Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural; that honor belongs to one Eric Kripke. I just write random 'fan fictions' to pass the time, and because I enjoy it.
A/N: No idea where this came from. Just some angsty Dean junkfood for the soul. Might continue it if so inclined; it's really about whether or not I find anywhere to go with it.
Summary: --Circa-Season One.-- Something stirs within you, a familiar ache that echoes in the chambers of your heart from November of 1983.
November
A soft, lonely cry pierces the night air. Something stirs within you, a familiar ache that echoes in the chambers of your heart from November of 1983.
You reach the edge of the old building as the cry comes again. Looking, looking, but you can't find anything. The streetlight grows a soft, bright halo, and reflects in the wet street. Sammy is... you don't know where Sammy is, and that's a problem.
You slide down the wall, and try hard to think. There was running, and searching, and Sam had to go a different way. Then there was a metal something to the back of your head, and now you are here.
Now you can hear it again, but right next to you. An abandoned stroller, facing the other way. There's blood on the fabric. You turn it around, careful not to jostle it too much.
A sharp, pain-filled wail that you feel in your bones. You lift the baby from the desecrated stroller, cradle him in your arms.
"You're safe," you say as you wrap the blanket tighter around him. You wonder if it's true as you keep him warm through the night, waiting for a phone call from your brother.
When it comes, you almost want to cry, but you don't.