Prologue:
On January 24th, 1979, Mary Winchester gave birth to twins: a boy and a girl. She named them Dean and Deanna Winchester. The two had matching, dirty blonde hair, and bright green eyes. As infants they were inseprable, and as they grew older, only grew closer.
On May 2nd, 1983, Mary Winchester gave birth again. This time to a boy she named Sam Winchester. She held him carefully, brushing the soft patch of hair on his head away from his eyes, her husband holding her shoulders lovingly, as she explained to the two sets of bright green eyes looking at her over the bed rail, that they were older siblings now...that it was their job to look after little Sammy. Both eyes nodded solemnly back, gentle fingers touching Sam's tiny toes as if he were made of glass.
On November 2nd, 1983, Mary and Deanna Winchester were killed in a fire started by a demon hell-bent on destroying the world, leaving behind their boys to struggle on through life without them. Mary was pinned to the ceiling, her stomach cut open above her son's crib, and was burned alive. Deanna, who had been sleeping in Sam's crib with him, was thrown out of the second story window when the room exploded, killed instantly by impacting with the ground and the fire that was already licking at her small body.
John Winchester could still hear Deanna screaming for her mother and father as she flew through the window, even twenty years after her death.
After that, John took the last remaining members of his family, and hit the road, determined to find the demon that had killed his beautiful wife and innocent daughter. Dean took over the care and raising of Sam, even though he was only four-years-old. Even through his rage and need for revenge, sometimes, John couldn't help but wonder what would have happened to Dean if Sam had been killed as well. Without someone to look after, and to care for...to be strong for, John had no doubt that Dean probably wouldn't have interacted with the world again, falling into despair and possibly insanity.
John thanked the God he no longer had faith in every night for sparing his two boys. On the nights when he was too drunk to successfully lie to himself, he had to admitt honestly, that without them, he probably wouldn't have made it either.
On January 24, 1984, Dean Winchester's fifth birthday, he dreamed of Deanna for the first time. She was smiling, and she was happy. She'd been looking all over for him, she'd said. They'd hugged, and in his dream, Dean felt the hole inside of him, that at five he didn't have the words to describe, slowly start to heal. Deanna may have been dead, but his twin wasn't truly lost. Not in the way he'd always thought.
Dean never told his father or Sam about the dreams. And his father didn't question it, when suddenly, after almost two solid months of silence from his oldest son, Dean started talking.
Dean started telling Sam stories about Deanna and Mary before Sam was even old enough to understand. The youngest Winchester grew up knowing everything there was to know about the two women who had been ripped violently from the Winchester clan. He mourned their loss, same as his father and older brother.
Dean always thought it was weird, that every few nights he would dream about his dead sister. As time went on, and as he began hunting, the things he saw and did made his dreams seem like nothing. And it was good to see Deanna. It was good to hear her talk about her 'foster parents', people who had taken her in when she had been found injured in a neighbor's back yard. She'd told him they'd tried to find John and Dean and Sammy, but they had disappeared. She told him about school, and then later, dance classes, gymnastics, her friends...Dean knew it wasn't true, but he enjoyed watching the image in his head grow into the young woman she might have become if she hadn't been taken away. Dean told her about hunting, and trying to find their mother's killer. He taught her the things he'd learned from his father about hunting, and when Sammy grew older, told her about the things he'd achomplished: his first words, first steps, tying his shoes, his straight A's in schools they were barely in long enough...
It felt good to feel someone's praise and encouragement. Even if she wasn't real.
The thing about Deanna was, she never acted like she was dead. She always acted as if she were alive, living as a normal kid. When Dean got older, he grew to understand she was just a figment of his imagination...that it was the sister he would have loved to know and be with if she hadn't been taken from him. Dean never looked into her story, about living in Lawrence with the Warren family.
He didn't think he could take the disappointment when the information was right in front of him. Knowing in your head something wasn't right, and seeing the hard evidence, were two, very different things.
But sometimes, when things were calm...when Sam was tucked close, safe and warm, and their Dad was nearby, doing research or just watching television with them, Dean could almost feel a slight tugging sensation, like he was being drawn towards something or someone. Again, Dean never mentioned it, and never worried too much. It didn't feel dangerous.
It felt like...home.
Twenty-two years after Deanna's death, Dean's father went missing, effectively leaving Dean on his own. Making a decision that cut to the bone, Dean took off for Stanford to retrieve his younger brother and beg for his help finding their father.
What he didn't know, was that his past that he had thought dead for twenty years, was about to catch up to him.
Author's Note: Let me know what you think. If there is interest, I'll continue. Any kind of review is welcome. I really honestly want your guy's opinion.