Disclaimer: Sam, Dean, and John Winchester belong to Kripke.
The deaths were always unexpected, and never seemed to follow a pattern. They centered on a small town, near where the brothers' uncle lived. A small town with a quiet church and a large outcropping of dense forest nestled down in a valley. They had lived there once, too, when they were very young, locked up safely in their house at night.
Twenty-four years ago, the beast took their mother.
All that was found were a few scraps of bone and her golden amulet. The younger son kept it in his right pocket. Afterwards, affection came scarce in the forms of a drunken pat on the shoulder, an off-hand congratulatory statement, or the rare treat of a candy bar from a store downtown. They left the town, too, soon after, following newspaper clipping and strange photos or mysterious deaths. Their father tracked the beast obsessively, moving from town to town, blocking the outside world even from his boys, fearing that nobody but themselves could be trusted and relying only on one another was the best way to keep safe. "It's still out there." he'd said, quietly, to the oldest son while the younger slept, "Everything comes after killing this thing, you hear me, Dean?"
They never knew much of anyone else besides one another. Living out of the back seat of an old car, never staying in one town for more than a week. The beast seemed to have dropped off radar, and their father was gone for more and more weeks at a time. The older brother slanted his meals towards the scrawny younger one, going hungry himself; passed down his only jacket just as winter hit although he hadn't needed to, and took as many women for himself at each town as he did whiskey bottles, tossing each them out soon after.
Three years ago, the beast took their father.
They took off, heading towards their uncle's, the only other family they knew. Nearby was a sleepy town, usually quiet, with a small white church nestled amongst bleached-out houses in the heart of it. Their uncle said it'd been there, the beast, and that it'd taken two people already. "We've gotta kill it, Sam. Dad would have wanted us to." The older boy rested his wrist on the top of the wheel of the old Buick, not bothering to grip the wheel. The younger brother ran his fingers over the necklace in his coat pocket, mouth pursed, hazel eyes staring blankly at the mirages of water forming on the distant asphalt.
"Yeah, Dean, I know. Mom, too." They were quiet for a few moments, trees whizzing by the windows, the radio playing soft static-laced rock. Dean turned his eyes towards his brother, who looked back with an understanding expression, before sighing heavily and running a callused hand over his mouth and down his chin. He steered the car around a broad curve, forest lining one side, and back towards the pastel-tinted town sitting at the crest of the next hill. "Uncle says we can stay with him, but we're gonna have to go a ways into the woods to get to his cabin." Sam spoke low, and Dean didn't bother to reply, just pulled the car to the side of the street outside of the town, cutting the engine.
Dean shut the door harshly, walking to lean back against the cool bumper of the rusty automobile as Sam rested beside him, hands still shoved in his pockets. Dean was thirty, Sam twenty-six, but Sam had at least four inches on his brother, and a mop of unruly brown waves and a puckered mouth. Dean was sharp-featured, with a square jaw and short-cropped hair which was hard to be distinguished as blonde or brown. They only rested a few moments, Sam looking worriedly down at his older brother, before Dean turned to the backseat and grabbed a silver cross trinket and a revolver, setting it to an empty chamber and pushing it in the back side of the waistband of his jeans. Sam pressed his palm to the back of his own jeans, feeling the hunting knife sheathed in leather hard in the back pocket. As Dean turned back, Sam gripped his arm, and Dean's green eyes rose to his brother's face questioningly. Without a word, the younger brother pursed his mouth tightly closed and pressed something into his older brother's palm, curling his fingers around it. The message was clear, and Dean nodded, eyes dropping to his boots. "Let's go."
The woods were shrouded low with a light fog like an ethereal blanket, and the brothers' breaths floated in tendrils from their lips, chill air rising goose bumps across their arms as they moved, boots crunching underneath the leaves. The older of the two kept his palm behind his back, rested on the pistol tucked away there, ready to pounce if the beast were to rear its ugly head. Sam glanced around cautiously, tucking his large form in at the shoulders as if to curl into himself and take up as little room as possible, his brother moving in wide-legged paces around and in front of him, the amulet Sam had given him swinging across the fabric on his chest with each step. "Keep your eyes up, princess, this thing could be anywhere 'round here, y'know."
"Yeah, Dean, I know. We just gotta stay together... and don't call me princess, got it?" He replied defensively as he turned towards his brother's voice.
He wasn't there.
"Dean?" He whipped around, barely able to see more than a foot in the dense fog that had built up, breath quickening in panic. "Dean? Dean, where are you, man? Hello?" Numb, he started to run, feet pounding in loud crunches of leaves underneath the thick soles of his boots, breath heaving in pants as he batted branches from his face a split-second too late, cheeks cut and eyes darting.
Sam wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been running, but his ribs felt like they'd been wrapped in a vice. He let his hands fall against the torn denim covering his knees as he struggled to catch his breath, eyes falling closed.
He'd called them there because he knew they were the only ones with the guts to take care of the thing, and two was better than one. Uncle would have gone after the thing himself, had he not been pushing seventy and had bones that ached like a deep frostbite. Six minutes ago, the beast took the brothers' uncle.
Dean's mind vaguely registered the root as his toe caught on it, barely stumbling around and drawing the gun reflexively. He swung the pistol to his left and stepped back steadily, brows furrowed and eyes searching. His heart pounded, but he kept his movements slow, just as his father had taught him, registering his surroundings, making sure to keep himself contained, even if nobody was around to see if he let loose. "Sammy? Sam-hey!" He called, voice rough and possessive, desperation sinking in the pit of his stomach. Sam was his responsibility, ever since those hand-me-down jackets and uneven food portions that his father never would have considered. "Sam?" His voice weakened, finally lowering the pistol and starting to walk, one hand sheathing it back behind his belt, the other gingerly running the ends over the trinket hanging from his neck.
When Sam's eyes opened, he almost couldn't believe what he was. A faint silhouette, blurred and faint, but still a something, lined itself just slightly to his left. He could vaguely make out what seemed like a square shape, and a denser line of smoke coming from the top. "Uncle." He breathed, long legs stepping clumsily towards the shelter, desperate to have some sort of comfort. His nerves were strung high, and he pushed open the door with gentle fingers, peering cautiously into the great room before taking a few heavy steps inside. It was lit warmly, fire smouldering in the hearth, seats covered with knitted, patterned blankets, but deserted. "Hello? Hey, uncle, it's me, Sam. Can't find Dean, I think we-"
He noticed a figure out of the corner of his eye, and turned towards it. It was a man, dressed in full priest's clothes, with a pained expression covering his face. He seemed to be middle aged, hair greying considerably, and had blood smeared across his hands, arms, and face. Sam felt his breath catch, and he moved his fingers to the smooth handle of the knife in his back pocket. "Who are you?" His eyes narrowed as the man seemed to sob, a beam of moonlight hitting just to the side of his scuffed shoes.
"I don't know anymore, I'm lost." The priest replied simply, raising his watery eyes towards the roof of the cabin, mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. "God, you bid me do your work, and yet you make me like this?" He sobbed, pressing his bloodied hands to his face, and then dropping them quickly. "But, if it's your will, I'm made to accept it." He leaned sadly into the beam coming from the window, and Sam flinched back as the man twitched uncontrollably, twisting grotesquely and forming into a huge wolf, which dropped to all fours and charged at Gale.
Sam's eyes widened and he felt the heavy weight knock him sideways. He hadn't drawn the knife fast enough to prevent the animal from burying its teeth into his shoulder, drawing a strangled moan from him as his shoulders stung from the impact with the ground. He tried to push the creature off, but he couldn't manage the strength, despite his large form. Teeth gritted, he managed to finally free the blade, impaling it squarely between the wolf's shoulder blades. Sam let out a breath of relief as the jaw loosed its grip in his flesh and the hairy weight fell to his side, and then he let himself fade to black.
The fog had lifted, and Dean could see that the sun was already setting again. He had been wandering the woods the whole day, lost and desperately searching for his brother, without noticing the passing of time. He turned in place, eyes scanning for movement like a beast for its prey. "Sam? Come on, buddy." he called, blinking back tears forming in his eyes, "Hey, I won't call you princess, okay? Sammy?" As if in answer, his eyes fell to rest on the distant image of their uncle's cabin, door ajar. He set off at a run towards it, breathing quickening and chest tightening as he stepped through the door.
Sam was seated in a chair in the middle of the room, tears streaming down his face, pistol drawn and pressed against the underside of his chin. Dean felt his breath stop, blood draining from his face. The only thing he had left was about to destroy itself right in front of him. "Sam, don't." He breathed, cautiously taking a few steps towards his brother.
Sam caught sight of Dean and immediately rushed towards him, falling to his knees in front of him and gripping at Dean's hands desperately, breaths choked by sobs as he pressed Dean's hands underneath his around the handle of the gun, the end flush against his forehead.
"Please, Dean. He bit me. He got me. You have to do it; you're the only one who can do it, Dean." he choked out, voice hitching with sobs as his hands shook over his brother's, who was staring down at Sam with wide, shocked eyes. "Please. I'll turn into it if you don't. I can't do it myself."
Dean stood still for a few moments, eyes stinging and breath heaving, the golden light from the sunset filtering through the window and over the freckles dusting his cheeks. "No," he said finally, voice shaking, head following after, eyes falling closed, "Sammy. No, I can't, no matter what you are." He pulled the gun from under his brother's trembling hands, and Sam broke down into sobs, falling to the floor. Dean left him silently, throat tight, and unloaded the gun in a swift movement, allowing the bullets to clink to the floor. He moved to the door, pulling it shut and bolting it, before settling to the floor beside his brother, putting his hand against the small of his back and frowning at him.
"Come on, don't be such a girl." He said, cracking a cocky smirk to the younger boy, who sat up, brows knotted, looking offended. "Not gonna leave you, Sam. Together, alright? Scared me half to death when I lost you in the woods. Not gonna lose you again." He moved his mouth to an inverted crescent; lines formed on either side, but his eyes were still crinkled reassuringly.
"I'm gonna turn once the moon hits. You know that. I'm gonna turn into the same damn thing we came here to kill. It killed Uncle, Dean."
"Yeah, so?"
"I'm gonna kill you." Sam winced at the thought. "You have to go. You'll never get married." He paused for another second, guilt panging under his ribs. "You'll never have kids if you do this."
"Doesn't matter, Sammy. You're enough for me to deal with as it is, man." Dean leaned back, letting his brother rest his head on the top of his shoulder, long strands of hair brushing against the stubble of his cheeks.
"Jerk." Sam shot him a broad smile, white teeth flashing.
"Shut up, princess."
Dean took in a deep breath, feeling his brother's fingertips as he examined the necklace still draped around his neck. He pulled it over his head and placed it over Sam's, smoothing his palm over his brother's chest, and meeting his eye with a small nod.
"Let's go." He closed his eyes quietly. The dark settled over them, the white light of the moon overtaking the windowpane and crossing the wood floors as they sat still, tangled over one another. He felt Sam's chest heave underneath his palm, then his form twist up and over him, but he kept his eyes closed, willing the hazel of his brother's eyes to be the last thing he saw, if it came to that, and the smile that had crossed his face.
His father's words echoed in his mind as Dean drew in another long breath. 'Everything comes after killing this thing. You hear me, Dean?'
'Not everything.' He thought, feeling a shadow fall over him and his brother's cries turn to low growls and groans.
Dean exhaled, raising his face to the sky as teeth sunk deep into the side of his neck, and then he let himself fade to black.