Her eyes were like a sculpture, clearly mean to convey some sort of emotion, yet so lifeless. Even though she was slowly being engulfed the flames creeping up behind her, one could only focus on her eyes. They were practically piercing through the tiny baby in the crib.
She was pinned to the ceiling, sprawled over the dingy roof of the building, with some imaginary force keeping her suspended in the air. Clearly, it was something supernatural at work in the moment, but it never truly felt that way. The death wasn't natural, but it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary either. Though none of the family would ever admit it, it almost felt that she was meant to be there.
Dean and John shielded their eyes from the fire. They found some assurance in knowing that Sam was safe and phoning the police, but they were still left with the challenge of what confronted them. Dean, without considering his father, reached into the crib under the ceiling and grabbed his sister, stealing one final look at his father, before bolting out of the door. He wasn't entirely sure if he should have left John alone, but he knew that it would've been what he wanted.
Sam stood in the yard, watching the smoke from his house transform from an almost cozy coil to a curtain of smog and ash, now blocking out the moon. His vision became somewhat blurry with fatigue and confusion, but he could make out the distant shape of his older brother sprinting towards him, his baby sister in tow. He would've asked where dad was, but no words could come out of his mouth, as he just stood, awestruck, at his burning house.
Dean had come to a full stop, and, without stopping to think, grabbed his brother clung to his sister, still panting heavily. There they stayed for what seemed like the entire night, never fully comprehending exactly what was going on.
Sam finally managed to push his brothers arm to the side, and stole a peak at the sky. His dad was there, though he didn't know how. The smoke had now completely diverged from above the house. Sam could see the moon again.
Sam grasped his cup, though one could barely call it grasping. He brought it to his lips and flung his head back, expecting to feel the sweet sensation of having another tiny burst of energy that would disappear in two minutes but would allow him to function for at least a moment.
His face fell. He titled his cup back even further, clinging to the hope that maybe he just hadn't tried hard enough. He sighed and put his cup down. He would have to accept the truth: he was out of coffee.
Sam peered at his watch. 1:30 in the morning. There was no way that any coffee shop would be open. He looked to the door. Dean wouldn't be back for at least an hour, though he might buy something to eat on his way back. Sam peered out the window. The inky sky was speckled with stars, and even a couple familiar combinations, though they were all outshined by the moon.
"Wait" Sam thought to himself. The fatigue was wiped away, and the light returned to his eyes as he picked himself up from his chair. His jacket waited for him on the coat hanger near the door. His fingers searched for the pockets, hoping to land on…
"Could…" Sam fished out a picture, one that he never thought that he would seriously consult again. He focused on the picture, but his feet, now on autopilot, carried him back to the table that he had been researching at. He collapsed into the chair, his eyes scanning the faces in the photo.
"It was me."
Dean put his head in his hands and sighed. Of course it was Sam. It had to be Sam. Why wouldn't it have been Sam? Why couldn't he have seen the signs before? How could he have been so stupid? Now they had yet another unnecessary tragedy on their hands because they couldn't stop to think things through.
"Well… what do you wanna do?" Dean couldn't face his brother. He wasn't sure if he felt mad, sad, or all of them at once, but now he was certain that he didn't want Sam here at the moment. He didn't want to be alone, just not with his brother.
"For once, Sam, can something not be about you?!" Dean found diminutive comfort in knowing that his thoughts were his own, though they could be very easily interpreted by Sam.
"I… I don't know. This is just-" Sam clearly was not going to drop it at the moment.
"Yeah… yeah..."
"Goddamnit, just shut up Sam, just shut the hell up!" Dean took a deep breath.
"I'm… uh… gonna go out for a bit. Want anything?"
"Nice excuse, there. Just get out of the house."
"Uh, no, hey, are you-"
Before he got to respond, Dean's jacket had disappeared from the coat hanger and the door had slammed. Sam leaned his head back in the chair and heard the familiar hum of the Impala outside of the motel.
"Just, get out of the house…"
"Hey, a couple found murdered in their home with some old Roman words carved into their chest. Could be worthwhile." Sam put the newspaper down and took a long gulp of the coffee that he had waited so long for.
"Sammy…" Dean's voice was still rife with annoyance, "have you forgotten about our estranged family member, ya know, the one that we really, really, really owe an apology to at the moment?" Dean's voice sent of the signal that Sam was playing a dangerous game, attempting to ditch what Dean considered one of their most important cases yet. This signal was, as always, promptly ignored by Sam.
"I know, I know, but… can't she wait a bit? I mean, it's important, but there are people out there, dying right now. And she's not going anywhere. I just think-"
"No, no, I get it. Duty before family. Of course."
"Dean, I value family as much as you do, but we can't just ditch what we're supposed to be-"
"You mean, what we're supposed to be doing as hunters, Sam. Well what about brothers?! What are we supposed to do then?!"
"We have a job, Dean, and though that sometimes requires us to give up family, we can't just ignore the murders of innocents who we're obligated to protect!"
That was the end of the argument. Of course, as is typical with the Winchesters, several insults and attempts at refutation followed, but in essence, the argument ended at helping others. For now.