Four, Three, Two, One

A/N: So I showed this story to sitonkia before I posted it on here. She liked it so here it is! Give me feedback please!


There were once four Winchesters. A mommy, a daddy, and two brothers. One late night in November, the mommy died. There was fire in the youngest brother's room. The daddy became obsessed with what had killed the mommy. He said it was something supernatural. The youngest brother was only six months old. The eldest brother took care of the youngest for years. It made him feel happy and complete.

There were once three Winchesters. A father and two brothers. The youngest brother was not so young any more but the eldest continued to take care of him. For a reason unknown to the eldest, the youngest and the father didn't get along. The eldest refereed as much as possible but the inevitable came. The youngest left for college but it felt as though he was simply leaving the family. Neither the father nor the eldest was happy with the decision. Yet when the eldest found out that the youngest had gotten a full ride, his heart overflowed with pride. But the fact that the youngest was leaving him overpowered that feeling. But what had made it worse was the fact that the father had ordered the youngest never to return.

There once were two Winchesters. A father and a son. But the son was also a brother. So there were three Winchesters. The father had rejected his youngest son. The eldest son wanted to be there for his little brother. But the youngest brother had rejected his family. So according to the father there were two Winchesters. To the youngest, there was only one Winchester. But to the oldest son, there would always be three Winchesters.

Once again there were three Winchesters. A father and two sons, reunited again. They were scared and hurt but they were together. And that was good enough for the eldest son. No matter how much the broken bones hurt, no matter how much blood flowed, the eldest knew that he was with his family, his whole family. He might have fought because of his mother's death, but he fought for his surviving family. Fighting made his father happy, which, in turn, made the eldest brother happy.

Once there were two Winchesters. Two orphan brothers. They continued fighting. Both demons and each other. They fought with each other constantly about meaningless things and important things. They fought about who got the first shower. They fought about whether or not the eldest brother should let his feelings about the father's death out. They fought about what to eat for dinner. They fought about whether the father had sacrificed himself or not. They fought about whether the eldest was happy or not.

Once there was one Winchester. One orphan. No younger brother around to annoy the eldest, just an old friend that didn't want to leave him alone. The younger brother was murdered by a man with superhuman strength. The eldest didn't want to believe it. He had laid the body on the bed, hoping that his little brother would awake from this deep slumber. Thoughts of suicide never flew through his mind. He had to find his little brother's killer and repay that favor that he had bestowed on the youngest brother. Anger was constantly boiling up higher and higher within the orphan.

There once were two Winchesters. Once again, two orphan brothers. While suicide had not been on the eldest to do list, sacrifice was classier. A sacrifice at a crossroads to save his brother was even classier.