At long last…the prologue for "Extension"

I should be working on my DA A-Z Prompts…But I Just HAD to get this out. Be forewarned, this hasn't been beta'd. I'm working on getting someone to do this regularly, but we'll see how that goes. Any mistakes hereforth are mine, and I appreciate constructive criticism. However, keep in mind this is an AU verse, so to speak for each of the worlds. I've adjusted the DA timeline to match up with Supernatural, because I'm not that great at writing time travel.

If you'd like to see the direction I'm going with this story, please check out chapter "X" on my Scrambled fic. As per 's guidelines this will not be exactly the same, as "Xerox" was meant to give you the overall gist/summary of the idea. This starts out rated T; but likely to jump to M for language, action-type violence, and maybe my first try at some smuttiness…maybe. I'll warn y'all a head of time.

I DO NOT own Dark Angel, or Supernatural. They are owned by their respective creators, producers, etc. Just the idea of blending them together in this particular way is mine. You can certainly try your hand at it as well. There are a few OC characters that are mine. Reviews are awesome, if you feel you wish to bestow them upon me I shall be very grateful. I thank you ahead of time for your patience, and hopefully the time you'll put in following my insane ramblings to a conclusion. What if…

Wyoming, 1986 2:03 a.m.

"Daddy?"

The quiet whisper startled John awake, and his eyes popped open to find his youngest, Sammy peering at him from the edge of the bed. He rubbed at his eyes sleepily, and John smiled slightly at the sight of his bedhead.

"What's the matter sport?" John eased himself up on his elbow wincing when his sore muscles protested. "Did you have a bad dream?" John's voice was raspy, and he glanced at the bedside clock to find it was after 2 a.m. Shit. That meant he'd been out for almost 10 hours.

Dragging his hand across his face, and swung his bare feet down to the carpet and lifted his youngest up unto his right knee, easing his sore left one straight. The last job had been particularly rough and John was feeling his age right now.

Glancing down, he felt his brow furrow in confusion. Sammy was being unusually quiet. His son was a bit of a chatterbox, and was only silent when he was thinking on a problem much bigger than any 3 year old had a right to, or when he was scared. But that made his behavior right now even more unusual.

Sam more often than not, sought out Dean…

"Sammy, what's the matter?" Sam didn't say anything just burrowed his face into John's chest.

"Sam." The tone was all together different, more like that of a drill Sargent, and not what most people would use to cajole an answer out of a toddler. But then, the Winchesters weren't most people and he'd taught his children since Sammy was small to instantly obey that particular tone. It could mean the difference between life and death.

Sam turned his face up at John, and his dark eyes glittered with moisture.

"Sam. Did you hear a noise?" John was already reaching under his pillow for the wickedly carved silver blade.

"No. But Dean's hot."

"Dean's hot?" John kept the blade out and shifted Sam onto his hip while he walked the room to check the salt lines.

"Uh-huh. And he's all sticky."

"Did you wake him up?" John asked limping his way back to the beds. He was surprised the noise hadn't woken Dean up. He was a very light sleeper for his age. Dean would've noticed Sam being gone.

"I dunno." John set Sam down on his side of the double bed he was sharing with Dean.

"What do you mean?" John kept blade in hand and carefully reached for his son.

"He's talking but his eyes won't open." Even through the worn, oversize T-shirt John could feel the heat pouring off of Dean. John carefully rolled him over unto his back, and smoothed a hand across Dean's forehead and short blonde locks.

Dean's lips were moving, but he wasn't saying anything. He was hot, without being sweaty. Sam was right about Dean being sticky, meaning that he had been sweating not more than an hour ago. It also meant Dean was dehydrated.

"Sammy how long has Dean had the cold?"

"The sniffles?"

"Yeah."

"Since we started Peter Pan."

"Hmm." John walked toward the first aid kit in the bathroom and glanced over for the bottle of cough medicine Dean said he'd been taking. It was empty, so that would explain why John hadn't noticed the fever earlier. He'd been a little out of it himself. Not that it was any kind of excuse. Mary would've noticed, he was sure.

To keep the sharp wedge of pain away, John grabbed a ratty washcloth and left it under the cold water while he hobbled back to the bed. Shaking the baby thermometer, before slipping it under Dean's tongue, John looked at the time on the clock.

"Okay Sammy. Can you tell Daddy when the three changes to five?"

"Sure! Numbers is easy. Dean says I'm really good at them. All the way up to 10!" John smiled at Sammy and went over to pull on a pair of pants over his boxers. Walking back into the bathroom, he shut off the flow of water and rang out the excess moisture from the cloth.

"Daddy!" John folded the washcloth into a long rectangle and placed it over Dean's head while he peered at the temperature. 104 degrees. Shit. That was way too high for a kid, especially as John wasn't sure how dehydrated he was.

"Sammy, can you put on some pants and shoes?"

"Why are we going to play?" Sam asked innocently blinking up at John.

"We're taking Deano for a ride to cool him down."

"Oh. Okay." Sammy huffed out and scooted to the end of the bed to climb down and over to his duffel bag by the TV. John softly patted Dean's cheek.

"Dean." His son made a noise but didn't open his eyes.

"Dean." He said more firmly. "Wake up Dean. Open your eyes now." Dean's lashes fluttered softly against his pale, freckled cheeks.

"That's it. Good boy. Come on. Open up."

"D-dad?" John felt a slight rush of relief at the sound of his son's scratchy little voice.

"Yeah kiddo. Come on, we're going on trip. Sit up for me okay?" Dean groaned deeply, but he still wouldn't open his eyes.

"Dean." This time it was a fierce command and Dean finally snapped his eyes open.

John felt a chill run down his spine as Dean's unseeing glassy eyes gazed up at the ceiling.

"Dean." He whispered in quiet shock, and it was like a dam burst forth from Dean. He started babbling and with every word John felt ice run through his veins.

"Mom. Mommy. Burning. Don't want-Mom. Look up. Dad. Dad. Burn. Don't, oh please. Sam. Not Sammy. No. No. No! I'll burn. No. No. Mom."

The words were like a punch to the gut, ripping and tearing at his soul. Choking down a panicked breath John scooped Dean up into his arms. The movement jarred Dean's eyes to half-mast and his voice quieted down into incomprehensible whispers.

John turned to see Sam standing next to him, looking up solemnly shoes on the wrong feet. John didn't waste time looking for Dean's things, just bundled him up in his own leather jacket and scooped Sam's hand in his own. Marching them quickly out the door and to the Impala. He let go of Sam's hand long enough to dig the keys out of his pocket.

He lay Dean down in the backseat and set Sam next to him. "Keep talking to your brother." John said firmly, before he climbed into the drivers' seat and threw the Impala into reverse.

He was pretty sure there was a veteran's hospital the up the road. John didn't have any viable fake insurance right now, but he wouldn't risk his kids anyway. He should still be eligible for some care from his stint in the Marines; and John was sure of one thing. Dean needed hospital care.

"Hang on Dean." John said glancing in the rearview mirror. Sammy was stroking his head and talking about Neverland-but John could still see Dean's lips moving soundlessly.

"Burn. Dean. Burning…"

VA Hospital, WY 4:10 a.m.

"Mr. Winchester?" John quickly pivoted on his heel and found himself facing a man in a white labcoat. He had been pacing aimlessly since the nurses had taken Dean from his arms upon arrival. Sam was dozing in a hard plastic chair, having made a nest out of his jacket.

The man was in his mid-thirties, not too far off from John's age by the look of it and it reassured him. He wanted somebody with experience looking after his kid. Gray eyes peered at him from behind wire frame glasses. John realized he hadn't spoken yet. He cleared his throat.

"Yes. I'm John Winchester, how's my son?"

"You can go back and see him now, we've got him stabilized on a saline drip and antibiotics."

"Will he be okay?"

"Yes, I have every reason to believe your son will make a full recovery. He's a remarkable boy. A very good fighter. His fever is already going down." At the Doctor's words, John felt a world of tension ease off of his shoulders.

"Thank you."

"Oh, don't mention it. I would, however like to request permission to draw a sample of your other son's blood, simply as a precautionary measure." At John's expression, he hurried to explain.

"Your children have been in close proximity to each other, and I would like to be certain your other son will not get the virus."

"Whatever you believe is necessary, Doc."

"This would include a sample of your own. It will not take very long to test."

"Sure, okay." John waved a weary hand at the doctor, tension building back up in his back. "Can we go see him now?" he bit out curtly feeling anxious being away from Dean for so long. Especially considering the state he'd been in when they'd arrived.

"Yes. Certainly. I'll send a nurse by to draw your blood shortly. It will only take a few minutes." The doctor started to turn away, when John's hand flashed out and grabbed his arm.

"Sorry Doctor..." John's eyes flashed over his nametag "Sandeman. I just want to see my son."

"I understand Mr. Winchester. I too, have children of my own. I worry about them incessantly as well." Some thing flashed in Dr. Sandman's eyes, and John released his arm slowly. It wasn't out of fear...but there was a strangeness about him...Dr. Sandeman continued on, seemingly unaware of John's emotional shift. "Your son is in room 493, which is down the corridor on your left. If you'll excuse me I have rounds to finish. Have a good rest of the evening."

He turned away from John and continued down the corridor towards the nurse's station, and John followed him with his eyes. Now that Dean was okay, there was something about him…But John couldn't place it.

He turned and scooped Sam back up into his arms, and went down the hall, headed for room 493 and his son. But though Dean was the pressing thought on his mind, he could help but hold onto the name of the Doctor. There was something, almost ominous about him.

Doctor Sandeman…

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AN: I know this first one is more SN focused, but really it's the set-up for the whole stage. Expect a few flashes to this occurrence throughout the fic. Thanks, and if you have any questions, please let me know! Reviews, again are lovely…I hope you enjoyed!