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Dean winced as the ghost threw him across the room into a rotting dresser, resulting in sharp pains when the splinters dug into his back. This was supposed to be a simple investigation in Poughkeepsie, New York with a minor haunting of a small Victorian house. John had reluctantly allowed Dean to come along, leaving Sam with Pastor Jim. A pissed-off jilted lover was haunting her exes childhood home and they needed to check that her remains were not in the house before checking a cemetery. Dean was thrilled until the bitch had appeared out of nowhere and effectively put him out of commission. John was going to be so mad if he discovered that Dean had forgotten salt rounds.
“Dad! Drop everything and-”
The young hunter was cut off by another blow that promptly knocked him unconscious. He woke up in their dirty motel room to the sound of angry pacing, the darkness outside showing not much time has passed.
“Dad?”, Dean croaked, rubbing his bruised forehead, “What happened? How did we get out?”
John Winchester turned to his son with a small scowl, tossing the boy a pistol and a bottle of water.
“I barely got out alive, you took too long warning me about the ghost Dean. Drink and we’ll go back to burn that bastards bones. That was a rookie mistake and I swear if it happens again…”
The man shook his fist, and that’s all Dean needed to see before leaping up with a disguised wince of pain. He checked the gun for salt rounds and immediately stood at attention by the door.
“Ready to go when you are sir. This should be a simple salt and burn. I’ve got your back sir”
“You better, son.” John sighed, leading his son out the door and driving to the graveyard in silence. Dean was only 16 but had been raised to be better than this. The salt and burn went smoothly, Dean doing most of the work digging while his father sat back and “kept watch”. Not that Dean would ever call him out. He had been wondering about his mistake on the hunt.
“Hey dad? I’ve got a question...well more of a suggestion”
“No Dean. We are not investigating that haunted strip club”
“That isn’t what I mean, even though that would be awesome. What if we had a code word for warning a hunter to drop everything and run? Something quick and recognizable...” Dean chewed on his lip nervously, praying that he would not insult his father’s pride in his hunting skills.
“That’s actually a good idea Dean. I’m proud of you. Maybe you’re finally maturing enough for me to take you on a few vampire and werewolf hunts, or a solo salt and burn. What were you thinking?”
The young hunter beamed with pride and ran his fingers through his shaggy haircut
“Poughkeepsie”