The all around, usual disclaimer: I do not own the Supernatural or the Winchesters; however – I do own an OC that will be popping up shortly.

Author's Note: First of all, my POTC crossover is put on hold until I get over this writer's block! This story, thank God, is complete and the sequel soon will be too. And as for this story, it is basically a long, five chapter prequel opening events (mainly in the last chapter) to the next one. I hope you do enjoy!

-Andrea

Beta'd by: the patient, wonderful Rae Artemis.

A Path to Darkness

Chapter 1

The house's wooden floors, reeking with age, made way for two of its newest temporary-owners. The third owner was missing in action, not that this surprised them.

"He should be here by now Dad," For all the twenty six years of his rather short life, he'd been repeating the same sentence over and over again for, at least, twenty two of them.

"He's a grown man, Dean," John Winchester, looking much younger than fifty-three, but wise enough, responded critically as he laid down a large duffle bag. "Just because he has your car doesn't mean he decided to skip the country and elope with it."

"Yeah, well," Dean gently placed down the second, overly heavy duffle bag on the bare granite counter top. "Guess she wouldn't be that good in bed."

"Dean," John looked at his oldest boy agitated. "I don't like your tone, is this a new bad habit of yours?"

"Ok, Dad," The hazel-green eyed adult huffed and shook his head. "But he's been at the grocery store for three damned hours and I think it takes less time for a grandma to shop."

"It's been an hour and a half," The father replied, checking his watch; something that normal fathers were supposed to do. "Precisely"

"So? I was close," Dean slung back and then glanced around the extremely empty house. "And Sam's supposed to be the excited one. After all, don't you remember him yelping about moving into a real home?"

"It's a hunt, Dean," John replied easily, kneeling down to un-zip his ammo-filled duffle bag. "We all understand that. You boys aren't kids anymore."

"Well," Dean looked around the granite-topped countered kitchen which was open into the lounging room that led to a hall way that carried three separate bedrooms, and two bathrooms. This house was, in fact, if they could snag the right amount of furniture, ideal.

The Winchesters owed all their thanks and gratitude towards their father's friend, James. Yet another hunting 'buddy' that Sam and Dean had just heard about. James had called John to alert him of something the boys couldn't and wouldn't learn about. But, alas to what John said, Sam and Dean followed their father to the heart of Georgia, thinking that they were on the trail of the demon. The demon that John had secretively beckoned at the hospital but had no luck.

"We only have the beds to sleep on, a working fridge, stove and running water," John continued as he began to lift pure salt bags out of his duffle. "Your brother should be buying the sheets and towels."

"You forgot to mention the running air," Dean interrupted, his upper-body faking a shiver. "It certainly is working."

"Compared to that last motel," John smirked at the memory. "Anything is freezing."

"So," Dean started up again as he pulled out a gun and the correct form of cleaning supplies. "How'd you bargain James to give us his rental for a week?"

"James," John's words grew hoarsely as he went on. "Was your mother's cousin. He was more than happy to do anything he could for us."

"Oh," In a hushed tone, the younger man quickly tossed a dirt covered rag into their current make-shift Seven-Eleven trash bag. "How long's he known about the hunt?"

"Long before I did," John confirmed as he began to sprinkle salt around the edges of the walls.

"I'm back," At the all too cheerful tone, Dean and John glanced up to see Sam coming in the front door of their house, precisely four hours later.

"Enjoy your trip to the mall, Daisy?" Dean demanded as he pushed himself up from his seated position on the floor.

"For your information," Sam retaliated as he placed plastic grocery bags on the counter. "Shopping is hell."

"So I thought," John, secretly smiling to himself, also proceeded to climb up and off of the floor. "I hope you got some cheap lawn chairs, because I'd rather be having conversations sitting in my car."

"Managed to slide three of them in the back of the Impala," Opening a lower cabinet, Sam began unloading a bag full of boxes of purified salt.

"Three for ten at Publix."

"And I take it that they are not digging into the cushions, creating unnecessary dents?" Dean, looking up once again at Sam from rummaging through a bag of potato chips, and other 'healthy' stuff demanded.

"No Dean," Sam snapped, looking back and fourth between his brother and his father – both men shorter than him. "Your car is safe."

''You're sure?" Dean stared at his brother intently, Sam ignored him.

"Sam," Delaying his sons' banter, John slowly walked over to the kitchen area. "What took you so long?"

"People," Heaving an exaggerated breath, Sam frowned. "The people in this town aren't used to getting new comers," John was now tapping his heavily booted-foot causing Sam to sarcastically go on. "Apparently your friend didn't mention that to you."

"James is coming here tomorrow," Firmly, John began to pace over to the opposite side of the room. "And I want the two of you to not be here."'

"Why's that?" Dean, yet again pushed on his demanding tone.

"Because," John stopped long enough to give his younger son a regretful glare. "That man was like a brother to your mom. And not so long ago, when you boys were little, he was fighting for your custody."

"Come again?" Sam, taken off guard, glared at his father.

"He was mom's cousin," Dean cut in, not daring to let things heat up before he watched his brother and father get into yet another argument; too little, too late it was never going to happen.

"Then why the hell don't I remember him?" Intercepting his brother, Sam locked another heavy glare with his father.

"He's a damn good hunter," Calm was not the tone Sam wanted to hear right now, but with his jaw clenching, he slowly received it from John. "And was a good friend."

"But?" No, he wouldn't wait.

"But he can sometimes be a dangerous man."

"We can defend ourselves," Stubbornly, Sam pushed his arms across his chest.

"Not in that way," John was speaking more calmly every time.

"Then Dad," Dean interrupted. "Why are we here? What thing that's supernatural is going around this time?"