. "Don't worry."

The words reassured Sam, but not me. In fact, I almost didn't want my dad to come back so soon. Because when we got back to the motel, I was going to bring something up with him, something I really didn't want to. But it was necessary. Both he and Sammy had to know.