A/N: Okay, sooooo… Supernatural. Me likey Supernatural. Seriously, favorite show. I mean, Glee is still up there, but… you guys have to admit, it's gone sadly downhill. I had been forced by my friend Chris to watch Supernatural, and let's just say, I am officially an addict. Which leads me to where we are now. I came up with a character that I would want to play, and have literally stayed up nights thinking about what the role would be like, how the character would handle the boys, and it grew into a full-on person. So… what better way to get out an idea than through fan fiction? Hope you guys like it. :)

(Starting from Season 2, Episode 2: "Everybody Loves A Clown.")

(DISCLAIMER: NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. I OWN NOTHING. ALL RIGHTS TO SUPERNATURAL, SAM, DEAN, AND ANY OTHER CHARACTERS BESIDES MY OWN ARE OWNED BY CW, ERIC KRIPKE, ROBERT SINGER, ETC. LINES CUT DIRECTLY FROM THE SHOW ARE NOT OWNED BY ME EITHER, ONLY THE LINES I ADD IN. LET THERE BE NO MISTAKE: BESIDES MY OWN ADDITIONS, AND MY CHARACTERS, I OWN NOTHING. But man, do I wish I did.)

PROLOGUE

There really was nothing Dean Winchester couldn't fix. He could fuse a gun barrel if it ever snapped; it was as simple as welding. He could sew together ripped skin after a particularly nasty hunt, it took no skill at all. He could cure a broken heart. Alcohol had been invented for a reason.

If he could fix all of those things, then molding the Impala from a hunk of scrap metal back into his baby should be as easy as riding a bike (an analogy he never understood, seeing as he never really got the opportunity to learn. He was too busy learning how to refill a double barrel in less than five seconds.)

Underneath of his gorgeous car, the radio blaring his favorite tunes, a greased wrench in his hand, nothing could ruin his mood.

Oh wait. Here comes Sam.

Scratch the "nothing."

Ever since they'd given John a good ol' "hunter's funeral," Sam Winchester had been incredibly moody. Sure, John was their father, and it sucked to have to salt and burn his bones, but if Dean could handle it, then Sam should be able to.

Four years of college really had softened him.

"How's the car coming along?" Sam called out, trying to look at his elder brother to no avail.

"Slow," came the answer from the body of the Impala, Dean's booted feet sticking out from underneath.

"Yeah?" Sam mused, looking around Singer's Auto at all the destroyed bodies of what once could have been beautiful cars. "Need any help?"

To be honest, Sam didn't really know as much as Dean about fixing up a car, but it was better than sitting around moping about Dad all day. Again.

Dean seemed to recall Sam's lack of vehicle maintenance experience, coming back with "What, you under a hood? I'll pass."

Not wanting to go back inside and face his sorrows some more, Sam tried again. "Need anything else, then?"

With a heavy sigh, Dean rolled out from under the car, still refusing to make eye contact with his brother. "Stop it, Sam," he muttered, standing up and moving to the tool box.

"Stop what?" Sam asked, feigning innocence. Shit. Of course Dean could see right through him.

"Stop asking if I need anything," Dean replied over his shoulder. "Stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay." He looked back at Sam briefly, finally meeting his eyes. "Really. I promise."

Sam shifted a little, wanting to talk about this, and knowing Dean didn't. It was one of the things that frustrated him so much about his brother. Dean's constant need to force things out of him, to make Sam spill whatever's on his mind, but then to refuse to say a word if Sam thinks there's something Dean needs to say.

"Alright, Dean," he murmured, continuing reluctantly. "It's just… We've been at Bobby's for over a week now, and you haven't brought up Dad once."

Dean turned back as Sam looked up, nodding slightly in acknowledgment.

"You know what? You're right," Dean answered.

Whoa. That was the last thing Sam expected to hear. Dean, admitting his kid brother was right?

"Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we could cry, hug… maybe even slow dance."

Never mind.

"Don't patronize me, Dean," Sam barked back, his anger starting to flair at the utter lack of caring his too-tough-for-you brother always seemed to have. "Dad is dead! The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened!"

"What do you want me to say?" Dean asked, almost too calmly.

"Say something! Hell, say anything!" Sam shouted back. "Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car!"

Despite the calm in Dean's voice, Sam could see the spark of anger behind his green eyes. "Revenge, huh?"

"Yeah!" Sam retorted.

"Sounds good… You got any leads on where the demon is?" The anger began to build behind the elder brother's rough voice. "You making heads or tails of Dad's research, 'cuz I sure ain't. You know, when we do finally find it… Oh no, wait." Here came the sarcasm. "Like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you figured out another way to kill it." He shook his head. "We got nothing, Sam. So you know what I can do? I can work on the car." Pissed and exhausted, Dean returned to work.

"Well, we got something, alright?" Sam sighed, trying not to fight his brother. "That's what I came out here to tell you." He pulled one of his father's old flip phones out of his pocket. "It's one of Dad's old phones. It took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code." Typing said code in, he handed the phone to his brother. "Listen to this."

Dean took the phone, holding it to his ear. Following a beep, an older woman's voice came out of the speaker. Dean's brow furrowed as he listened.

"John, it's Ellen, AGAIN. Listen, don't be stubborn. You know Kenny and I can help you. Call me. And call Kenny. The kid's worried about you."

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and handed it back to Sam, confused.

Sam took the phone back, shutting it. "That message is four months old."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dad saved that message for four months?"

"Yeah."

"Well, who are Ellen and Kenny? Any mention of 'em in Dad's journal?" Dean asked, wiping some grease off of his wrench.

"Not of Ellen, but there was a Kenny in there. Kenny Devereaux, put down as an emergency contact. No number written. I ran a trace through the phone number on here, though, and got an address."

Dean nodded. "Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars."

A/N: Here we go! This is gonna be fun. I'm excited to see how you guys react to this. These are taken from episode to episode, starting in season 2, so we got a ways to go until we catch back up to where we are now. Hope you guys are willing to join the ride with me.

~Annie