WITHOUT A WARNING

Summary: AU. A world where Mary Winchester never died. Dean 18, Sam 14

Authors Note: Hi there! New fic from me. Completely different to anything Supernatural related I have ever written before, so I hope it's okay. Please enjoy!

Warning: There is sensitive material in this first chapter dealing with the topic of war. I hope I don't offend anyone and have never been to war (very thankfully) I hope I haven't completely butchered it.


It's a truth that in love and war

World's collide and hearts get broken

I want to live like I know I'm dying

Take up my cross, not be afraid

- Thousand Foot Krutch; War of Change -


It was hot.

That's what was going through his mind as he trudged through the desert. It was almost fucking unbearably hot. The sun was beating down on his back, neck and shoulders, causing the sand-coloured fatigues to cling uncomfortably to his body. A large rucksack lay in the sand beside him, filled with the essentials. Several others were leaning against theirs, large bottles of water being pulled out and gulped greedily from. He decided to follow suit and leaned back against his rucksack, grateful for the temporary reprieve of the constant sifting through the hot and unforgiving sand. He went to grab the ties holding the bag closed and pull out the much anticipated drink bottle when one of the others made a sound. Looking up, his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open in horror.

Suddenly the world was on fire.

He rolled over and dropped onto his stomach, blindly groping for the semi-automatic machine gun that was lying beside him. He quickly managed to bring the gun into firing position and held it out in front of himself. His hands were shaking as he lay there.

Bullets flew overhead in terrorizing amounts. He could feel the breeze of the bullets; could hear the screams of pain coming from comrade and enemy alike. The coppery smell and taste of blood penetrated the once-calm air and he knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

Crouching, the soldier looked over the small sand barrier that was protecting some of them from the worst of the barrage. He could see bodies scattered far and wide in front of the ridge, dark crimson blood coating the golden-coloured sand.

Leaning his weapon against the top of the ridge, the soldier managed to find a group of the enemy through the plumes of dust and sand being disrupted because of the gunfire. Taking a deep breath in, he pulled the trigger. Immediately, the recoil had him sliding backwards a little and he fought to keep it under control. He saw a few of the enemy soldiers drop, screaming in pain as the small projectiles found their target.

"ALL FORCES RETREAT!" a voice screamed from somewhere to his right. The soldier whipped his head round and watched as his comrades began to pull back.

The air was dense with dust and sand, causing breathing difficulties. The soldier knew that was one of the reasons for the retreat, but found it weird to cause a full forces retreat. Coughing, he turned back to grab his weapon and rucksack and froze.

Before him, where the group of enemy soldiers had once stood, was a massive grey and cream tank. The huge, single barrel gun mounted to the front of the beast was horrifying in itself, but what added to the terror was the sheer amount of armed foot soldiers accompanying the beast. Their guns were raised in front, ready to fire when given the command.

For a moment, time froze. An unannounced temporary cease-fire seemed to take effect as the two sides of the war stood still and stared each other down; anxious to see who would break first. The soldier breathed hard, felt himself shaking as real fear gripped him like nothing had ever done before. Suddenly, everything seemed too real. Dying seemed too real. Grabbing his weapon, he started to move very slowly backwards, hoping like hell he was going to get away before the entire desert became a blood bath – even more so than what it already was.

And then it was like a switch had been flicked. What had been an eerily calm atmosphere was transformed into an angry, vengeance-filled blood bath. The hollers from enemy soldiers filled the air moments before the bullets did.

And then came the screaming.

Chaos fell upon the soldier and his comrades as they were barraged with enemy fire. He could hear the repeated command of 'RETREAT' echo around as they all struggled to get away from it all. He heard the tank coming towards them and then there was a resounding boom as it was fired.

A huge sand cloud erupted from the ground only metres away from where he was standing, showering everyone within grasp. He flung himself to the ground again, trying to protect his battered body from the enemy.

It seemed to go on for hours. The enemy was trying to get closer towards them, while they were trying to retreat as well as preserve as many lives as possible. The soldier had seen more dead bodies than he cared to see – severed limbs, bodies blown apart and unrecognizable faces. It all swam together in a sea of destruction and misery.

Pain.

That was all he could feel. It burned through him like a hot poker, racing through his nerve endings and causing him to scream out in agony. He couldn't tell where it originated, it was just everywhere.

He stumbled and fell, causing more pain to ricochet through his body. Gasping as his breath was knocked out of him, he tried to get himself under control – get the pain under control.

Looking down he saw his leg. The left leg pant on his thigh was coated in a dark, deep crimson – blood. His hand immediately snaked towards the injury and he pushed down where there was a small, black hole – a bullet wound.

"Winchester!"

The soldier heard someone call his name, but didn't look up as he pushed his palm against the bleeding wound. He screamed again as it burned hotter. Out of the corner of his vision he saw someone drop to the ground beside him. He felt more than saw the man's hands gravitating towards the wound.

"Jesus…" the word was a whisper, one he barely heard through the gunfire and his own gasping breath. God, he just wanted to get out of there. He could fear tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and fought to keep them back. He didn't want to cry, not over a simple bullet wound. Not when others had lost their lives for a war that wasn't even in their own country.

"Okay, Winchester – let's get you outta here, huh?" the words were said in a comforting manner and the soldier felt himself be lifted off the ground and into a slightly skewered standing position. His left leg could take no weight at all, so the man who had saved him stood on that side, taking the majority of his weight.

Then, something knocked against his leg and he screamed – a raw, primal scream that he knew would have made heads turn.

"Fuck! Winchester? DEAN!"

And he slipped into oblivion.


Sam Winchester woke with a scream. He shot upright in bed and gasped, his heart racing a hundred miles an hour in his chest. Sweat soaked his shirt, making the white material cling to his body. He looked down at his hands and saw that he was shaking. The dream – no, nightmare – was still playing over and over in his mind. The blood, pain, horror… it was all too much. And combined with the raw fear he could feel coming from his older brother…

Jumping out of bed, Sam ran down the hall and into the bathroom just in time to empty the remains of dinner into the toilet. He could feel the tears running down his face as he leant against the toilet, eyes closed, spent. But as soon as his eyes had closed, the nightmare returned with vengeance and once again he could see the bloodshed and feel the fear coursing through his veins.

"Sammy?"

Jumping, the fourteen-year-old looked up as the bathroom light was switched on. In the doorway stood his mother in a short, white nightdress and her blonde hair fanned around her face.

Mary Winchester: a wife to John and a mother to Dean and Samuel. She was a nurse at the local hospital, helped run their dad's garage and was also a full-time mum. Sam had never loved someone so much as his mum. She was the best, even though she was a terrible, terrible cook.

Sam struggled into a standing position, flushed the toilet and gave his mum a small smile. "Sorry Mum. I had a nightmare."

"Oh sweetheart, it's okay. I take it was quite a bad one?"

The teenager nodded, making his way to her and together they walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sam sat on one of the barstools while Mary rummaged around the fridge, looking for something. He took a glance at the clock, wincing when he noticed the time. It was 2 AM.

"Mum it's okay. It's really early and you've got work tomorrow. I'll be okay," he tried to reason even though he knew it was hopeless.

They were a small, close-knit family. Mary and John Winchester had been married for years before finally conceiving the little boy they had always hoped for. On the 24th of January 1979 little Dean Matthew Winchester was born. Blonde hair and green eyed, he was a trouble-maker, so Sam had been told. He had been born four years later, on May 2nd. After that, his parents had decided against having any more children. They had said their life was perfect.

And it was, for sixteen more years.

One day in late August 1995 there was a terrible accident. John Winchester had been driving Dean home from a basketball game when a drunk driver crashed into a semi on the highway. The semi then tried to avoid a collision, but ended up swerving right into the path of their car. Their dad hadn't survived and Dean was left in a coma for months.

Sam remembered the day very clearly. Not only was it the day he lost his dad, but it was the day his brother changed forever too. He had always adored their dad. Had wanted to take over the garage John had helped establish many, many years before and had even had thoughts of joining the Marines, just like his old man too.

In the end, Dean dropped out of school as soon as he hit eighteen and signed up to the United States Marine Corps. That had been six months ago.

"What was the nightmare about, Sam?"

His mum's voice cut through his thoughts and Sam shook his head to rid himself of the memories.

"Dean…"

His mother wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug. Sam returned the embrace. "It was horrible Mum. There was lots of blood and Dean got hurt and he was so, so scared… I want him to come home Mum."

"I know sweetie. I do too."

RING, RING, RING

Sam jumped for the third time that morning when the phone rang. He looked to his mum, wondering who on earth would be ringing at two o'clock in the morning.

Mary went over and picked up the phone, answering hesitantly.

"Hello?"

Sam could hear the person on the other end of the phone as he moved closer.

"Is this Mrs. Winchester?"

"Yes…"

"Sorry to disturb you, Ma'am. My name is Col. James Mustang."

Sam felt his heart drop to his feet. His hands started to shake again and he could feel bile rising up this throat. No…

"Y-yes?" Mary stammered. Sam could see her shaking and her face drained of all colour.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but your son Dean Winchester was shot late this afternoon."

And all Sam could think about was the horrifying dream he had just woken from…

TBC


It creeps in like a thief in the night

Without a sign, without a warning

But we are ready and prepared to fight

Raise up your swords, don't be afraid

There's a war going on inside of me tonight

- Thousand Foot Krutch; War of Change -


Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Hopefully there will be more to come soon!

Rachel