Sioux Falls, South Dakota -- 1997 (Three Days After Broken Bow)
John Winchester sat in Bobby's study, staring at his journal while trying to ignore the headache that had been plaguing him since Nebraska.
Something about that last hunt didn't sit right, but every time he tried to pin down why, the pain behind his eyes intensified.
"Found another one," Bobby announced, walking in with the phone still in his hand. "Chen's place in San Francisco - cleaned out. No trace."
That made seven. Seven experienced hunters or lore keepers who'd vanished in the past three days. No bodies, no signs of struggle, just... gone. Along with their research, their artifacts, everything.
"Pattern?" John asked, rubbing his temples.
"If there is one, I can't see it. They're all different types - hedge witches, scholars, artifact collectors. Hell, Chen was practically retired."
Through the window, John could see Dean in the salvage yard, practicing with that sword from Pastor Jim. The weapon moved like it was part of him, blessed metal catching the afternoon sun. Natural talent, John had always thought.
So why did watching it now make his skin crawl?
Sam sat under a nearby tree, supposedly reading but actually watching his brother. The boy had been quieter than usual since Broken Bow, though John couldn't remember anything particularly traumatic about the hunt.
Simple salt and burn. Found the locket, destroyed it, put the spirit to rest.
Then why couldn't he remember the spirit's name?
"Earth to John," Bobby's voice cut through his thoughts. "You hearing this?"
"Sorry, what?"
"I said Rufus just called. Said something's got the old families spooked. The ones that usually stay neutral? They're going to ground. All of them."
John's headache spiked. Old families. Something about that phrase...
"Dad?" Sam stood in the doorway now, and for a split second, John saw shadows move wrong around his youngest. "You okay?"
"Fine," he lied, because that's what Winchesters did. "Just tired."
But his hunter's instincts screamed that nothing was fine. Something had happened in Broken Bow, something important, something he should remember.
Something about his boys.
"John, when's the last time you slept?" Bobby asked, concern evident in his gruff voice.
"I sleep fine," John answered automatically, though truth was, he couldn't actually remember sleeping since Nebraska. Every time he tried, his dreams filled with yellow eyes and wing-beats.
Wing-beats?
The headache intensified. He reached for his coffee, noticed his hand shaking, and set the mug back down.
"Got another call," Rufus's voice crackled through Bobby's speaker phone. "Remember that Greek family in Massachusetts? The ones with the old library?"
"The Stavros collection?" Bobby leaned forward. "Don't tell me-"
"Gone. All of it. But here's the weird part - they left a message. Just one line: 'Some knowledge isn't worth dying for.'"
John's vision blurred. Knowledge. Dying. Something about that...
A crash from outside drew their attention. Dean's sword had slipped from his grip, the blessed metal singing a note that shouldn't have been possible for steel. The sound made John's head feel like it was splitting open.
"Dad?" Sam appeared again, too quickly, moving with a grace that seemed wrong somehow. "Maybe you should lie down."
"I'm fine," John insisted, but when he stood, the room spun. Images flashed through his mind:
- A diner full of people who moved wrong
- Frost patterns that formed words
- Yellow eyes and corporate suits
- Dean's sword blazing with impossible light
- Sam's shadows dancing...
"John!" Bobby's voice seemed distant. "Damn it, sit down before you fall down!"
"Something happened," John managed to say. "In Broken Bow. Something..."
The headache exploded behind his eyes. He felt himself falling, caught glimpses of things that couldn't be real:
- Ancient beings burning
- Wings made of light and shadow
- His boys, glowing with power that wasn't human
- A circle meant to trap...
Then darkness took him.
-----------------------------------
He woke to hushed voices.
"...pushing too hard against it," Bobby was saying. "The warding's fighting back."
"Can't we just-" Dean's voice.
"No," Sam cut in, sharper than John had ever heard him. "It has to hold."
John kept his eyes closed, hunter's instincts telling him to listen.
"But Dad-"
"Will be fine," Sam insisted. "He just needs rest."
Something in his youngest son's tone made John's skin prickle. Since when did Sam sound so... certain? So old?
"Got another one," Rufus's voice drifted from the next room. "Shaman in New Mexico. Left everything behind except a note: 'Watch, but never speak.'"
John's head throbbed with each word. Watch but never speak. Why did that matter?
He opened his eyes to find himself on Bobby's couch. Dean sat nearby, that sword across his lap, humming faintly. Sam stood by the window, his shadow seeming to stretch despite the afternoon sun.
"How long?" John managed to ask.
"Few hours," Dean answered. "You scared us, Dad."
"'m fine," John tried to sit up. "Just need to..."
The room tilted. Images flashed again:
- A child with ancient eyes
- Shadows that moved like people
- Grace-light burning
- His boys, becoming something...
"Easy," Bobby appeared with water and pills. "Whatever you're trying to remember, let it go."
But he couldn't. Something had happened in Broken Bow. Something about his sons. Something important.
"The ghost," John said carefully. "What was its name?"
Dean opened his mouth to answer, then frowned. "It was... I mean, we found the locket..."
"Hayley Bright," Sam supplied smoothly. Too smoothly.
John's headache spiked again. He saw Sam watching him, those eyes too knowing, too careful.
"Yeah," Dean nodded, but he looked uncertain. "Hayley Bright."
Another call came in - more disappearances, more ancient collections vanishing, more cryptic warnings left behind. The pattern was clear, even through John's pain:
Something had spooked the supernatural world. Something big enough to make ancient families run, old powers hide.
Something about his boys.
But every time he got close to the truth, the headache drove him back. Like something was forcing him to forget.
And Sam... Sam watched it all with eyes that held too many secrets.
John Winchester had been a hunter long enough to trust his instincts.
And right now, they were screaming that everything was wrong.
He just couldn't remember why.