A/N - Hello! I love reading pre-series stories so thought I would give one a try. Lots of Dean hurt on the way (I feel so bad about how much I love hurting poor Dean, shameful!) and some serious John and Sam angst. Thank you for reading and please review!

Disclaimer - It's not mine, it shall never be mine, there's no need to rub it in.

July 1996

Sam flipped through the microfiche displaying old newspaper articles with a bored and impatient twist of his fingers, eyes darting lazily over the words. He supposed technically he was doing what Dad ordered and looking for certain words or phrases, but he was really putting the half into half ass. He so didn't want to be cooped in the dark basement of the library of this shit hole town. It was going on hour three and he'd been ready to leave five minutes in. It was hot outside, but it was hotter inside the room. They didn't bother with air conditioning down here and there were no windows to break up the thickness of the air.

The Winchesters had rolled into this little town in Oklahoma only a couple of days ago for a hunt. Since it was summer and school was out, Sam had three endless months on the road to look forward to. Hunt after hunt after hunt. Sam dreaded and loved summer all at once. He loved it because it meant more time to hang out with his Dad and Dean. They actually got to even do fun things sometimes in between the hours on the road, like see a movie or take a hike that didn't involve time trials or shooting or trying to survive with a corkscrew and a napkin. If they were really lucky their hotel would have a pool and he and Dean would spend hours in it until they were all wrinkled and sunburned. Yeah, sometimes summer was awesome.

Sometimes not so much.

He was thirteen now and participating in more hunts than not instead of just researching them. While he was glad he could finally be included and not left at home, his gut still clenched with anxiety and fear when they were heading out to take down the next bad thing Dad pointed them at. It usually meant blood and pain, more often Dean's than not. It seemed his brother always got hurt and it seemed to always be Sam's fault. He didn't move fast enough, he wasn't paying attention, he zigged when he should have zagged. Whatever, it almost always ended up in Dean adding another scar to his already terrifying collection. His older brother was so busy looking out for Sam, he forgot to protect himself.

He should have just been allowed to stick to researching, he was good at that.

Maybe that's why he was here now, sweating to death in front of a machine while Dad and Dean were out talking to people and getting the lay of the land. Well, this he could do and he would do it as best as he could so maybe Dean didn't end up with stitches or a concussion for a change. With a sigh, he sat up a bit straighter and narrowed his eyes in forced concentration so that the words blurring in front of him actually made sense. A few more articles swept by when he saw what he was looking for.

The article was dated May 15th, 1964 with the awesomely original title of "Town Reels at Tragedy". Sam sniffed in disdain, a bit disappointed that the writer of the article couldn't come up with anything better than that. He read on through the article. Twelve year old Alex Barton came home from school early one day and tortured and murdered his family; mother, father, and brother. He even killed the family dog. Sam didn't bother to hide the shudder that ran up his spine since no one was around. How could someone do that, a kid just a little younger than him? He couldn't even imagine hurting his family, no matter how angry or frustrated he might be with them sometimes.

After killing his family, Alex Barton went to his school and proceeded to burn it down. While school was still in. Amazingly enough, no one died at the school except Alex Barton. He was trapped in the basement and died in the fire. Strangely, they had found his charred body in the part of the basement that hadn't been touched by fire. The article didn't come right out and say it, but it looked like the speculation was that he crawled out of the burning area. Sam sat back in the chair, eyes wide with horror. How was that even possible? He'd seen his Dad and Dean keep moving with some pretty serious injuries, but being on fire? Yeah, he didn't think you were going to be doing much except screaming.

There was a family portrait embedded in the article and Sam moved his eyes slowly over the smiling faces. They looked normal. Even the kid. He'd learned enough about the horrors people could visit on each other throughout his life to know that appearances meant very little. A lot of monsters hid in pretty packages, even human ones.

Sam jotted down some notes on his notepad, reading through them again to make sure he had gathered the pertinent information. They already had quite a bit of information on the case, Sam was just sent to make sure they didn't miss something. It sounded like a demonic possession to Sam, but Dad was sure it was a ghost. He guessed that the facts were on Dad's side, seeing as how almost identical crimes had happened in the town after Alex Barton's death. Three families wiped out over a thirty year span, killed by one of the children. It was always a male child, but the ages ranged from eleven to seventeen. Maybe Sam just didn't want to believe that someone could do something like under their own influence, that it had to be possession or something else. It was just so scary to think that maybe the kid had just been born….wrong.

Checking his watch, Sam noted that Dean should be there to pick him up soon. The original article had been the last one he'd needed and he had a good list of notes to share with his Dad and Dean. He had a thought to go outside to wait so he could get some air, but there was a chance that Dad would be with him and he would probably accuse him of slacking off instead of digging through the information, even if his notes were complete. He wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing either his Dad or Dean at the moment for different reasons.

Sam was really having trouble with Dad, they just didn't see eye to eye anymore. They had always butted heads, two strong personalities going toe to toe constantly, but it was getting worse. They'd had a huge fight that morning when Dad told him that under no circumstances was Sam going to be involved in this hunt outside of research. That might not normally bother him, especially knowing the particular spirit they were after, but Sam actually wanted in on this one because it bothered him so much. He wanted to help get vengeance for all those families that had been destroyed, help them find peace. It was one of the first times he'd actually looked forward to a hunt, when he'd actually understood the mission that Dad and Dean had been trying to drill into him.

The conversation had started reasonably enough, Dad telling Sam that it wasn't safe and that it was too dangerous. He had no intention of dangling Sam as bait for the spirit. Sam had pointed out that Dean was in just as much danger of being possessed as Sam. Dad hadn't been swayed had only said that Dean would be able to handle it, implying that Sam couldn't. Dean had obviously seen the signs that this was going nowhere good and had immediately tried to interject himself in between them. Per usual, he was completely ignored by both of them.

It escalated quickly from there.

Sam scathingly reminded Dad that he had just been telling him that he needed to apply himself more in their hunts and then maybe Dean would stop getting hurt. Sam was pretty sure the word 'hypocrite' had passed his lips in reference to his Dad. If Dad hadn't been seeing red already, he sure was by then. Dad had used his usual weapons –cold, angry words and furious glares- telling Sam that it wasn't about what he wanted, it was about what was needed to successfully complete the hunt. He was needed to research and that was his duty on this mission. Nothing was sure enough to set Sam off than military terms, especially when applied to himself and Dad knew it.

Then Dad unleashed the big guns; Dean. It was like a recording; Dean doesn't talk back, Dean follows orders, Dean is the good son. Sam shot out that Dean wasn't the good son, he was the good soldier. That as far as Dad was concerned, he didn't even have sons, they were just soldiers in his private little war. Then he'd done what he always did and always regretted and swore he wouldn't do again, but knew he would; he followed Dad's lead and dragged Dean into it too.

Called him the mindless soldier, brainwashed to believe that Dad was always right and could do no wrong.

Called Dad a control freak that had broken Dean down into a machine that could only follow orders.

Sam always meant it as a slight against Dad, but it always managed to miss Dad completely and hit Dean with perfect accuracy. Every single time. He knew it hurt his brother, saw that clearly in the flash of emotion that would flood those green eyes before they dropped down to hide, but he never managed to stop saying it. Dad just made him so mad and he couldn't think of anything except getting his point through. With the heat of anger flooding through his mind, his words tangled, lost the clarity they had when he thought of them lying in his bed at night.

It was like a well rehearsed script that they couldn't change.

Watching Dean walk into the bedroom with the dejected slouching of his shoulders and down bent head had done it for Sam. The poisonous words stopped abruptly and Dad had asked him if he was happy with himself. Sam almost felt like hitting him then, but just sighed. No, he wasn't happy with himself or anything else. Sam wished he could learn the lesson so he could avoid the crushing disappointment; Dad wouldn't give an inch because he never thought he was wrong. No amount of screaming and yelling was going to work. The only thing he ever accomplished was hurting Dean, which was the last thing he wanted to do. Dad had an emotion proof shield and Sam didn't have the right ammunition to pierce it.

Finding Dean in the bedroom, he apologized profusely, trying to explain himself, but it wasn't necessary. Dean said it was fine with a cocky smile, but wouldn't meet his eyes. Sometimes, Dean would light into him for getting Dad so mad, but never for dragging him down, which made Sam feel even worse. Other times Dean would shrug it off, which Sam knew meant that he had shoved it down yet again. He wasn't sure which one he hated more.

The car ride over to drop him off at the library had been silent and tense, Dean just saying that he would come get him at 2pm. Dad didn't even look at him.

So yeah, not really looking forward to seeing either of them.

Sam checked his watch again and decided he'd be okay to head outside to wait now. He flipped the machine off and collected his notebook. He shoved back the chair and started heading towards the stairs when he felt a cold breeze at his back. After the half a second of thinking how good it felt, he grew alarmed, turning quickly, eyes darting around the room. There was no way that breeze had come from anything but a ghost. Fear crawled icy fingers into his stomach.

He had to get out now.

Sam ran for the stairs, fingers digging into his shorts pocket to grab the small container of salt he had with him. The breeze hit him again, this time in the face and he skidded to a halt, heart pounding in his throat.

'So angry.'

The sibilant whisper seemed to come from all around him and inside him all at once, but he couldn't see anything. It either didn't have form or it wasn't ready to show itself. Steeling himself, Sam started toward the stairs again.

A heavy push on his chest sent him reeling across the room, stumbling over his feet to fall on his back. Sam bit his tongue painfully at the impact, his notebook flying out of his hands.

'So ignored.'

Sam scrambled back up to his feet as the return of the voice, chest heaving with panicked breath, trying to figure out the best way to escape. He couldn't see anything to throw salt on and it definitely didn't want him near the stairs. He was trying to keep calm and keep his thoughts running towards escape instead of the news articles he'd just read. If this was the ghost of Alex Barton, he couldn't let it take him. He knew what it would try to make him do and that could not happen. There was a librarian upstairs and probably other people. If he could just…

'So perfect.'

The cold enveloped him, freezing his vocal cords, cutting off his cry before it began. Sam tried to bring his arm up to fling the salt, but he couldn't move it. With terror, he realized that he couldn't move anything but his eyes and they were useless because there was still nothing to see. He felt the cold start to seep into him, lighting his body up in burning pain as the chill touched his warm insides. Screaming in his head, he tried to fight it, tried to make something, anything move, but he was forced statue still as he was invaded.

Everything went black for a moment, the freezing pain receding. When he could see again, he tried once more to move, but it was different than before. It was like he was cut off from his body. There was no sensation at all. He couldn't even feel his hands, his arm, his feet, nothing. It was like he was paralyzed completely, locked inside his head. When the room stuttered out for a moment then came back, his head turning to focus on his discarded notebook on the floor, he realized with a sinking dread what that meant; his body had blinked and moved without him doing it. If Sam could have cried, he would have, but all he could do is try to stop the despair from overtaking him.

He wasn't alone in his body. It had him.

Oh God. Dad.

Dean.

'You're mine now Sam. And we're going to have so much fun."

TBC..