Chapter One

The rain beat down in violent drops that soaked Vis Vires D. Pratt's dirty-blond hair and left droplets on his glasses. His phone was vibrating in the pocket of his coat, but he ignored it and continued walking down the sidewalk, his face downcast as he tried to avoid meeting any eye contact.

At least to the residents of his small town, Vis was nearly as strange as his name. His hair was streaked with red dye, and he had an affinity for black clothes, ripped jeans, eyeliner, piercings and nail polish. Not only was he determined to wear whatever he wanted, but it made people stay away from him if he let them label him a freak, so he did.

On this particular day he had walked from his house to the library, his headphones on and his mp3 player blasting music through them to drown the sound of rain and anybody walking past them. His phone started vibrating again, but he once again ignored it and pushed open the heavy double-doors. He lowered his headphones to rest around his neck as he walked inside. His music was still loud enough that he could hear Katy Perry's voice belting out the words to Last Friday Night.

"Good morning, Vis," Lisa, an elderly woman who was frequently the only librarian present, said, not looking up from the newspaper she was reading. "Turn the music off."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, unplugging his headphones with a swift swipe to silence the music.

"Your dad still away?" It was routine for Vis to frequent the library, but only when his father wasn't home.

"Mhm." He strolled past Lisa's desk and straight into a dimly lit corner he had practically claimed as his own. There was a dying plant, a table, two chairs and a flickering light hanging from the ceiling. The library very rarely had anyone else in it for more than a moment or two except for the weeks leading up to exams, so he could usually be alone in his corner with a stack of books and his music and he could relax away from his father's home of devil's traps and salt lines and iron bullets.

xXx

"Where the-"

"Hello, Dad." Vis shut the apartment door behind him, not looking at the cross man glaring at him from the kitchen doorway.

"I came home and you were gone!"

Vis rolled his eyes and walked to the closet, taking off his coat and folding it onto a hanger. "Funny, I was here two days ago—"

"Vis—"

"—you know, when you were supposed to be here—"

"Vis Vires Dean Winchester—"

Vis slammed the closet door and turned to meet his father's green eyes. He had been growing recently, and was finally taller than his father by a couple inches. "—and you weren't. And my name isn't Winchester. Screw off."

"Dean." Vis' uncle appeared behind Dean and put his hand on the shorter man's shoulder, his voice caring a warning. Dean shrugged him off and shook his head, walking back to the kitchen.

"You could've at least kept the salt lines," he said quietly as he walked out.

There was a moment's silence, before Vis asked, "Why's he so mad?"

"You were gone," Sam replied, looking down at his nephew.

"I was fine, I went to the library." Vis played with the strap of his messenger bag which hung across his body. He saw Dean and Sam's coats thrown over the couch and bit his lip as he restrained himself from hurrying to pick them up and hang them in the closet. He wasn't looking at his uncle, refusing to make eye contact.

"You know how he gets about you, Vis," Sam replied. "He worries."

"Just because Mom—"

"Vis, don't. You know that's not it. You could've answered your phone, though."

Vis sighed. "I was mad."

"You could've answered your phone. You have it for a reason."

"Yesterday was my birthday, and I didn't have a phone call to answer then."

Sam let out a small noise that Vis guessed was realization. Not only had they not bothered to come home, or call, but they had actually forgotten. Sure, they hadn't been there for over half of Vis' life, but they could at least remember his birthday.

"Vis…" Sam started, but the young man had decided to pick up the coats that were strewn on the couch. He walked away from Sam to pick them up and stared determinedly at the closet door as he crossed the room once more to hang them up. "Vis, don't do this."

And this was a normal thing. When the topic got into anywhere near serious waters, Vis would walk away and start distracting himself with a simple task of some kind.

"Vis. Vis Vires." Sam's voice was tinged with worry as Vis shut the closet door and turned back to the living room to where Sam and Dean's duffel bags littered the floor. He stepped into Vis' path to block him, putting his hands on his nephew's shoulders. "Vis, look at me. I'm so sorry."

Vis looked up at his uncle, mustering as close to a 'devil-don't-care' look as he could. "I don't care. It's fine. Don't worry about it." Sam released the younger man and watched as he walked into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Vis said as he entered. Dean was sitting at the table, sipping a beer and reading one of the newspapers that Vis had collected on the kitchen table for him while he was away on a hunt the past week or so. "I went to the library. You were gone. I'm not a kid! I had my gun, and my holy water. I was careful."

"You're fine, Vis. I was supposed to be back yesterday," Dean replied, though his voice gave off the feeling that it was not fine, "but you could've answered your damn phone."

"I was in the library—"

"I got that."

"I couldn't answer my—"

"No. No, it's fine. You're not a kid, remember?"

Vis groaned. "Dad, come on! I can't stay in the house all the time." He sat down across from his father, biting his lip as he met the older man's eyes. "I wasn't in any danger."

"But you don't know that, Vis," said Dean. "The world is a dangerous place, you know that. When I was your age I wish I had the privilege of sitting in my home all day not having to worry about my life."

"But that's not what you get in life, Dad. Life isn't fun without some risks."

Dean scoffed. "Risks are trying to balance a stack of plates, or trying to walk on the top of a fence, or asking out a girl who's way out of your league. If you want a risk, why don't you go ask out a girl?"

"Because I don't want to go ask out a girl," Vis said quietly, "I want to be able to walk down the street without you getting worried about me." Sam poked his head into the room to see how the discussion was going, and Vis took the opportunity to point to him and say, "Sam understands that you're worrying too much. Don't you, Sam?"

Sam looked slightly flustered. "Well, I mean. Dean, he's not a kid—"

"See!" Vis defended, standing up again and looking down at his father. "I just went to the library. You're freaking out for no reason! Over nothing!"

Dean stood up and glowered at his son. "Sit down." His rough voice gave off the command and Vis immediately took his seat again. "It's not about you being a kid, Vis. Listen to yourself talk, you think you could protect yourself in a fight? If a vampire walked through our front door would you be able to defend yourself? It's not about you not going out and having fun. Hell, when I was your age I was going out with a girl every chance I got and I didn't even have a place to call home. Why do we have to go over this every time I come home? You might think you're ready for whatever comes your way, but you're not. So next time I'm calling you, you answer the damn phone. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Dean took his seat once more and resumed reading the newspaper. "Is that all, sir?" Dean nodded, and Vis stood up and left the room, Sam behind him.

"He does this because he loves you," Sam called matter-of-factly as Vis' bedroom door swung shut at the end of the hallway.

xXx

Vis was woken up at three o'clock in the morning with a splitting headache. He stumbled out of bed and into the hallway without turning on any lights, making his way towards the kitchen to get some pain relievers, but he saw the lights on and stopped just outside the door, listening to the voices inside the room.

"Dean, do you ever think you're too hard on him?" Sam was asking. Vis could hear a glass bottle being sat down on the table.

"He needs to understand why I worry so much about him, Sammy."

"He knows you're doing it because you care, Dean, but you can't just keep him safe forever. He wants to do what we do, you know he does. He's only resenting that he can't."

A short silence, a long exhale, and then the sound of a bottle being placed on the table again. "He doesn't want to do what we do, Sam. He reads too many novels. Tell me you don't look at him and still see that scared kid we picked up seven years ago."

"I do, but that's not who he is, Dean."

"I just don't want to do to him what Dad did to us, y'know? I don't want to hurt him the way Dad did us."

"You're not going to." Sam's voice seemed concerned for his older brother. Vis could imagine the look on Sam's face and he continued. "Dean, you're not Dad. You're a better man than Dad ever was."