Prologue
How many times had Dean Winchester been faced with something that was truly evil? How often did he run head-first into the line of fire instead of running away from it? How many times did he disregard his own need for protection in favor of those who needed it? Too many times to count in the several years since his family-his new family-began training him in the life after he found out that unfortunate truth from one of his closest confidantes and his guardian, Caleb. Hunting, using guns and knives to further his chances of survival was something he was used to.
It was something that called to him; something that centered him to the ground more than anything else could. Being a twelve-year-old and already having an impressive amount of knowledge on the complicated way the different weapons worked, was not anything he knew should be happening to anyone else but him. In the life he lived where he was routinely counted on to react at a seconds notice to what was happening, it was hard for him to think of any other kid embracing it like he did.
Thanks to the careful training Caleb did with him down in their basement after his school ended, he learned to hone the skills he needed for survival. Those times down in the basement in their workout room, also served another purpose and that was to deepen the bond he shared with his guardian. In difficult times where Dean felt the keening sense of loss that eclipsed him from the death of his parents, Caleb would be there to offer a supportive word and a hug that nearly crushed Dean's bones.
He needed that; needed to know he was okay when there were days he honestly could not see it for himself. Those days were few and far between the good days he had. Training (and more importantly working on the supernatural ability he had to project a protective force-field around those he loved) was one of the highlights of his day.
The force field was a rare ability that garnered its power from the love Dean felt for those around him. Even though Dean could barely remember the first time he used it when he was five, he grew to appreciate its unique power and what it offered him. The one thing he could not yet master was how to wrap its embrace around himself. He had made great strides in strengthening the power of it for those around him, but could not yet figure out how to make it so that he would be secured in a fight.
He needed to figure it out. Badly.
Lying in the cold and hard box that was supposed to be his coffin, and the underground cellar that was supposed to be his grave, he could not comprehend the situation he was in. In a way, he supposed it was his own fault for getting too close to the enemy. For not realizing before it was too late that he was becoming friends with someone who would eventually prove to be the cause of his death. For the first time in his life, he felt the pull from the other side. Felt his energy disappear as quickly and surely as his ability to draw breath around the critical wounds.
The shield was no use; not when he could not even muster enough strength to enact it. Self-disgust and self-loathing was what he felt in that instant as his bound hands came in contact with the copious amount of blood that was on his stomach and chest. He needed help desperately, but he was not even sure his family knew where he was. It was a mistake not telling them where he was headed, and it was one he figured he would end up paying for by dying a cold and cruel death.
Somewhere in the room that was devoid of any kind of life other than the few ants that he saw scurrying above him, he heard the door to the cellar open. The light momentarily seeped through the cracks in the closed coffin. Hoping against hope it was his family come to save him from certain death, he could feel his breath inhale in a painful gasp when he saw the last person on the planet he wanted to see in that moment.