The forgotten brother Milo "Miles" Campbell has always lived a life in the shadows, haunted by the knowledge that he was despised by their father, John Winchester, simply because he was his wife's biggest mistake. Feeling rejected and neglected, Mil...
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Ch. 6: Ignoring The Bad
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THE CRACKLING CAMPFIRE CAST DANCING SHADOWS on the weary faces of the group, its flickering glow painting their features with a warm, hypnotic light. Milo could feel the heat of the flames gently licking his face as he stared into the fire, occasionally tossing small twigs and sticks into the hungry blaze every so often just to watch it burn and get engulfed. Despite the danger it represented naturally and with it being the root catalyst of his and his brother's rough lives, the fire had almost a striking beauty to it.
On the opposite side of the fire, Dean was hunched over meticulously etching intricate symbols in the dirt surrounding the campsite. Haley sat nearby, absentmindedly prodded at the flickering flames as she watched him with slight curiosity.
"One more time, that's—" Haley's voice trailed off, seeking clarification.
"Anasazi symbols," Dean replied, his tone confident. "It's for protection. The wendigo can't cross over them."
Roy, ever the skeptic, let out a dismissive laugh, his gun slung casually over his shoulder.
"Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy." Milo retorted, shooting him a pointed look before returning his attention to the fiery spectacle.
Sam approached from the edge of the campsite, settling down beside him after pushing aside the small pile of sticks Milo had gathered for his fire-feeding ritual. He turns to Milo, eyeing the double layers the boy had on with his jacket and sweater combo. "Hey can I borrow a jacket, it's getting kind of cold."
Milo gives him the stink eye, "I told you to bring a jacket, and you insisted the flannel would be enough."
Clearly, not in the mood for a back-and-forth, Sam rose to his feet, intending to retreat to the outskirts of the campsite. However, before he could stomp away like a temperamental toddler, Milo shucked his jacket off and flung it towards him without a word.
Sam pulled on the jacket and was momentarily surprised that it even fit him comfortably. But then again, Milo was probably used to having clothes a size bigger after growing up wearing Dean's hand-me-downs. It was kind of nice to think that he continued to buy them bigger when he left as well.
But Sam quickly dismissed the small smile rising up. Instead, his shoulders slumped and he let his elbows rest on his knees, his gaze hardened as he stared into the mesmerizing flames.
"We need to get these people back to town and hit the road."
"I know," Milo readily agreed, nodding his head. "If it were up to me, we'd be long gone, miles away from here." He glanced at Sam's cold demeanour for a fleeting moment before retracting his words, mindful of the conversation he and Dean had in the bar about keeping Sam in check. "But it's not up to me, and we're already here anyways. So, as hunters, we have a responsibility to make sure nobody else gets killed in these woods."
