Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters

Chapter 1

Young Blood: Part 1

My childhood was a dull, dark, bottomless pit of nothing. The early days were great, at least what I could remember from them. I could remember sitting on the floor of the Roadhouse, writing in a diary my mom had given me and glancing up every once in a while at my parents. Those were the good days. When mom wasn't so uptight, and dad was there. They would sit and talk for hours at the Roadhouse, which I didn't think was possible. I always wondered if they'd run out of things to say. But they were always there, mom sipping from the long neck of a beer and dad sipping from a glass full of iced brown liquid. He always told me it was sweet tea. Not that what my dad drank constituted what kind of person he was. I couldn't remember much about dad after he died. Memories just started slipping away after he died. I suppose that's what always happens. Grief comes and then follows the long years of trying to tell yourself to forget. As the memories slipped away, I tried to hold onto this one, of mom and dad staring lovingly into each others eyes and laughing. I would write it, I would draw it, and sometimes I would act it out, just to remind myself that it was real. That dad had been there once. Though you couldn't tell now. Mom had given all dad's things (aside from that neat package dad had left for me to open on my eleventh birthday), neatly packed in a box, to a man I knew as Uncle John.

Uncle John was a lot like my dad in so many ways. He had that 'daddy' scent of gunpowder and leather (but I later realized it wasn't the way dad's smelled. It was the way hunters smelled). Uncle John would stroll into the Roadhouse on random occasions, wearing his leather jacket, the collar popped up around his neck. He was a rugged man, his face always dotted with stubble and his hands tan and calloused. He would stroll into the Roadhouse and I would be there, on the floor, writing in my diary. Uncle John would smile sadly at me before bending down to pick me up and twirl me in his big arms. Uncle John was like a father to me.

Mom would always come out from the back room. The first night Uncle John was there was always the same. Mom would shout, telling him to get out, and by the next day, they would be talking like old friends with the occasional awkward silence. I was eight when my dad died. I was eleven the last time I saw my second dad.

It was only two days until my birthday. I wasn't sure mom knew though, she was busy a lot of the time. My 'Uncle Shawn' had come by a couple days earlier as a matter of fact. Mom always insisted I call the men that come into the Roadhouse 'Uncle'. So Shawn walked into the Roadhouse, left his eighteen year old son, and left. Just like that. He never came back. I learned later, a couple days after Shawn had left, that the boys name was Ash. Ash was like a big brother to me, especially considering my mom almost adopted him. Ash had left the day before, and I was extremely lonely without someone to talk to. Ash wasn't clear about where he was going. He just told me 'I'm off to go make a new path for myself' whatever that meant. So I sat there, on the Roadhouse floor, idly drawing patterns in the thick dust on the floor.

Uncle John opened the door and he looked at me with a sad grin, like he always did but he didn't rush forward and hug me. For that, I was a bit suspicious. I had thought something bad had happened. "Where's your mom?" Uncle John asked. I pointed to the back room and Uncle John walked through the doors. What I saw next was surprising. Two small boys stood in the doorway where Uncle John had appeared. One was my age, maybe slightly older. He wore an oversized leather jacket, probably Uncle John's, and an amulet around his neck. Even as a twelve year old, he displayed courage and pride, maybe a bit too much of it. He seemed a bit like a pretty boy to me at first.

The second boy was obviously younger, his dark hair hanging in front of his brown eyes. The boy wore a sweatshirt, his hands shoved in the pockets as he stared incredulously at the interior of the Roadhouse. I decided I might introduce myself. Kids weren't something you encountered often at the Roadhouse. I pushed myself off the ground, brushing the dust off the front of my brown canvas jacket. "I'm Jo." I announced, standing before the boys, my hands on my hips.

"Dean." the first boy said. "This is Sam." he pointed to the littler boy. The littler boy gave a half smile.

"What you doing with Uncle John?" I asked, taking quick notice of my grammar. A girl who grew up in the Roadhouse was doomed for bad education, despite the homeschooling my dad, mom, and Ash gave me. I made mental note to try and use better grammar around Dean.

"He's our dad." Dean glanced at me challengingly, stepping into the roadhouse. "Dad doesn't have any brothers or sisters."

"Oh, we just call everyone Uncle." I replied. Dean nodded his head, stepping up to the bar that was all too tall for him. Something about the way he walked told me he was trying to play it cool. I suppose he hadn't met many girls. I retreated behind the counter like I had seen mom do whenever a man walked through the doors of the Roadhouse. Dean was different though. Smaller, not as gruff, missing stubble, and not cleaning off weapons. The littler boy, Sam, walked around the Roadhouse a bit more. I decided to ignore him.

"What do you want?" I asked formally, carefully not to say 'd'ya'. I tried to remember how mom acted whenever a customer arrived.

"Um," Dean, obviously a bit confused at my asking, furrowed his brow. "What do most hunters drink?" Dean asked.

"This brown stuff." I held up a bottle, a bit unclear at whhhy he was calling the guys that came into the roadhouse hunters. Mom just called them 'bonafide protectin' men'.

"I'll take some of that then." Dean's voice dripped with skepticism. I poured the glass and set it in front of Dean, who lifted it up and took a whiff. "Uh," he looked like he was going to be sick. "Never mind."

"Joanna Beth, what are you doing?" Mom shouted from the back room.

"Nothing." I said quickly. I grabbed the glass and poured it out in the sink as Mom and Uncle John came out of the back room.

"Come on in guys." Uncle John said, more targeted at Dean and Sam than me. A hot flare of jealousy rose in me. "I know you're tired." Dean and Sam walked magnetically towards their father and I could see the obvious resemblance. I followed as we walked into the back room.

"Come on Sam, you can stay in my room." Uncle John took the little boy with him down the hall to a guest bedroom. Before leaving, he turned to my mom. "I'll tuck him in and then we can talk."

My mom nodded. "Alright." she mumbled as Uncle John and Sam disappeared around the corner. "Joanna, you and Dean can share a bed." I could see Dean sticking out his tongue and jabbed my arm into his stomach. My mom smirked before placing a hand on both of our shoulders. "Come on you two." she tucked us into bed and Dean laid on his back uncomfortably, staring at the ceiling. "Good night." mom shut the door behind her and the room was dark. Suddenly, Dean was shifting, sliding out from where Mom had tucked the sheets in to keep us in bed.

"Dean." I whispered.

"What?" he asked as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed.

"Where ya goin'?" there was the bad grammar again.

"To eavesdrop, where do you think I'm going." He stepped onto the ground with surprising stealth.

"Mom says not to listen to other people's conversations, it's rude." I crossed my arms over my chest.

"But this is my dad. He doesn't count." Dean continued to the door.

"I can't let you listen in on their conversation. It's not right." I got out of the bed to pulled Dean away from the door, but he just grabbed my arm.

"Then I guess you're coming with me." he pulled us into the light of the hallway. I could see Uncle John's retreating figure close the door on Sam's room and walk off towards the living room. "Come on." Dean whispered. I cursed myself for letting myself get dragged into this. Literally.

"If I get in trouble, I blame you." I added a snarky comment just to be even. I thought I saw Dean smirk but he continued walking, releasing my arm. We slid against the wall , sitting on the dusty floor before the opening to the living room. We could hear them clearly.

"Ellen, I need somewhere for them to stay for a while."

"I told you John, I'm done baby sitting."

"Ellen, it's the hell hounds." the word hung in the air and I was ultimately confused. "They caught our scent, the boys too. They're after us. I need to throw them off track."

"And you think I'll let you led the hell hounds straight to your sons, straight to my Roadhouse, and straight to my Jo?' mom's voice was sharp and Dean looked at me, as if just understanding the relationship I had with my mother.

"It's not like that. I bought them new clothes, as far as a hell hound could tell, they're untrackable. I put their old clothes, old scents, everything in my car. I'll drive west until they're off the trail and I'll gank 'em." I had never heard Uncle John talk this way, and it scared me slightly.

"How long am I supposed to baby sit then?"

"A day? Maybe two? Bobby will pick them up when I start back here." Uncle John's voice was frantic, persistent. "Please, Ellen."

Mom paused. "I suppose if you expect me to keep your kids, then they wont mind earning their keep around here." a slight smile was hidden in her voice.

"Go right ahead."

"But if those boys tell Jo anything about this hunting business, I will never forgive you. Jo is safe and isolated from that world. She doesn't need to know these things."

"I know." Uncle John said sadly. "It's a shame though. She's a hell of a fighter." Dean glanced at me questioningly and then his eyes widened, as if he understood now.

"Not funny." mom replied. There was a long silence and suddenly Uncle John appeared around the corner. He glanced down at Dean and I and my heart thudded.

"Are you eavesdropping?"

So this is my first Supernatural fanfic, hope you like it