Battle Weary.

Chapter One

And a time came to pass when those that lived on the surface faced great peril. Their world, their lives, their future….their very souls up for the taking.

A battle raged around them. A battle that had been fought for millennia past and would be fought for millennia to come. A battle that hinged on the strength, courage and determination of the few, against the raw desperation of the many. A battle of good versus evil. A battle to which those on the surface were oblivious.

There were those born to fight this war. Through their blood a legacy was passed. A legacy passed from generation to generation. A seemingly unending line of warriors. There were others who 'fell' into the battle….or so they thought. Unaware they were chosen for this life, destined to continue the battle. They themselves now passing a legacy.

The battle was interminable. Sustained by the trickery and deceit of the malevolent; the greed and desire of the easily corrupted and the will of the just to ensure their world survived. The warriors locked-horns, victory and defeat an even battlefield. Every inch gained in one battle, was lost in another. No ground was given. Each conflict drowned in the blood of the defeated.

But inevitably, as is with all battles, complacency creeps in. Guards are dropped, defences let down…and an opportunity arises. A time when one will have the upper hand. A time when walking the knife's edge becomes more perilous. A time when the fate of the many is held in the hands of the few.

Time. It all comes down to time. And with time comes change….evolution….a new warrior.

Dean sat in another crappy chair, at another crappy table in another crappy motel, in another crappy town, swirling even crappier coffee in a chipped, coffee-stained cup. He watched the disgusting liquid whirlpool around the mug, his mind seeming to circle with it. He looked over, Sam was crashed out on one of the beds, still fully clothed. He hadn't even removed his boots. Dean put the mug down, rose quietly from the chair and went to his brother. He gently removed his boots, grabbed a blanket from his bed, covering Sam before retaking his position in the chair. His position? No. His sentry.

It had been almost two months since that job in Michigan. They'd been on the run ever since. Never staying in one place too long. Staying out of trouble, away from hunting, under the radar. Whatever they needed to do to stay alive. Dean rubbed absentmindedly at the scar on his shoulder. The shot had been a through-and-through. He'd been lucky. So had Sam. It had been a head shot. He moved the dark-blue curtain aside just enough for him to scan the parking lot again. No new cars. No movement. Not a sound.

He went to the bed "Sam. Sammy" he shook his brothers shoulder "Time to move." Sam groaned and half-turned away from his brothers voice but Dean persisted "Now, Sammy! They're coming." Sam was on his feet in an instant, all vestiges of sleep gone. He slipped his boots on, grabbed the pistol from the night-stand, threw his bag over his shoulder and followed Dean out the door.

"How close to you think they were this time" he asked Dean. Dean shook his head "Close, dude. Close." Dean pushed his foot to the floor and the Impala leapt forward, her engine screaming through the still night air. He was worried, the time between them being found was getting shorter and shorter. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought there was some kind of tracking device attached to them, but he'd checked the car, all their gear…everything. He looked over at Sam, maybe it was a different kind of tracking device.

Sam was at the wheel now. Dean had insisted they stay moving until they got out of the state. Sam had started to protest, he could see how tired his brother was, he knew Dean was averaging about 4 hours sleep a night….and he knew it was because of him. If they didn't figure this out, it'd kill both of them.

Sam pulled into a motel just over the state border. He reached over and gently shook Dean awake "Hey, Dean….Dean. Wake up, dude. We're here" Dean's eyes snapped open, his hand shooting up and grabbing painfully at Sam's wrist.

"Dean! It's me…easy, now"

Dean grinned sheepishly at his brother "Sorry, dude. Don't know my own strength" He stretched awkwardly in his seat, smacking Sam across the back of his head before jumping out of the Impala laughing. Sam had to grin, he hadn't heard Dean laugh in weeks.

Sam waited while Dean sorted out the room. He scanned the area often, his eyes searching for anything out of the ordinary, any sound, any movement that didn't sit with the area. His hand never far from the pistol at the small of his back. He looked up quickly when he heard footsteps only to see Dean sauntering towards him, swinging the keys in his hand.

Dean pushed open the motel door and groaned "Why? " he turned to Sam "Why Sammy? Just ionce/i I'd like to stay in a motel room that doesn't scare the crap out of me" He walked in and threw his bag on the floor, Sam following him, grinning from ear to ear.

Prairie. That was the only word to describe the room. The shag carpet was a shocking shade of green, the ceiling a bright azure and if that wasn't enough, there were white fluffy white clouds painted on it as well. Some bright spark had thought nailing fence palings to the wall would give the room more authenticity (it didn't). There were rolling hills painted on the walls, little cabins perched precariously on said hills and what looked like livestock grazing on the badly painted paddocks. The beds weren't beds either, they were cots. Camping cots. The bedside tables, tree-stumps with gas lanterns sitting on them. The hide of a jersey cow lay on the carpet between the cots. The table was of the picnic kind, a red and white chequered table-cloth over it, an old metal pitcher filled with daisy's sat in the middle of it. The light fixture had a circular shade. It was a searingly bright yellow.

Dean turned to his brother and grinned "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto".

Sam laughed "Actually, we are"

Dean stared incredulously at his brother "Bullshit"

Sam shook his head with a smile "Ness City, Kansas…or the outskirts of Ness City."

Dean moved his eyes over the room and shuddered "And how the hell am I supposed to sleep in that" he pointed to the cot.

Sam laughed "At least your legs aren't gonna hang over the end"

Sam grabbed the laptop, moved the flowers out of the way, placed the laptop in the centre of the table and opened it. Dean sat opposite him "If I get one splinter in my ass, I'm gonna sue, make millions and shut this place down. This and every other crappy motel we've ever stayed in."

Sam grinned "Yeah, Dean. that's what you'd spend the money on"

Dean smiled "What're looking for, geek-boy?"

"Something…anything. Anything that'll tell us what the hell is going on and how those freaks are tracking us"

Dean watched his brother work, studying him, trying to see if there was anything different about him. Physically, he looked the same and he hadn't had a nightmare or premonition in forever which meant that yellow-eyed bastard hadn't been close to him. So who the hell were these people?

The first they'd seen of them…well not actually seen, they'd been ducking for cover and then hightailed it out of there as soon as they could, was just after they'd left Michigan. They'd stopped by the side of the road to take a piss when they'd heard what sounded like a sonic boom, only not anywhere near as loud as it should have been. Their internal radar's had hit overdrive, the 'beep, beep, beep' warning in their heads, deafening. Dean had almost had a 'Something About Mary' moment as he zipped up, but his pistol was in his hand in seconds, his instinct to keep his brother alive stronger than any fear for himself.

He'd thrown himself at Sam, knocking him to the ground and covering Sam's body with his own. He felt the bullet before he heard it. "STAY DOWN!" he'd yelled at Sam, his pistol raised as he scanned the area looking for the shooter. Dirt had kicked up in his face as a bullet missed him by inches. He'd pushed Sam down into a small gully, telling him to stay put while he chanced a run to the Impala. He'd ducked and weaved his way over, the bullets just missing him. He'd thrown himself through the open window, staying low as he started the car. He'd gunned the engine, throwing the car into gear and racing over to Sam. He'd flung the door open and Sam had scampered in. Dean had pushed his foot hard to the floor, the Impala fishtailing as it roared back onto the highway and away from whomever was trying to kill them.

They thought they'd been safe at the next motel but a bullet had screamed through the motel window, ricocheting around the room before lodging in the tv. They'd managed to get away without injury but now understood that they were being hunted. Hunted by something that seemed to know where they were.

Only one other time had they heard the strange 'sonic-boom' sound preceding an attack. They knew it was significant but all searches they'd made had turned up nothing. Searches of their fathers' journal had yielded nothing but Dean was sure there had to be something in there, it was just a matter of deciphering their father's riddles.

To be continued...