*Standard Disclaimer* I do not own Supernatural, Marvel Comics, or any of the characters involved in this story. God I wish I did…could you imagine how rich I would be!

This is something I have been playing with. If folks like it, I will definitely come up with more. If not...I understand. Any reviews/feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Firefighters came and went. Detectives came and went. Arson investigators came and went. It was clear: the fire at the Winchester house was a tragic accident. Mary, the mother and wife, had been sitting in the nursery, keeping an eye on infant Sam. She always lit the small candle next to the crib—Sammy loved the scent and it helped him sleep. That night, however, she had been so tired…she decided to rest her eyes for only a second.

Slowly, Azazel crept into the room. His footfalls light as a feather. He looked over to see Mary, dozing in the armchair in the corner of the room. His yellow eyes turned toward the crib, toward the infant Sam. He walked across the room, standing next to the crib. Gingerly, he toyed with the candle on the nightstand, entranced by the dancing flame. He reached out to touch it, but pulled back when the fire singed his paw. Startled, he leapt off the table, just barely catching the candle with his tail. But that was all it took.

"Azazel? Are you sure?" John asked Dean. "Is that really the name you want to give your new friend?"

"I'm sure, dad."

"Ok," said John, smiling. His son had the strangest imagination. No doubt he got it from his mother. He left Dean alone to play with the new kitten.

Slowly, the smell of smoke filled the room, as the candle burned its way across the carpet. Mary awoke, only to find the flames growing so intense so quickly. She rushed over, trying to reach the crib, but she could not get past the barrier of flames. At that moment, John came bursting in. In his hand, he held the small fire extinguisher they kept in the kitchen. He looked at Mary, to the crib, and down to the extinguisher in his hands.

"Save Sam. Don't worry about me!" Mary exclaimed, realizing what John was trying to do.

"I can't leave you behind!" he shouted.

Mary, in an attempt to not inhale any more smoke, pointed to the window. She had a clear path and would be able to get down the large tree just outside. John nodded, and sprayed a path toward Sam's crib. He grabbed the infant, and rushed out the door. Once he, Sam, and Dean were all outside, he rushed around the side of the house to see if Mary had made it out. He had only made it half way when he saw the roof collapse in, heard the screams.

================================================Ten Years Later=====================================================

Sam and Dean were sitting in the hotel room, just like they had every other night. Except this wasn't any other night. Ten years ago, tonight, their lives had changed completely. Sam looked out the window, watching and waiting.

"When is Dad coming back?" Sam asked Dean.

Dean turned away from the television. "You know how he gets when he goes hunting. He could be back tonight; he could be back in a week. But the fact remains, he will be back. Don't you worry."

Dean turned back toward the television, and Sam turned toward the window. Dean didn't have the heart to tell his brother the truth about their dad…about his "hunting trips." After their mom's death, their dad took to the bottle. Hard. He would go on long binges. He would hop from bar to bar, searching for relief in a bottle of Jack. Eventually, he would stumble home, beaten and bruised from the fights with the locals. He would write in his journal, some of the most bizarre fantasies. Dean knew them to be the ramblings of a drunk, and saw the stories of bar fights and lost hopes. Sam, however, read the stories of demons, monsters, and ghosts. Dean fed this belief with all his might, hoping that Sam would never have to learn the truth about their dad.