Snippets One Hundred Forty-Five: 2000 Part One..Dean's Birthday

        The Winchesters were in North Dakota, hunting a wendigo, on Dean’s twenty-first birthday.  The hunt had been difficult, and all three men had been injured.  They reached an abandoned farm house at sunrise.  Dean checked the wiring outside and managed to break the lock mechanism and find a way to get lights on.  John found an old woodpile and Sam hunted for kindling.   Before long, the three men had lights, water, and a fire.  

John stitched some scratches on Sam’s back and bandaged his son.  Sam began to do the same for him.  John had a gash on his side.  They jumped when they heard a gun go off twice. 

“Check on your brother, Son,” the older man told the teen.

Sam found Dean standing outside, cleaning and skinning a brace of rabbits.

“Dean?”

“Supper, Sammy.  Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yeah, Dean, but you’re injured.”

“I’ll be fine.  Bobby called a while ago.  He’s coming up here.”

“Why?”

“Not quite sure.”

Dean found some pots in the ancient kitchen.  “There’s an old garden out there, Sammy?  You think something might still be growing?”

“Like what?  This place is old, Dean,” Sam whined a little.

“I forgot.  You’re hurting,” Dean commented and walked outside, leaving his brother with their father, who had killed a half bottle of whiskey to kill the pain and get drunk.  He walked around the gardens.  The plants were over grown, but he dug around some and found two very large potatoes and one huge onion.  Going to the car, he looked in the back seat for a bag from the fast food place they had stopped at the day before.  He found ketchup, salt, and pepper.   Going back into the house, the older brother put the cut up rabbits in a pot of water, added the ketchup, salt and pepper and put a lid on the pot.

At that moment, a dizzy spell hit him.  Sam grabbed him and opened his jacket.  The shirt beneath was covered in blood.

        “Damn it, Dean,” Sam swore as he began to stitch the nasty gash that almost ripped his brother’s stomach open 

Dean laid down on a sleeping bag while Sam watched the stew his brother had put on the fire. 

Bobby arrived late in the afternoon and took charge.  He checked the stew.  The food was cooked.  Checking the wounds, he noted Dean’s was the worse. 

        After everyone ate the stew, John and Sam both laid down and slept.  Dean sat up and watched Bobby check the salt lines.  The older man sat down next him.  He opened up his backpack and pulled out a small bottle of Irish whiskey.

        Dean’s hazel eyes stared at him in surprise, “Dad’s asleep, Bobby.”

        “That’s right, Son.  Happy birthday,” the old hunter spoke softly as he offered the whiskey to boy.

        Dean took a small sip and coughed a little.  Bobby smiled.

        “First drink?”

        “Of the hard stuff?  Yes, Sir.”

        The two hunters split the bottle and Bobby tucked Dean into his sleeping bag.  The hunter slept near the boy, knowing there would be a major hangover in the morning.

        Castiel arrived from and errand for Father and frowned over the wounds, knowing he could have prevented them.  He smelled the alcohol and realized what day it was, and felt grateful for Bobby.