“Daddy? Are there good monsters?” The little boy with the wide emerald eyes asks from the backseat of the black impala. He clutches his baby brother to his chest which was a feat in itself since the baby was nearly as big as the five year old. His grip was tight after all Daddy had forgotten the car seat and he doesn’t want his Sammy getting hurt since the seat belt was too big for the baby.
“What did I tell you boy?” growled the man in the driver seat pressing down harder on the gas. John cold dark eyes refusing to glance into the review mirror to meet those green eyes that were the exact duplicates of his beloved wife, murdered wife. They would only increase his pain and even thinking about it caused the accelerator to climb to ninety.
“Da-Sir, Are there good monsters?” Dean asked again shivering slightly at the chilly night air in the old classic car and hugging his brother closer.
“No,” snapped John. It had been a long night he was hungry but had spent the last of the cash on gas and beer. Hunting he had quickly discovered was not a profitable business especially when he had to lug around two useless kids. The only thing they would be good for in the business was monster bait at this point. Only Mary’s scowling face in his memory had stopped him quickly along that line of thought. That didn’t mean the brats weren’t going to be letting him to all the work. He would train them. After all it was there mother who had died. It was their quest as a family to bring the SOB, who had done this to his beautiful Mary, to justice, preferably with a chainsaw That thought brought a half smile to the grizzled man’s face.
“But what about Easter Bunny and Santa? Sir.” Dean continued. Apparently the boy had not gotten the hint to drop the topic. Why was this so important to the boy? Monsters were monsters. There was human and then there was monsters. Black and white. They were the things that ended his life and happiness. All that was left was revenge.
“They don’t exist. You’re too old to believe in such things.” John finally glanced back expecting to see the brat eyes welling with tears. He had made the boy soft by babying him too long. However there was no tears when John glanced back. Surprised he thought that maybe the boy had finally grown a spine. But his good mood was short lived as the questions continued. Where in the world was the boy going with this? The year after … the boy hadn’t spoken at all. It wasn’t until recently the boy had started speaking again and this was the most chatty the kid had been since that time John had been so drunk he had forgotten Sam in the motel. That had made the boy squawk.
“How about Angels?” The boy glanced down not looking at John whispering “Mommy said they protect me and Sammy. They good? Sir?” The little boy’s fingers twisted nervously in Sammy’s food stained shirt.
“If angels exist they didn’t protect your mother did they? You better get it through your thick skull boy. If it non-human it’s a monster,” glared John finger tightening on the steering wheel. Knuckles white. It was too late for this crap. “And what do we do with monster’s boy?”
“Hunt them sir,” Dean answered. He didn’t want daddy to start yelling again. It always made him scared and Sammy started yelling. Sometimes daddy would then grab his arm too hard and he would get a boo-boo and he would start crying and daddy would call him a baby too. Dean didn’t want to be a baby. He was scared though if all monsters were bad and Dad had to hunt them that made him want to cry. But he wasn’t a baby. He was a little monster and he was scared so he tucked his little wings closer to his back.