Author's note 1: So, to anyone who happened to read my story that was up here originally "A Watch to Remember", I decided to restart it. Same premise, mostly same episodes. (If you want to know what happened to the other one, check down at author's note 2)
P.S. first person (with alternating views) or third person? I'm fine with either, both are fun!
Disclaimer: I don't own this, never will.
There have been very few times in John Winchester's life that he has been really, truly lost. First, was when his wife died. When someone that you loves dies, it leaves a hole inside. Sure, over time, it may start to heal, but the scar still remains. Of course, there have been other times where John Winchester has felt this way, but never to the extent of those years after her death. But now, he felt as if he were traveling down that path again.
Dean sat next to him, staring out the window. His face remained still, unchanging. Sam was in the back, mirroring him. There was a light tune that played in the background, but nothing else. It just didn't feel like the time to be playing old rock music.
John pulled onto the old gravel road that lead to Bobby's place, and steadied himself as the Impala bounced around over the slightly larger bits that strayed into the path. It had just been a hunt, a routine one if fact. But, like always, things don't go as they should. Words were spoken, things were said, things that John deemed to not be repeated. It wasn't as if they had never fought before, because, they definitely had, but this felt different. The lines were blurred between angry lashing and sincere truths, leaving the arguments a lot more deadly.
Dean shifted in his seat, propping himself up on the window, watching as they traveled slowly past the window. It was the only home he knew of, not that he really considered it a home, more as a more permanent option of resting.
When they pulled by the house, everyone in the car immediately perked up. Bobby stood by the front door, watching them with a solemn look, which everyone knew could not be good.
"John. Boys. I have something to show you," Bobby curtly said as they got out of the car, shoes crunching the gravel. Sam and Dena both glanced at each other, even in the midst of their fight, they still remained close.
"What is it?" John said, clutching one of his bags in one hand and dragging it into the house, which Sam and Dean also did, each greeting Bobby in their own way. Everyone parted their own way, situating themselves in the house before they all shuffled their ways back to Bobby, who held the same look on his face as when they had first arrived.
"Now, let me first start off by saying that I have no idea how this got here-"
"What got here?" Dean cut him off.
"It's kind of hard to explain, it's best to just show you. But, you have to prepare yourselves."
"Why?" John huffed out, a little sharper than he intended to.
"Because, I'm not entirely sure what we're about to watch, but something tells me it ain't good."
"What makes you say that?" John said, glancing around the room, looking for whatever Bobby seemed to be talking about.
"Because, I made it through the first thirty seconds before I realized that it was not meant for my eyes." John raised an eyebrow and gruffly motioned for Bobby to show him what he was talking about which Bobby only answered with a mild eye roll. "I would recommend you find yourself somewhere comfortable to sit, this might take a while."
"And what exactly is this?" Dean said, which only resulted from an elbow jab from Sam, who glared at Dean, murmuring something about 'just wait' or 'stop being impatient'. Dean didn't reply, which Sam frowned at, but didn't say anything more.
"I think it's best to just show." Bobby said, inserting in a disk before returning over to a recliner that sat adjacent to a couch that had obviously seen better years. John sat down on the far left, followed by dean to his right, and Sam, who after seeing that there was no other empty seating, huffed and plopped down, scooting as far away from the rest of his family as he could.
There was a noise on the screen, and everyone in the room glanced upwards at it, staring at the television.
The word "SUPERNATURAL" flashed up on the screen in large letter. It faded, and "Lawrence, Kansas 22 years ago" replaced it. Classic nighttime noises were audible in the background. A house replaced the darkness.
"Is that?" Dan began, frowning only slightly so. Nobody answered him, it didn't need to be answered.
"Bobby, where did you get this from?" John and Sam both nodded in agreement, everyone's past grievance temporarily forgotten.
"Just woke up to it lying on my counter. Obviously it's a whole lot more than a simple disk." Dean and John both shared nervous looks.
"Come on, let's say goodnight to your brother." A woman said, her voice soft. A woman appeared, now apparent as Mary Winchester holding a four year old Dean. They were in a nursery of some sort.
"Mary…" John murmured, eyes blinking in surprise at the scene beforehand. How was this even possible? To have a memory played out before you, almost like a TV show, mocking the pain you were caused in some sick sort of entertainment. Dean remained still next to him, his breath apparently caught in his throat. The room was uncomfortably silent.
An infant, presumably Sam, laid in the crib. Mary put Dean down, and the little boy ran over to the crib, kissing baby Sammy on the forehead.
"Night Sam."
"Goodnight love," Mary whispered, one arm on Dean and the other hand was brushing through Sam's hair, and proceeded to lean down and kiss Sam on the forehead, much like how Dean had done.
Sam looked at the screen, eyes melancholy. He knew that that baby was him, but it didn't feel like it. It felt as if he were watching another families lives, one full of love and affection, one that had died before he got a chance to be a part of.
"Hey Dean," John Winchester said, standing by the doorway, watching his family.
"Daddy!" Dean yelled happily, running to his father, who picked him up easily.
Sighing, John looked over towards his oldest, whose face remained stoic. It had been years since Dean had come for him for any comfort at all, and he could understand. Dean followed after him, feel, bury, hide, forget, repeat. It made his heart hurt to see just how much he had lost, and just how fast.
"Hey buddy! So what do you think? You think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet" Dean shook his head forcefully, laughing as he did so.
"No daddy."
John laughed also, "No."
Dean sat rigid. He remembered this night perfectly. Out of all of the nights to remember with perfect detail, it had to be this one. Based on how John was fidgeting, he could tell that he remembered it too. Grimacing, Dean glance over at Sam, who seemed to be fascinated by the whole thing. Sam had been saved by not remembering what happened that night, and that was one of the few things that Dean was grateful for.
"Wait," Dean found himself saying, "This wasn't twenty two years ago, it was sixteen? What is this?" Bobby shook his head, obviously just as confused as he was.
"You got him?" Mary asked, stopping before exiting into the hallway, one hand on John's arm.
"I got him," John replied, a smile apparent on his face as he looked into the crib, hugging his other son close by. Sam lay in his crib, and the camera panned up, focusing on his mobile, which began to spin. The clock stopped ticking and the lights flickered.
"Oh," Sam said, as if the situation had just registered to him. He gave a worried glance to the other two Winchesters, whose hands gripped the couch tightly, white knuckles imitating the other. Bobby was the only person who looked at him when he said that, and his eyes were filled with sympathy. Apparently he was the last person to figure out what was going on in this group.
The scene changed. Mary awoke to the sounds of Sam who had just begun to cry. She turned the light on rolled over sleepily. "John?" She called. Mary, who realized her husband was not in bed, climbed up and exited.
Mary walked down the hallway and peered into the nursery. A figure stood by the crib, leaning over.
"John? Is he hungry?" The figure turned, still not apparent who it was and shushed her.
"That's… That's not me?" John said, almost as if he were confused, like he didn't know exactly what happened that night. "That's not me…" He repeated, almost in a pleading way, and Sam glanced over at him, biting his lip in indecision, torn between the need to comfort his family and not interrupting whatever was going on.
"Alright," Mary said, heading back down the hallway. A flickering lightbulb caught her attention. She walked towards it, tapping the glass before the light steadied. Another flickering light was downstairs, and she walked towards it, only to find John asleep in front of the TV. Instantly understanding, she ran back upstairs, calling out Sam's name.
It was as if the whole room was silently willing Mary to turn around, but she didn't. They stared in odd fascination at the screen, as if they were actually there, as if they weren't merely watching it on an old, beat up screen.
John startled awake. He scrambled out of his chair and ran up the stairs, calling out for his wife. All was quiet, except for Sam, who lay awake in his crib.
"Hey Sammy, you okay?" He asked, before his eye caught something. Something dark dropped near Sam, and John reached his hand out, only to find more of the substance on his hand. John looks up, finding Mary pinned to the ceiling, her stomach crimson.
It was as if they were stuck watching a horror movie, except these things were real. Dean looked around him, trying to find a place for his eyes to rest other than his dying mother pinned on a ceiling. Sam looked sick, his face was ashen grey and his lips were slightly parted, almost as if he were silently gasping. Bobby looked sorrowful, and John, well John was a different story. He looked angry, not at Mary, but at himself. Dean was vaguely aware of John murmuring something along the lines of 'I could've done something' but Dean remained silent.
Mary exploded into flames, and the room was soon engulfed. John grabbed his son and rushed out of the room. Dean, who had just awoken, yelled for his dad.
"Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now Dean, go!" Dean, who was now holding Sam, ran out, while John turned around to look at the nursery, still calling out for Mary.
Sam gave Dean a questioning look, almost as if to ask 'why didn't you tell me?' but didn't voice it, seeing as though everyone else in the room sat in stony, rigid silence, sitting in a plastic pose as they all stared at the screen. No one acknowledged the other's reactions.
"It's okay Sammy," Dean said, stopping before John ran out, scooping up his sons and running away.
"I gotcha," John assured. The house exploded into flames.
The scene switched, taken later that night to a view of firefighters spraying the house, yelling at one another. John and Dean sat on the car, away from the house, and John held Sam close, looking upwards.
It was at that moment that Sam began to understand what had happened. Sure, he had heard stories about it, but to actually see it, to experience it? That was something else. The room was silent, besides the next flash of sound and light that came from the TV. Sam thought he saw a glassy look in John's eyes, but nothing else. It was as if everyone was numb.
"Stanford University – Present Day"
Author's note 2: So, a couple months ago, I had a cleansing. Took down an email account, deleted all of the stories on my original account, and all of the documents relating to it. Lately, I've decided I wanted to restart it, so, I had to rewrite everything. As those of you who remember my other stories, I did the script in a strange manner, but I've decided to just write it out like this.
If I should continue, please tell me!