The demon was after them. That had always been a given in Sam's life. The demon had lurked in every shadow and every nightmare. It crept and hid, always right behind them. They had never stayed long in one place and constantly changed their last names. They had tried to stay ahead of it – yet never truly succeeding.
Sam sat in his car out the front of an ordinary looking house. Inside its walls his brother and father slept, dreaming ordinary dreams. Completely ignorant of what lurked in the shadows.
He glanced back down the street before focusing back on the house. He'd watched his family for days, trailing them when they left the house. He'd even broken in to draw devil's traps under the rugs and discreetly lay salt lines.
The demon was coming for them and he wouldn't fail them like he had his mother. At that thought the guilt threatened to overwhelm him. It was him the demon had come after and it was because of him that Mary had been forced to take him and flee. She'd left the man she loved and her eldest child just to save him.
"No one else," he muttered to himself. "No one else will die for me."
A wisp of smoke escaped one of the windows and Sam threw himself from the car with a curse. He sprinted through the garden, stumbled up the steps and shoved the front door of the house open. He rushed inside and immediately raised a sleeved hand to his mouth and nose. Smoke coated the entire house in a thick cloud.
He pressed on, shoving open the first door on his right. His father's door. The door that smoke was escaping from. The man lay dead on the floor, flames overtaking the room. His unseeing eyes were fixed on the roof and he was surrounded by a pool of blood.
For a moment, all Sam could do was stare. He hadn't known the man. Sure, he had dropped in once when his car was playing up a year ago, but it had been under an alias and he'd never done anything to raise suspicion. Most of his knowledge of John Winchester had come from his mother. She had talked about him often during Sam's youth – tales of a sweet and caring man. John Winchester had become a legend for a young Sam and he had spent hours imagining what their life would have been like together.
Sam stepped forward, reaching for the man he hardly knew, but was forced back by the wall of heat. The flames swallowed his father's body, hiding it from view, and crept towards Sam. He raised a hand to block his face and staggered back out of the room, guilt weighing him down.
He had to get Dean. He couldn't lose Dean too.
The thick smoke clogged the rest of the house as Sam made his way to his brother's room. No smoke seemed to be coming from the closed door and Sam prayed that his luck would hold. He gripped the handle and used his body to force the door open only to freeze.
It was definitely his brother's room. Posters of bands and cars covered the walls and car magazines had been scattered across the floor. Once they had been impressive but now they were beginning to blacken as fire licked the edges. Dean was struggling against a hand that was closed around his throat, forcing him back against the wall.
The demon turned to Sam, its yellow eyes glowing in the growing flames. A grin split its features and it let out a low chuckle but its hand remained firmly clamped around Deans throat. "A little late to the party, Sammy," it said. "Ready to say goodbye to Dean."
"Let him go, you son of a bitch," Sam growled pulling an old fashion revolver from the small of his back. Not waiting for an answer, he pulled the trigger.
The demon only grinned before vanishing, the bullet passing through empty air. Without the demon holding him up Dean fell to the ground, clutching at his throat. He hunched over as harsh, ragged coughs shock his body. The flames began to close in on him, without the demon controlling it the fire took on a life of its own.
Keeping the gun at the ready, Sam ran forward and dropped down next to his brother. Dean looked up at him, confused.
"Are you all right?" Sam asked. He quickly surveyed him, searching for any injury the demon might have left.
Dean continued to cough but managed to nod. Knowing that was the best he was going to get Sam pulled his brother's arm over his shoulder. He dragged them both up until they were somewhat standing and guided them through the smoke. The flames from their father's room had spread into the hall and singed the hair on their arms as they staggered past.
They were almost out of the house when Dean looked back. "My Dad," he choked out, "he's still in there." He tried to pull away from Sam and back towards the fire. "I have to get my Dad."
"I'm sorry Dean, it's too late for him," Sam said. He ignored Dean's anguished howl and dragged him out of the front door, making sure he wouldn't run back into the flames. Together they stumbled down the front steps and collapsed onto the grass.
Dean could only stare as his home burned to the ground, taking his father with it. He couldn't believe it. All the memories, everything he owned, his own father. It was all gone. Every part of him wanted to run back inside and drag his father, dead or alive, out. However, the man sitting next him kept his arm firmly across Dean's chest, restraining him.
He didn't know what had happened inside the house. One minute he had been asleep, the next a man had dragged him from his bed and shoved him against the wall. Despite all of his training from his dad and nights spent working out, all of his attempts at fighting the man had been as useless as hitting a tree. The man hadn't even staggered under Dean's attack and Dean could have sworn that his eyes had been yellow.
The man that had saved him was even more confusing. He glanced sideways, eyes widening as he looked at him for the first time. He was only a kid. The kid was tall, taller than Dean, but his face was still young, especially with the devastated look he now wore. He had shaggy brown hair that was now soaked with sweat and had fallen down to cover his eyes. Some part of Dean that was processing what had happened took note of the fact that this kid had not only known the man from the fire but Dean's name. The rest of him was to devastated to care.
They sat on the lawn as the flames consumed the house. It wasn't until sirens echoed in the distance that the kid moved. He glanced over at Dean, biting at his lower lip.
"Look we need to get out of here," he said. "I know it's hard but the man who went after you is still out there and he could come back. We need to get you to safety"
"Okay," Dean replied, letting himself be hauled to his feet once again.
The kid led them to a car parked out the front of the house. Dean would know that car anywhere – a 1967 Chevy Impala. Devastation washed over him again and his knees buckled. That had been his father's favourite car, he had pointed it out to Dean when he came across it in magazines or when one had happened to pass through his shop last year.
He could feel tears begin to pool in his eyes and run down his face. He was too devastated to question the kid when he was guided into the passenger seat instead of waiting for the police and he barely noticed when the kid climbed into the driver's side. The car pulled onto the road and was around the corner before the fire truck had pulled up, its sirens echoing through the quite night.
The world past in a blur and Dean found himself being led from the car into a crappy motel room with walls painted a sickly green colour. It was small, having only two single beds and what looked like a door to a small bathroom. The kid led him to the bed furthest from the door and gently pushed him down so that he was sitting on the edge.
"I have to grab my bags but I'll be back in a second," the kid said before heading back out into the night.
Dean clenched his shaking hands into fists. He kept imagining his father's face, screaming in agony as the flames trapped him in. He should have gone back. He should have saved him. He should have shoved the man with the yellow eyes away and saved him. New tears welled in his eyes and splashed onto his jeans.
He jumped as the kid closed the door, a duffel hanging from his shoulder, and quickly wiped at his face. He didn't even know this kid. In fact, he didn't even know if he could trust this kid. He had turned up at the same time as the other man and they had obviously known each other.
The kid seemed to see all of his thoughts as he made a face and walked over to crouch in front of Dean, dumping the duffel on the bed. "Look, I know you have no reason to trust me but the man who started the fire – he's after you. He targeted you and your dad to get back at someone and he's not going to stop until this person gives in to him or he kills you."
"Who is he? Who are you?" Dean moaned.
The kid was still for a second, biting at his lower lip. "I don't know how to tell you this but he was a demon. You know, big evil things from hell that possess people. They're real, as well as a whole lot of other fugly creatures."
For a moment Dean didn't know whether to laugh or make a break for the door. The kid was crazy. There was no such thing as demons outside of horror movies but the kids face was completely serious, not even a hint of a smile.
"You're crazy kid," Dean said, pushing up from the bed and putting some distance between the two of them. Slowly he inched towards the door, better to not set off the psycho by making any sudden moves. Silently Dean cursed his stupidity, why on Earth had he gotten in the kid's car and let himself be taken to some dodgy motel.
The kid stood up but didn't move towards Dean, raising his hands so they were held in front of his chest. "Look, the demon is after me and it went after you two because it knew I'd do anything to protect you. It's been after me my whole life, it killed my mother. It went after you because you're my brother, Dean, and John is my father."
"I don't have a brother and he sure as hell wouldn't be some psycho claiming to be followed by demons. Thanks for saving me from the fire but you need help." With that Dean took the last step to the door and yanked it open.
"My name is Sam Winchester," the kid's voice rang out behind him. "My mother was Mary Winchester and my Father was John Winchester. The demon killed them because of me. When I was six months old a demon did something to me and he has wanted me ever since. Mary took me and ran so that you and Dad would be safe. We spent our lives hiding so that you would be safe. She wanted you to have a normal life, Dean. I'm sorry, but it's all true and now the demon is after you. Without me you're as good as dead."
Dean froze. Slowly he turned back to the kid, fisting his hands at his sides. He was taken back by the tears that now silently streamed down the kid's face. "My brother is dead. He and my mother died 20 years ago. Don't you dare pretend to be him not after what I went through, what my dad went through."
The kid shuffled uncertainly from foot to foot before dragging his duffel over to himself. Silently he dug through its contents, tossing shirts and jeans onto the bed. From somewhere near the bottom he pulled out a faded photograph and hesitantly handed it to Dean.
Dean could only gape at the picture. A woman with long blond hair sat on the hood of the impala. She had her arm around a younger version of the kid, pulling him close. They both had huge, matching smiles. Dean couldn't tear his eyes from the woman. It was his mother. She matched the pictures his father had shown him, expect here she was a few years older.
For the first-time Dean considered the possibility that the kid was telling the truth. That this kid was his little brother Sam, who hadn't died in a fire but had hidden for years. He had hidden from Dean. And maybe Dean hadn't been insane when it seemed that the fire had spread from the man with yellow eyes.
"Sam," Dean whispered. "You're Sam."
Sam smiled sadly and nodded.
For the second time that night Dean's knees buckled beneath him. He fell to the floor, clutching a picture of his dead mother and in the presence of his presumed-dead, little brother.
Sam could understand what Dean was feeling. He'd felt the same when he had read Mary's journal after she had died and discovered the existence of his brother and father. That little revelation had been accompanied by a night of drinking and self-pity.
Giving Dean a bit of space Sam began to clean up the mess left by his search for the photo. He set out clothes for both of them, he doubted Dean wanted to spend any more time in clothes smelling like the fire that had killed his father.
He left the clothes for Dean on his bed and took his into the bathroom. Dean didn't even look up as he closed the door, too absorbed in his own thoughts.
Sam showered quickly, pointedly not looking at his exposed chest and back in the mirror. Some memories were better left undisturbed. He dressed quickly and re-emerged into the room.
Dean hadn't moved from his spot near the door but had closed it at some point. The photo now sat on the floor in front of him. He ran a shaking finger along Mary's face, tears running down his face. Dean looked up as Sam stepped out and he could feel Dean's eyes as they took in his appearance for the first time.
Sam dressed how he normally did. He wore jeans that had long since faded and a flannel shirt unbuttoned to reveal a plain black t-shirt. Hunters clothes didn't last long so nothing was bought new and there was usually a blood stain or two. His damp hair stuck to his face, dripping onto his shirts.
Slightly uncomfortable Sam turned away and began shoving his dirty clothes back into the duffel. "I thought that tomorrow we could go visit some friends of mine. They should be able to help protect you."
"What about you?" Dean asked, pushing himself to his feet.
Sam let out a small laugh. "No one can protect me."
He heard Dean let out a sigh before picking up the pile of clothes. Sam didn't relax until he heard the bathroom door close and the shower start. He didn't know how to treat Dean. He had no experience with brothers. Certainly not grieving, confused brothers.
Pulling a bag of salt from his duffel, Sam set about laying salt lines around the small room. He couldn't be sure if the demon would be back or not for Dean and him. Probably not since it had made its point and had to regenerate its powers but he couldn't be too careful.
Once certain nothing supernatural would be killing them in their sleep Sam crawled into bed fully clothed. He didn't let himself to drift to sleep until he heard Dean emerge from the shower and collapse onto the other bed, breaths evening out.
A/N: The title comes from a song of the same name by Foreigner
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