Hey everyone! Judging from the anxious reviews a lot of you are more than excited for this to start already, so I hope this ends up being more than worth the wait for you all. And just to warn you, this chapter takes place 4 to 5 weeks after the last chapter of "You could be happy." Following chapters will then go back and fill in the time between this one and where the other story left off.

For those of you who are new to this story and haven't read the previous one I would strongly suggest reading the other story first because, well, you wouldn't read the 7th Harry Potter book before the first one would you? lol.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1 S.O.S.

"Sam," a voice cut through the darkness. "Saaaammmmmy."

Sam didn't breath. He didn't dare make a sound in the darkness of the room he was in. This was his nightmare. It was one he had been living for weeks now. It all had happened so gradually, yet so rapidly at the same time. Now here he was, alone in the darkness being tormented by the one person he had once trusted his life to. There was no one he could turn to. He didn't want to bring anyone else into this mess. At this point, He couldn't even trust himself.

"I know you're here Sammy," the voice taunted. "Come out and play with me baby brother."

Sam bit his lip hard. Dean was getting closer. He had to get away. Suddenly he just had to get away. He didn't want to die. Not this way. Not at the hands of his own brother. While he didn't exactly value his life the way he used to, he knew that this was not how he wanted to go. He remembered how he had willingly given up his life for his brother just weeks before. It had been all he wanted. Dean's life had been the legacy he wanted to leave behind. Why couldn't it have stayed that way? Why did Dean have to fight so hard for him, only to turn around and try to kill him himself?

Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been running for so long. It seemed that he was destined to run for the rest of his life. Listening with all his might, Sam barely dared to breath. For all his rowdiness, Dean could be quieter than a fly on the wall if he wanted to be.

He was hiding along the back wall of what he could only guess was a kitchen. In his hand he held a frying pan, another indication of the room's purpose. Pan in one hand, his other hand traced the cabinets and shelving along the wall as he moved in the darkness searching for a way out of this room and away from Dean.

"Sammy," Dean's voice called out again. "Or should I call you Samantha for hiding out in a kitchen?"

Sam paused momentarily. For all he knew, Dean was right behind him; his voice had sounded that close. He took a deep breath and continued on. He had to get out of here. Reaching the end of the wall, Sam turned and followed the next wall. He felt the cold metal of what could only be a refrigerator beneath his hand. He gripped the frying pan handle tight within his hand. He really didn't want to have to use it, especially against his own brother, but things had changed. He didn't know how they could have changed so drastically and he was sure there was something more behind this than met the eye, but once again, now was definitely not the time to think about it. There never did seem a good time to think about how and why his life had gotten so messed up.

Sam froze. His heartbeat was thunder in his ears.

"Hiya Sammy boy," Dean said.

Sam could feel Dean's warm breath on his neck.

"Got ya."

Sam didn't speak. He swung. Then he ran.

John walked cautiously around his truck, shot gun in hand. He had just arrived in this empty looking shell of a town and if he had half a mind, he would be high tailing it out of there right away. But he didn't have half a mind, much less half of a half of a mind. He was running on pure instinct as he always did in situations like these which he somehow always managed to find himself in. Trusting his instincts was how he had managed to get through the past few weeks. Though he wanted nothing more than to give up, the absolute need to take care of two things first kept him moving, kept him searching. That included finding Sammy and extinguishing his evil for good and saving Dean from said evil.

He shook his head looked to the dark starless sky. He'd messed up royally. His beloved Mary would never have failed their sons the way he had. One son gone bad, and the other left at the mercy of the other. It should never have come to that. Mary never would have allowed for this all to happen. She would never have stood for one of her beloved sons to turn away from them the way he had let Sam. It was because of this that he wished for hell. At least in hell, he wouldn't have to worry about facing Mary. He would only have to worry about Sam. At least he would have company.

He smiled bitterly at the thought.

All was dark save for the dim light of a distant street lamp. The building he had pulled up to was as dark and featureless as the black skies above. He didn't dare pull out his flashlight for fear of being found out. Dean had been very clear on the phone that this town was being controlled by demons. How Dean had managed to camp out here undiscovered baffled him, but he had to admit he was proud. It seemed that his son had finally learned his lesson about demons from his experiences with Sam and was now using what he had learned to outsmart them.

These days, he and Dean were on better terms. They weren't back to normal by any means, but they were talking and regaining some semblance of trust between them and that was more than he could ever have hoped for. But of all the things to bring them back together, he never would have thought it would be a mutual understanding of how evil Sam was and about the need to take the boy out. Dean stood by his brother through thick and thin. He was just glad, Dean had realized that Sam wasn't worth standing by anymore. He only hoped that it wouldn't be too late to save Dean from his misplaced trust in his brother.

"Dad, you were right about Sam."

Those were the words that had reunited them; simple words spoken timidly through a small cell phone in the middle of the night.

"Sam's with me and he's not the same. He... I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

That was all that had been said at that time. It had been a message left on his phone, one of many, but the first to acknowledge how right he had been all this time about Sam. Overall, he had had his suspicions that Sam wasn't as dead as they thought he was so that information hadn't shocked him too much. He didn't worry himself with how Sam had seemingly risen from the dead, he didn't care. He did care however, that Sam was alone with Dean. He had already lost one son, he wasn't about to lose another; especially at the hands of the said lost son no less.

As soon as he had heard the message, he had turned around and headed back to Bobby's. But by the time he had reached Bobby's place, all he found was a bruised and broken Bobby and a destroyed salvage yard. It had looked like a hurricane had happened upon the relatively small area. It had been both impressive and worrying. If Sam was capable of doing what he had done to Bobby and his place, then how could he and Dean ever hope to apprehend him?

Those thoughts had plagued his mind throughout the weeks he had spent searching for Dean and Sam. Their trail was almost nonexistent and if not for Dean's phone calls, he never would have been able to find them at all.

As of this moment, he was extremely worried for Dean. In his last phone call, Dean had sounded so scared and alone; nothing like the overconfident 21, almost 22, year old he was. Even as a child, he had never heard Dean sound so frightened. The only words Dean had gotten out were terrified whispered pleas of "Help me" over and over again before the line went dead. He couldn't get to his son fast enough after that and now here he was, quietly creeping around in the darkness, hoping and praying that Dean was still alive.

A faint sound coming from inside the building made him tense. In the suffocating silence surrounding him the sudden noise was magnified. He walked closer to the building and followed the wall until he was at the entrance to the hotel. The faint moonlight caressed the intricately carved front doors, highlighting the detailed woodwork that had gone into their creation.

John gave a cursory glance around himself. It was all very disconcerting. When he had pictured a town being controlled by demons, somehow this was not what he had pictured. The fact that he had been so easy allowed into the town as if nothing was amiss, had him on high alert.

Suddenly the front doors burst open and a figure shrouded in shadows came running out as if the very devil himself were chasing them. There was a clanking sound as the person lost grip of the object they were carrying in their haste to exit the building. The reflection of moonlight on its shinny curved surface revealed it to be a frying pan.

Strange.

"Sam!" a voice shouted out from inside.

John knew that voice. It was Dean. And if what he said was true, then…

He took off after the fleeing figure.

"Dad!"

John didn't even look back. His gaze was on one thing and one thing only. He saw nothing but red. Bringing up his shot gun, he aimed and fired. Multiple shots rang out as the figure ran on and dodged the shots, suddenly taking on a weaving pattern that led toward the shelter of another building. Determined to not let him get away, John took new aim and fired again. This time, the figure wasn't as lucky as they crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Satisfaction dawned on John's face as he approached the now whimpering figure. Sam would pay for making Dean suffer and then he would send Sam to hell, where he belonged.

The sound of the pan making contact with Dean's head made him cringe and he regretted the action instantly, but when faced with death at his brother's hands, it certainly was better this way. Not even looking to see how Dean was doing, he took off.

All was dark and due to his captivity he didn't have a clue where anything was, so if it was there, he ran into it. After running into several walls and tripping over a stool, Sam found himself colliding with what he could only guess was a food cart. The sound of metal hitting metal and the cart rolling over was sure to alert Dean of where he had gone, if not the entire town. That was something he did not need. The whole place was crawling with demons. And if that wasn't enough, they were all out for his blood because of Azazel.

As he laid there sprawled on the ground, he had to admit that he could stand them not being happy with him. The thought of them fawning over him and looking up to him made him sick. It reminded him of his time in the warehouse when he had been, for all intents and purposes, a leader with a demon following. It was something he would rather forget.

"Not playing nice Sammy?" Dean's voice drifted through the hall.

He was getting closer.

A fat load of help the frying pan had been. Sam sighed. In reality, he had not hit him that hard at all. For all his brother had done, he still cared for him. That, and he was exhausted, hurt, and emotionally drained. It had been a long couple of weeks since his return to the land of the living and he had not had a decent chance to rest from it all. It had been go, go, go from the start. First their dad, then Dean; everyone was turning on him now. Living was so overrated.

As he picked himself off of the ground he had to smile. Now that he had no one supporting him, he had decided that life was worth living, but when Dean had been there fighting for him to come back, he had not wanted any part of it. How twisted was that? Continuing on his way, Sam vaguely remembered that the entrance had to be around here somewhere.

Behind him, he heard Dean curse as he tripped over the cart. His brother was closer than he thought. He quickened his pace. Where was that entrance? Turning a corner he found it was a straight shot to the main entry way. From the dim light coming in from the window above the front doors, he saw that he had a clear path. He took off at a run.

"I see you," Dean taunted.

He sounded like he was right behind him. It spurred Sam on faster toward freedom.

Bursting through the doors, he heard Dean call out one more time, but he was already free. He ran like the wind and didn't look back. The streets were empty. But there was no doubt in his mind that demons were watching his every move. They were there, hiding behind curtains, their dark eyes hiding thoughts of how to best send him to hell for the perceived wrong he had committed against them.

Behind him, he heard footsteps and Dean's voice, but he couldn't make out what Dean was saying over the sounds of his own breathing. Dean really wasn't going to let him go easily. Suddenly gun shots broke the relative silence in the air. Panicking, he started moving erratically to avoid the bullets as he moved closer to the nearest building he could reach.

For a moment, all was quiet again, and Sam thought he was home free. The doors of the building he was rapidly approaching were rushing to meet him. But all of that was taken from him when he felt the searing pain that could only mean that he had been shot. Another bullet ripped into him and fell clumsily to the ground. It was then that all the pain from the previous weeks that he had been able to forget about, due to the adrenaline running through him, rushed back to the surface and overwhelmed him.

In a pain filled haze, he pushed himself up to see his shooter. Shock and fear gripped his whole being as he realized that his dad was the one with the gun and was advancing toward him with deadly intent.

He'd never in all his wild imaginings, thought that his dad would be here. With all his focus on Dean, he had completely forgotten about his father. Now he was frozen, unable to think, unable to act. All he could think of was that he was going to die and it would be at his father's hand. It was far from a comforting thought. Going weeks with the fear his brother would kill him, was nothing compared to the thought of his father doing it instead.

A brutal kick to his chest brought him back to the present. As he stared down the barrel of his own father's shot gun, Sam did something he had vowed he would never again do. He didn't even know if it would work since it had been a while and he didn't have the same conviction he had had before, but still he tried. It was his hail Mary; his last move. Right now, all he could think about was surviving.

As John stared down at Sam, he was surprised to see the utter fear that had overcome the boy. In grim triumph, he kicked the boy and pointed his shot gun straight down at him, hovering just inches from the boy's face. It was cruel, him aiming his gun point-blank at his own son, but the world had to be rid of the great evil before him, no matter if it was technically his son.

Suddenly, the fearful aura that had engulfed Sam disappeared and was replaced with a determination so strong, John took notice. Staring into the boy's eyes, he saw fire. It was so much like the Sam he used to know that it made him pause and think.

But only for a moment.

That moment was all Sam needed.

Beneath John's grip, the gun suddenly grew too hot to handle. Dropping it, he took a step backwards and cradled his hand. Sam let out a cry as he struggled to move backwards away from him.

"You'll have to do more than that to get away from me alive," John said gruffly.

It seemed that Sam had exhausted whatever strength he had drawn from to heat the gun with his freaky powers.

"Please," he heard Sam whisper futilely. "Everything isn't as it seems."

John smirked.

"Dean's not right," Sam fought out.

"You're the one who's not right," John said.

Sam didn't respond. He seemed to be looking at a point beyond him. Following his gaze, he saw that Dean was rushing over to join him. He turned back to Sam.

"Let's see you tell Dean to his face that he's not right in the head," he said viciously.

Sam only closed his eyes.

John barely had the time to think about what that might mean before he was thrown backwards, flying through the air. Very vaguely, he remembered having gone through this before, but before he could think about that any further, the darkness of unconsciousness claimed him.

There was no convincing his dad. He was so set in his ways and beliefs. It was like teaching an old dog new tricks; it just didn't happen. And it would seem that everything he had done in the graveyard and the way he had sacrificed his life for Dean's was not enough to prove to his father that he was more than regretful about all he done and not at all that person who had so willingly followed the yellow eyed demon anymore.

The whole thing had been one big mishap; a series of unfortunate events if you will. Why couldn't his dad just accept that? Why couldn't they all just say that they had all done wrong and get on with forgiving each other and rebuilding their family? If he could see that with everything that he had suffered, with the way he had been used, and the many horrible things he had done, then surely his dad could? Nope, not John Winchester.

As he stared into the uncaring depths of his father's eyes he could only think of what it must be like to see the world in black and white as his father so obviously did. Behind the vengeful eyes of his father, he noticed movement. It was Dean. Noticing his gaze, John turned and caught sight of Dean as well.

"Let's see you tell Dean to his face that he's not right in the head," his dad said viciously.

Burying the sudden panic that rose within him, Sam closed his eyes and concentrated once again. The little display of the gun heating up was merely a practice run. Focusing even harder, he imagined his dad flying backwards into Dean, effectively knocking out both of his pursuers.

When he opened his eyes, he found to his surprise and relief that it had worked. He wasn't sure how long though, so he quickly got into motion. Gritting his teeth he slowly stood up. His body was aching something horrible, and he was bleeding pretty badly. Judging from the pain, he had been shot in his arm and leg. He didn't know how bad though and wouldn't know until he had found a safer place to rest.