Philomela always had been such a beautiful place. The Kansatian city was created on a large and magnificent hill, protected by mountains that were even more capacious on either side of it. Large redwoods lined a barrier along the border of Philomela, which was dubbed by the Philomelians, 'The Red Forest'. Deep within that forest holds both vicious and friendly creatures prowling amongst the forest floor, and gliding high above the monstrous trees. Philomela is a home many grand meadows, with dainty cottages placed at random to hold friends and families, and occasionally travelers. The people who lived in this marvelous town were so kind and welcoming, so warm and inviting, that it was a hard city to despise. Philomela, in Kansatian, means 'lover of song', and in that city, that's all they are. The people would love to dance around the town square to alluring music, splash in clear, exquisite water down at the Public City Pond, and sing as they glided along the fresh, grass roads as they went about their day. The children would prance through the sweet, green meadows, picking dandelions and playing a friendly game of tag. The adults that lived in the outer towns would harvest small patches of farmland, or fish in the plentiful rivers and streams that ran through the city. The adults in the inner town would work as merchants, selling and trading things at low costs, or would work inside the City Hall, as just officials for the faithful town. The city of song lovers had its own small, yet strong army, but tried to use it as little as possible, for they didn't believe in war and violence. They'd rather make peace and continue with their lives. Philomela always had been such a pulchritudinous place.

Until they came.

Demons, the townspeople called them, and demons they were. They scoured among the marketplace, their eyes black as night, setting small shops aflame with flicks of their hands, trashing innocent peoples' houses to bits with a snap of their fingers, and even attacking and torturing the villagers who were unfortunate enough to get caught until they were too exhausted to scream. Flames soon engulfed the inner city, causing anyone deep within it to be burned along with the rest of the remains. Ash spat into the sky, wavering over the distressed city like a deathly cloud awaiting more destruction. Most of the Demons had yet to make their way to the outer towns, which was along the bottom of the steep hill that was once the tranquil city's home. But, unfortunately, some of the demonic invaders left their fellow soldier's sides and made their way to the people below who were unaware of any sort of danger going amuck, and were captured on the spot.

The leader of the Demons, a horrific Englishman going by the name of Crowley, stood at the peak of the hillside, gazing down at his warriors as they invaded this Kansatian city. His lips twitched into a crooked smile, his hands held gently behind his back. He listened to the poor townspeople screech and shriek in fear and agony as their homes were broken into, their families taken, their supplies either stomped upon or stolen, and for some... their lives seized from them without even a warning. While watching this gruesome sight, something to the edge of the city caught Crowley's attention, causing the Englishman to quirk an eyebrow. He noticed a couple of his warriors -Meg and Ruby, he is almost positive- had a tight hold on a strong, middle aged man, and are dragging him away to the iron cages to be taken as a slave. But that wasn't the thing that caught Crowley's attention. What did was the fine young man running in the opposite direction, towards the border of Philomela, and away from the helpless man. The corner of his mouth curved into a delighted smile.

"How interesting."

- - -

Dean padded across the soft, grassy meadow on the outskirts of Philomela, in the direction of his cozy cottage to meet with his father after a long day's travel. The light breeze that waved through the hill caused his bright green tunic that flowed just below his hips to billow gently against his skin. His white, puffy pants that stopped right underneath his knees brushed smoothly over his legs, and his knee-high strapped sandals were tied firmly onto his feet. His ivory handled sword that had been passed down to him from his father bumped against his leg, where it was hanging from his tightly secured belt around his waist. His small, deerskin bag that was full of the green orbs his city used as money was dangling from the other side of his hip, fastened on his belt, as well. He had had a glorious day; venturing out of his home, crossing the smooth, fresh meadow, across the border and down to the lake for a peaceful swim and a short hunt. But Dean had promised his father he'd be home before moon fall, and -Dean glanced towards the west, where the large, orange star was sliding behind the tall, mountain peak- he wasn't going to disobey his father's order.

So there he was; tromping along the calming grass, feeling wonderful and cheerful, when an abruptly sad thought entered his mind. Sam… His younger brother, who had moved to the city of Syna with his newly made wife, Jessica. Dean had liked Jessica, and was proud of his little brother that he had found happiness. But Syna was quite a distance from Philomela, and quite a journey to get there from the city full of song lovers, which means they get to see little of one another for only a short amount of time.

Suddenly, faint screams and wails were heard in the distance, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. He stopped walking, eyes wide as he strained his ears to hear more clearly. Yes, those were shrieks of fear and pain, and not of glee and laughter. His emerald eyes flicked to the skies, where he only just then noticed the thick, gray smoke surrounding the hilltop. Panicked, Dean rushed forward in a frenzy to reach his house that was merely yards away. But before he could get there, the wooden front door slammed open, and out came two menacing looking women. And who were they dragging by the heels? Dean's beloved father: John Winchester.

Anger swelled through Dean. How dare these strangers attack his home and dear father! He unsheathed his deadly sharp sword, and crouched in a hunting stance as if he were facing two stubborn foxes. One of the women with short streaks of blond hair glanced over her shoulder, noticing Dean. She gave a hearty laugh, and the one with long, dark brown hair peered over her shoulder and laughed, too. Dean gritted his teeth, and tightened his grip on his sword, but before he could do anything, John's terrified voice shouted from his struggling spot in the dirt.

"No, Dean, run! Get out of here as fast as you can, son!" he ordered, causing Dean's eyes to widen. What was so horrifying about these two females (other than their cruel laughter) that his own, brave and strong father was completely and utterly horrified? Dean hesitated. He wanted to lunge forward and run them both through with his mighty blade, but something in his father's voice held him back. "Run, son- Find Sammy and get out of here!"

"But I can't leave you!" Dean finally protested, looking lost and confused for such a strong, young adventurer. John shook his head, ignoring the impatient noises the two invaders were making; even threatening him they'd take Dean, too, if he didn't hurry.

"I'll be fine, just get out of Philomela before they find you," he reassured his son as the two women ordered him to his feet. John Winchester stood, standing tall as they yanked and pulled at him towards a strange cart that was foreign to Dean's eyes, with an uncomfortable looking iron cage in the back. Dean took an unsure step toward him, wanting to help, wanting to do something to save his father, but one of the women finally whipped around to face him, her eyes blacker than darkness. John struggled to turn in order to stare, panicked, at his son. "Run, Dean, run!"

Dean stumbled backwards right as a pounding of hooves and stone hard feet erupted from the inner city, towards Dean's and his neighbor's homes. He could hear the women's cruel laughter as he stumbled to stand. The screams were louder, now, and other voices were becoming audible. Not kind and sweet Philomela voices, but sinister and pernicious demonic voices. Heart rate quickening, Dean fumbled over his feet as he turned and ran as fast as he could across the meadow, his money jingling against his thigh, and his sword held firmly in his sweating hands. He breathed hard as he raced past the others' houses, and further down the meadow. Relief filled him as the farther he put his home behind him, the fainter the yells grew. He slowed his pace as he approached the border that separates Philomela from the outside world.

Right past the border is a tranquil lake, surrounded by vegetation and lofty trees. The first time Dean went there was with his father, which was years ago, when he had turned 12 and was officially a 'man' in his city. He had also received his sword that day, when he and his father had reached the placid oasis.

Dean finally came to a stop in front of the lake, his eyes scanning past the body of water and at the colossal redwoods that had made their home here centuries ago. He smiled, taking comfort in the soothing bird song, the fear suddenly leaving him. His stiff hands opened, releasing the sword and allowing it to thump onto the damp grass. He collapsed beside his weapon and onto his rear, letting out a relieved sigh. Dean blinked, lifting his gaze to stare into the clear water a few feet away from him, seeing his blurry reflection from where he sat. A distant howl from deep into the woods startled Dean from his daze. He suddenly didn't feel safe here, even in this familiar place he liked to think as his second home. He had to get away and find his brother, like his father had told him to do.

"Dad," Dean whispered, remorse filling him as he realized he might never see his father again. "I should've stopped them- I could've stopped them!" he shouted, angry with himself for abandoning his dear father without a second thought. His breath hitched as he abruptly thought of his closes friends in the city, who were all being stolen or murdered in their own homes. Dean buried his face in his hands. "Why did I leave them?"

He ordered you to, therefore you obeyed- as you always obey orders, a voice within him hissed, and Dean let out a miserable sigh, hanging his head.

"I have to find Sammy," he murmured, forcing himself to his feet and hardening his expression into determination as he shoved the fear and regret away. "I have to find him before its too late."

Dean grabbed his sword, sheathing it into his belt once more, and heading out into the Red Forest. He carried on, eyes now and again drifting to gaze up at the ponderously large redwoods, curious as to how anything could become so enormous. He tromped away, occasionally pausing by streams for a refreshing drink, or resting in the shade of a Redwood to escape the still somehow blazingly hot sun that was lazily edging its way behind the great mountains. Dean sighed, feeling his stomach growl in anticipation and growing hunger. He clenched his smooth belly through his tunic, frowning down at himself as he kept walking.

"I need to find something to eat, and quick, before it gets dark," he muttered under his breath, squinting. Suddenly, as if in answer to his troubles, a rustle of leaves sounded from a few yards ahead of the traveler. He froze, straining his senses to see and hear more accurately, trying to pinpoint the noise and its owner. Dean unsheathed his sword for the third time that day, clutching it tightly in his right hand and standing in a hunting position, ready for anything. He narrowed his emerald eyes as a wave of anxiety and suspicion filled him. Something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what.