Chapter Text
Dean was only eight years old when he and his father hunted the creatures he would end up fearing the most. Sam was in the car nearby, as they had not even made it to the motel yet for John to drop them off and go off on his own like he usually did before they were stopped by the pack. John shoved a gun with silver bullets and a silver knife in Dean’s hands and told him to come with him. Dean wanted to stay behind to protect Sammy because there were so many, but of course John did not care. Sammy would be fine, he said. Sammy would not be in any harm if they did their job correctly.
Dean thought that was bullshit. Sam would always be in danger as long as they were in the hunting business. Dean was never safe, either. Hell, even John wasn’t immortal, no matter how much he seemed to think he was. There was no such thing as “fine” or “safe” for them anymore. John did not care. He only cared about getting the job done.
Skinwalkers. It was a pack of skinwalkers trying to turn a neighborhood nearby. Dean was scared of monsters, of course, just like every other kid. Of course, other kids did not know what he did. He knew how to fight them - kill them - and could fend for himself in most situations theoretically (he was still only eight, after all), but that did not take the fear out of it. However, after encountering this pack, he found that he feared these monsters the most. They were the definition of evil in his book: bloodthirsty murderers who have turned as far from humanity as possible. They plotted invasions of places so that they could spread their ranks and corrupt humans into becoming like them. They were messier than vampires, more animalistic than werewolves, and were plainly just creepy as fuck. He did not like them.
As he and his dad ran towards the pack that was trying to come after their car, Dean was confused at first when he saw what they looked like. The man coming at him looked like a regular human! And there was even a dog at his side! Was his dad confused? What if they were just regular people taking their dogs on a jog?
And then John shot the dog with a silver bullet, and it started shrieking in an inhuman way, its fur and skin burning around its wound. It dropped to the ground, trying to get rid of the pain, and then it started crawling after them again, slower this time. Dean wished it had just died. Seeing it continue on even after it was shot made any hope of getting out of this situation alive drain quickly from his body.
“What are they?” Dean yelled to his dad, having never been taught about these yet. He was young, so most of the monsters he was an expert about were things like ghosts, vampires, and werewolves. He had knowledge on some other more obscure ones, but he was no expert in them like his dad.
“Skinwalkers!” John said back. “Silver makes them weak, but shooting them won’t always do it. You should decapitate them to make sure they’re dead!”
As more got closer, Dean began to see other forms that they had taken. He saw one that was a cat, one that was a wolf, and even one that seemed to be a bear. Were they able to shapeshift into all of these creatures? Who knew what else they were! What if they were the bugs around them too? Or one of the geese in the flock flying away from the fight, abandoning their usual v-formation? This situation did not look too good.
The two of them got to work. Dean did most of the shooting: slowing them down and even managing to kill one or two of the weaker ones with bullets alone. John chopped their heads off left and right, not giving them the chance to get past them and to the car with Sammy. The pack wasn’t too huge, and they were even able to take down the bear, so it was a good fight in the end. Neither of them got bit, neither were injured at all really, and, most important of all, Sammy was still safe behind them. They won.
John was in a bad mood as they got back in the car. Dean could not figure out why when they had just gotten rid of those creatures, but he guessed it was because his plans of taking them out himself in a more throughout plan had been destroyed. Whatever. Dean was used to not getting a thanks from him for helping him out.
“What happened?” Sam asked as they began their drive to the motel once more. They would rest there for the night before inevitably moving on to another new location when John found a new case. That was just how life was for them.
“Finished the case,” John said. His tone was snappy, making Sam sink back in his seat a little bit. Dean felt bad for the little guy.
“Already?” Sam asked hesitantly.
“Yes.”
John did not give him much, but Sam was very young and did not need to hear any of the gory details. Well, that was Dean’s opinion, at least, and he was thankful for John’s silence right now. Usually he was not so considerate and would tell his youngest son the gruesome facts in order to scare him into hunting. Tonight, he was just brooding by himself, it seemed.
Sam turned towards Dean, but Dean just gave him a look that said he’d tell him about it later. He wouldn’t really, but Sam did not need to know that right now. It was best to stay silent and not give dad a reason to go into a rage, so if Dean had to break a promise later, so be it.. He’d tell Sam about the skinwalkers while sparing him the worst of the details if he had to.
The next day, John made Dean learn all about skinwalkers. He made him read article after horrid article, story after terrifying story, and note after rushed handwritten note about them. Then, he tested him, wanting to make sure he had all of the facts etched into his brain so that he would know what to do when they encountered them again.
When they encountered them again.
When.
Dean did not want to encounter them again, yet his dad was certain that they would one day. He did not like that at all.
“What is their weakness?” John asked. Dean had been forced to write out his own notes and memorize as much as he could, and he was not allowed to look at said notes while John quizzed him. He was meant to know all of this by heart at the ripe age of eight.
“Silver,” Dean said. A lot of creatures could not touch silver, so that was an easy one to remember. If he started to forget, he could remind himself that they can shapeshift into wolves similar to werewolves, who were also weak to silver.
“And does that mean it will kill them necessarily?”
“No,” Dean said confidently, having heard his father go through this multiple times already and reading it over and over again in every single article and story, “it will slow them down and possibly stop them for a while, but it will not kill them. Sometimes a silver bullet hit in exactly the right place will kill weak ones, but the strong will not die.”
“So what do you have to do to kill them?” John asked as he paced in front of Dean, a thoughtful look crossing his face as if he was trying to predict if Dean would get this right or not.
“Use a silver knife to cut off their heads,” Dean said. He could remember that. Chop off their heads, just like vampires. This was just all comparing these creatures to others he already knew, but knowing that they were viewed as so much worse in his head.
“What abilities do skinwalkers have? How do they blend in with the world?”
Dean had this in the bag. “They can shift into any animal, even humans, and take on the abilities of said animal, such as a bird being able to fly or a fish being able to breathe underwater. They blend in mostly by being humans and trying to interact with other humans or becoming common animals to infiltrate a home or to just seem innocent and safe. Many become dogs to gain the trust of a family, especially ones with kids. They can mimic others to trick people into thinking their loved ones are calling to them, but they mostly use their own voices to communicate.”
John kept the questions coming. “How do they build rank?”
“They infect people and make them turn like them.”
“How do they infect them?”
“By biting them.” Dean could not imagine what it would be like to have a skinwalker bite him. It seemed too horrifying to imagine one of those things with its teeth dug into his skin. He shuddered just thinking about it.
“How long does it take them to change into a skinwalker?” John asked, forcing him to focus back on the test.
“It varies, but usually only a few hours.” Dean wanted to puke at the thought of possibly knowing he was turning into his worst fear if it had happened to him.
“Is there a cure?”
“No, there is not any known cure.”
“And what do these monsters eat?”
Dean paused. He did not like the answer to this one. “Human hearts.”
John nodded, satisfied at his son’s knowledge of these creatures. He would test him again later to make sure that he would remember it after a while of not studying it. If he failed, he would be forced to study again and would have to go through all of the questioning once more.
Dean would not forget any of the answers.
Later that night, when John left the motel room to do who knew what, Sam and Dean sat in the uncomfortable chairs in the room and ate fast food for dinner. Sam watched Dean eat his bacon cheeseburger for a moment before turning to his own chicken nuggets. Being four, he was not too picky as long as the food tasted yummy. He took a chicken nugget, drowned it in some barbeque sauce, and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth.
“Woah,” Dean said, handing over a napkin, “you’re supposed to eat the food, not get it all over your mouth.”
Sam only laughed, not caring that he had barbeque smeared on his cheeks. He wiped his face with the napkin, completely missing the barbeque spots.
Dean loved it when his brother was happy. He knew growing up as a hunter was not going to be a fun and happy time for him, but in moments like these where they could enjoy eating together and not worry about a case since it was already over were a blessing to him. Sammy would smile in times like these - laugh like he was now. Dean wished they could have more moments like this.
Sam ate a few more chicken nuggets before turning to ask Dean about the last case again.
Dean considered him for a moment. “It was normal, just like any other. We fought some monsters and we won.”
“No,” Sam disagreed, “they stopped the car.”
“We just ran into them sooner than expected.”
“Okay.”
And that was that, or so Dean thought. He had hoped to keep the gory details from Sam in order to spare him as much trauma as possible. He knew dad was bringing him up the same way he was: to fight monsters and be scared. However, he did not want that for his brother. He wanted Sammy to have as much of a normal life as he could give him. Sure, their father was with them, but Dean felt like he was raising Sam more than he was. He was the one there for him while his father only taught them how to fight.
When John came back, though, Sammy had to go and ask him about the case too. Dean knew he should have known better than to think that John would not tell Sam anything. When Sammy asked, he found himself praying to whoever would listen that their father would keep quiet.
Nobody answered that prayer, of course.
John told Sam all about the skinwalkers. He explained the facts about them, all the ones he made Dean memorize, and told him stories of the evils they do. Sammy looked horrified at it all, but he kept listening. He was smart enough to know that he should not interrupt John.
Dean was jealous of Sammy, though. He was young enough that he would forget most of what dad said without having John yell at him for forgetting yet. In the next few years, John would start making him memorize things too, but for now, Sammy was allowed to forget as much as his mind allowed him to.
Dean wished he could forget.