A Hunter's Instincts

Sioux Falls, South Dakota -- 1995

Something was different about John Winchester's boys.

I'd been watching them grow up, seeing them every few months when John needed research or backup. But lately, the changes were becoming harder to ignore.

Dean, at sixteen, moved like a warrior born. Not just trained – born. I'd seen him practice with blessed weapons in my yard, each movement precise like he was remembering rather than learning.

The way he handled consecrated items was different too. While most hunters treated holy objects with cautious respect, Dean seemed drawn to them, like they were extensions of himself.

And Sam... twelve years old and already knew more about supernatural lore than most hunters three times his age.

The weather still changed with his moods, though he tried to hide it. That hollow look in his eyes seemed to grow deeper each time I saw him.

"Uncle Bobby?" Dean's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Found those texts you wanted."

I looked up from my desk to see him carrying a stack of ancient books. Latin and Greek texts that should've been impossible for a teenager to read, but Dean handled them like old friends.

"Thanks, boy. Your daddy called – he's running late. Won't be here till tomorrow."

Dean nodded, but his eyes strayed to the window where Sam sat reading under a tree. Storm clouds gathered overhead despite the forecast promising clear skies.

"Bobby..." Dean hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Have you noticed anything... different lately?"

"Such as?"

"About me. About..." he gestured vaguely. "Sacred things."

I studied him over my whiskey glass. The cross on my wall seemed to glow brighter in his presence, something I'd been noticing more and more.

"Want to be more specific?"

Dean touched the silver cross at his neck – a gift from Pastor Jim. "Blessed weapons, consecrated items... they feel different. Like they're meant for me. And sometimes, in churches..."

He trailed off, but I'd seen it myself last Sunday. The way the stained glass angels had seemed to watch him, how the altar candles had burned brighter as he passed.

"Could be a gift," I said carefully. "Some hunters who are very close to supernatural energies, such as rituals or magic develop... affinities."

But we both knew it was more than that. Just like we both knew there was more to Sam's weather patterns and ancient knowledge.

The Winchester boys were changing. Growing into something else.

And I had no idea if I should be worried or afraid.

A crash from outside interrupted our conversation. Sam had dropped his book, and the sky overhead had turned almost black in reaction to his frustration. Another of his "episodes," as John called them. 

"I got it," Dean said automatically, already moving toward his brother.

I watched through the window as Dean approached Sam. The moment Dean got close, the storm clouds began to recede. That was new. Hadn't seen that before.

Turning back to my research, I pulled out the journal where I'd been keeping notes on the boys' changes:

"Dean Winchester:

- Increasing affinity for blessed weapons/items

- Natural facility with ancient languages

- Religious symbols react to presence

- Combat skills beyond training

- Churches/sacred ground seem to welcome him

- Healing faster than normal?

Sam Winchester:

- Advanced knowledge of lore

- Weather phenomena

- Possible void effect (getting stronger)

- Protection symbols appear wherever they stay

- Animals react strangely

- Headaches and nosebleeds continuing"

The sound of wings made me look up sharply, but it was just crows taking flight from my yard. Still, something about the sound seemed... significant.

The phone rang – John checking in.

"Bobby? How are they?"

I watched Dean and Sam through the window. Dean was showing Sam something with a blessed silver knife, the metal gleaming unusually bright in his hands.

"They're fine, John. But..."

"But what?"

I chose my words carefully. John was already paranoid enough about Sam's oddities. No need to add Dean to his worries just yet.

"Might want to get here sooner rather than later. Think it's time we had a talk about some things I've been noticing."

The silence on the other end of the line spoke volumes.

"What kind of things?" John finally asked, his voice tight.

Through the window, I watched Dean practicing with the silver knife. His movements were fluid, precise – almost ceremonial.

"Your boys are changing, John. And I ain't just talking about normal growing up."

Sam had moved closer to watch his brother, and I noticed how the shadows seemed to bend wrong around him. That void effect was getting stronger, like reality itself was making space for something.

"Bobby..." John's voice held a warning.

"You've seen it too. Don't pretend you haven't." I took a swig of whiskey. "Dean's different with blessed weapons. Sacred ground. And Sam-"

"We're not discussing Sam."

"The hell we're not." I watched another storm cloud dissipate above the yard. "These aren't normal psychic abilities, John. This is something else."

A particularly loud clash of metal drew my attention. Dean had dropped the knife, staring at his hand. For a moment – just a moment – I could have sworn I saw something else in his stance. Something ancient and powerful.

"I'll be there tomorrow morning," John said finally. "Don't... don't tell them anything."

"They're not stupid, John. They know something's happening."

After hanging up, I pulled out Missouri Moseley's latest letter. She'd been cryptic as usual, but one line stood out:

"Those boys are marked for something bigger than any of us can see. There's power in their blood, old power, and it's waking up. Watch them close, Bobby Singer."

Outside, Dean had resumed his practice, each movement more graceful than the last. Sam watched him with those too-knowing eyes, while overhead, the sky couldn't seem to decide between storm and sunshine.

A crash of thunder made me glance at Sam – and I froze. The cross on my wall had inverted itself again, hanging upside down like it sometimes did when the boy's moods turned dark. By the time Dean reached his brother's side, it had righted itself, but I'd seen it.

Added another note to my journal:

"Dean's presence seems to calm Sam's weather effects and other phenomena. Connection? Both showing signs of something beyond normal hunter abilities. Different manifestations but possibly related source.

Need to research: 

- Bloodline effects

- Sacred warrior traditions

- Weather manipulation

- Void phenomena

- Blessed weapon affinities

- Old world lore about marked children

- Inverse crucifixes (connection to S's moods?)"

The cross flickered again as Dean passed beneath it, and somewhere in the distance, church bells rang with unusual clarity.

Damn idjit that I am, I know what inverted crosses usually mean in our line of work. Should be loading my shotgun with salt rounds, not writing in my damn journal. But these are John's boys.

And something in my gut tells me to document rather than hunt. Maybe because I've watched them grow up.

Maybe because whatever's happening to them, they're fighting it - each in their own way. Still... any other hunter saw these signs, they'd be reaching for their weapons.

Instead, here I am, taking notes like some college professor.

Through the window, I watched Dean guide Sam through a calming exercise Pastor Jim had taught them, and as Sam went through them, the storm clouds finally receded.

These boys... they weren't evil. They were scared. Changing. And whatever they were becoming, they needed guidance more than silver bullets.

I closed my journal and reached for the phone again. Jim Murphy needed to know what I'd seen.

Between his religious knowledge and my lore, maybe we could figure this out before John's paranoia turned this into something worse.

The cross flickered one final time as the boys came inside, Dean's hand protective on Sam's shoulder. Just two kids, really. Two kids carrying the weight of something ancient and terrible on their young shoulders.

God help us all when we finally figure out what that something is.

For now, though, I had research to do. And a bottle of whiskey with my name on it.

"Who's hungry?" I called out, closing my observation journal. "Got stuff for sandwiches."

Some things were better left in notebooks. For now, at least.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, do tell how you found it.

Did you guys like Bobby's perspective?

Do tell me how you guys find the way Sam and Dean's natures show as the two souls that are counterparts of the two mightiest archangels?

Well, please do comment and review and I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)