The story I'm going to tell you is not one of great joy. And I'm sorry to put you through it. If you want to stop at any time, I won't put it past you.
But, I will say, I'd be surprised, if you did choose to stop. I've found in my time, that humans can go through quite a lot before they finally give up. They're strong-willed creatures. Perhaps the strongest.
I didn't think so at first, but then one man in particular opened my eyes to the reality of a human's strength.
He lived in a nice, white house in Lawrence, Kansas. The man went by the name of Winchester. It was a family name, of course, traditionally taken from his father's side.
His father, a human named John, was a bright, young man. He was kind. Caring. Honest. And above all loyal.
But mostly, determined.
He would work on a job long after closing hours, because he was adamant about being the best and bring his family great pride.
Mostly, however, it simply made them distraught.
"Are you not coming home again?" Mary, the mother of the man - currently a boy- asked quietly into the phone.
His reply was the same excuse as always, "There's work to do, Mary."
"There's always work to do." She rubbed her hand across her face tiredly, "Dean saw some older boys playing baseball at the park down the street. He was so excited to ask if you'll teach him how to play."
There was a long silence, and Mary thought she might have convinced him to come home for the night.
But then John said, "I'll teach him on the weekend. I promise."
"John, if you're rethinking all of this..." Mary said, softly, like if she said it loud enough it would be true.
"Mary, no. Of course I'm not. I'm just trying to make sure we have enough money-"
"We don't need money, John! We need a family!" Mary said, forgetting to keep her voice down.
There was another pause, then John said hesitantly, "I just want to be sure we can afford everything we need for when the baby comes."
"We will. We'll find a way. We always do... So, dinner for two tonight, then?" Mary spoke into the phone, turning around as she did. When she looked up, her eyes locked with the bright green ones of her small son; the eyes of the man that will one day change how I see this world.
"I have to go." Mary said into the phone, not waiting for him to reply.
She hung up and forced a smile to her son, who hovered in the doorway uncertainly. "Hey, Deanie-Weanie."
"Is Dad okay?" Dean asked quietly, his small hands gripping a fluffy blue blanket.
"Yeah, he's just..." Mary paused, walking over to Dean and picking him up. Dean laid his head on her shoulder. "He's just a little busy, is all. He'll be home tomorrow."
"Bu' wha' 'bou' da park?" Mary adored the way Dean had trouble with his 't's. She smiled softly, swaying from side to side; soothingly rocking Dean.
"You know what? I can teach you how to play baseball, if you want." The young woman offered. She wasn't that far into her second pregnancy yet. She could still run around with Dean; perhaps teach him how to play sports. "Would you like that?"
Dean shrugged, "I dink so." He pulled back from his mother's shoulder to look her in the eye, concerned, "Bu' are ya' 'lowed?"
"Why wouldn't I be allowed to teach you how to play baseball?" Mary asked, wondering if Dean somehow found out about the pregnancy, and what that means.
The four year old then said, very seriously, "Cuz you're a girl."
Mary smiled, "Girls can do anything boys can do, but we can do it in heels."
Mary then had to adjust her grip on Dean, because the boy leaned over to try to see Mary's bare feet, he then swung his small body back up to glare at her accusingly.
"You ain' go' no heels on."
"Not right now." Mary chuckled. "But I could."
"Can I?"
"Can you what, Dean?"
"Wear heels." The boy clarified.
Mary gave him an odd look, "Do you want to?"
"I wanna do wha' you do." Dean said, smiling at the beaming expression he received for that.
"Sure, Dean. You can play baseball and wear heels." Mary said, hugging him closer.
"An' ead pie?"
"And eat pie."
Mary and Dean ate dinner alone that night, as they did many nights. Dean did his best to make his mom smile; as a child he didn't know what was wrong or why his father was always working.
He didn't know why his mother's belly got bigger, or why she grew tired as the days past.
He didn't know much of anything, as children typically do.
But he did know one thing. He knew that he loved family.
He loved when John would watch cartoons with him on Saturday morning. He loved the way his father knew exactly what was going to happen on the show.
"He's gonna fall." John gestured to the scene of Wile E Coyote chasing the Roadrunner.
"No." Dean said, disbelievingly.
"He will. Right after he looks down."
"No, Daddy."
Dean then watched, amazed, as the show did exactly as John predicted. He turned to look up at John, "How'd you know dat?"
John shrugged, grinning he replied, "I'm Batman."
Dean giggled, joy washing over him, "No, you're not!"
"I am!" John replied. "I was talking to Superman yesterday, and he said I should...tickle you!"
Dean gasped and tried to crawl away, "No!"
John scooped him up easily, and began to follow Superman's instructions. Dean squealed in delight and horror as John tickled him mercilessly.
He loved the days they would go to the park down the street and John would push Mary and Dean on the swings. He would pretend to struggle with pushing Mary, and would require assistance from the very strong three year old.
"Oh, I don't think I can push Mommy high enough on my own!" He would say, his hands pressed against her back, and he giving quite the effort to look like he was trying hard. John smiled at Mary over her shoulder and teased, "Have you gained weight?"
"John!" Mary would gasp, playfully smacking him.
Dean would gasp and carefully lower himself from his swing. His small legs would carry him to stand by his dad, place his small hands on Mary's back and push with all his might.
John would actually use his strength at that moment, and Mary would go flying. John would quickly pick Dean up and step out of the way, while Mary sang her praise, "Oh, good job, Deanie!"
And, with pride in his voice, Dean would tell all his friends at babysitting what he accomplished.
Dean loved when Mary would help him take a bath, she'd use the soap to make his hair stick up in odd ways.
"You look like a rockstar!" Mary would giggle.
Excitement would wash over Dean, "I wanna be a rocks'ar!"
"A baseball playing, heels wearing, rockstar?"
"Yeah! Yeah!" Dean bounced in the water, picturing his future self in all his glory.
Mary shook her head good-naturedly, "Don't splash, Dean."
And when it was time to get out of the bath, she'd get the fuzziest towel and wrap him up until he was warm and dry.
And at night…
Mary awoke first; she always had quick reflexes. As the door to their room cracked open, her body tensed, prepared for anything.
"Mom?" A small, scared voice said. "Dad?" Mary could hear the soft pat pat pat's of her son's footfalls and the smooth glide of the blanket he pulled behind him.
Mary sat up, relaxed now, and whispered, "What's wrong, Deanie?"
The footsteps froze. Mary could see the outline of the toddler, standing tensely in the middle of the room. Mary slid out of bed, careful not to wake John.
Dean waited until his mom was closer until he mumbled, "I can' sleep."
Mary picked up her son, holding him close to her chest. "Why not?" She asked softly.
Dean's small hands gripped her shirt tightly, "'M scared."
Mary slowly walked back to Dean's room, bouncing him slightly to sooth him. "Scared of what, pumpkin?"
"Da monsder." Dean whispered, hiding his face in Mary's neck.
"What monster?" Mary asked, stopping in her tracks.
"In my closet." Dean said into Mary's skin.
Mary set Dean down on his bed and slowly crept up to the closet. She opened the door and peered inside. When nothing immediately attacked her, she turned on the closet light. After giving it a through inspection, she turned to Dean and smiled.
"No monsters in here!" She exclaimed proudly.
"You sure?"
"I know so."
"Why?"
Mary sat down on Dean's small bed with him and pulled him into her lap. "Because, monsters won't hurt you. You're protected."
"Why?" Dean asked again, resting his head on Mary's chest.
"Angels are watching over you." Mary whispered, "They won't let anything hurt you, Dean. So you don't have to worry."
Dean nodded, his eyes already glazing over with sleep.
Mary rocked them slowly, singing a soft lullaby.
"Hey, Jude..."
And Dean loved that the most of all.
When Mary sat him down one day and held his small hand up to her growing tummy, he loved that, too. John was filming his reaction.
"Is he here?" Dean asked, attempting to pull up Mary's shirt, "Where's he hiding?"
Mary laughed, wrapping an arm around his small body. "No, he's not hiding."
Dean looked at her stomach and narrowed his eyes accusingly, "Did you ead him?"
Holding back giggles, she shook her head, "No, no."
"Den where is he?"
John spoke up from behind the camera, "In Mommy's tummy!"
Dean squinted at Mary, about to call her a liar. She totally did eat his new brother. Rude. But then a new thought crossed his mind, curiously, he asked, "Whad' he doin' dere?"
Because what does happen to food - or little brothers - when they're eaten?
"Sleeping, probably." His mother replied. Mary shrugged at John's snort.
Dean squirmed to look from his mom to his dad. "How long will he sleep? Can he wake up?"
"Not yet, Deanie." John said, a smile in his voice.
Dean frowned, wanting to see his new little brother now. "Den when?"
"In about six months." Mary replied, "And then you'll be a big brother!"
The small child groaned, "Six whole months!? Das like never!"
It was apparent to me that this child didn't actually understand the concept of time.
"You were in there for more than six months too, you know." Mary said. She laughed at Dean's amazed expression.
Her son hesitantly placed his tiny hand on her round stomach, "I was sleepin in you too?"
"Uh, yeah." Mary said, glancing at John.
"How'd I fit?"
"Well, you were a lot smaller. Remember when we went to the doctor's last week? And they measured you?" Mary asked.
Dean nodded enthusiastically, "Dey said I go'd 'aller!"
"Yes! You grew four inches!" Mary agreed, "But you weren't always this tall. You used to be really little. And your little brother will be really small too. That's why he can fit in my tummy."
"How lil will he be?" Dean asked.
Mary rubbed her stomach fondly, "You'll see when he gets here."
Dean nodded, apparently satisfied. "Wha's his name?"
John walked up to them, momentarily forgetting the camera. He laid his free hand on top of Mary's. The two smiled at each other, their eyes twinkling with joy and warmth.
"Sam." They said together, still staring into each other's eyes. Like they were saying the name to each other, and not to their son.
Addressing Dean, John said, "Your little brother will be named Sam."
The closer to the "big day" they got, the more excited Dean became. Every time Mary would walk into the room, Dean would ask, "Is he here yed?"
"Not yet." Mary would always reply, a smile gracing her lips.
When Mary was placed in the hospital, John asked the nice old lady from across the street to watch Dean while the baby was being born.
While they waited, Dean enthusiastically explained to her all the cool things he and Sam will do once he gets here.
"And we're gonna play cars, and we'll go to da park. And we'll hold Mommy's hand. And we'll wadch car'oons." Dean said as the old lady - Ms. Myers - helped him into his pajamas. "And and and we'll be rocks'ars! And superheros!"
"He's not going to be able to do all those things with you just yet, Dean." Ms. Myers said, not unkindly.
"I know." Dean replied. "He's godda ged here firsd."
Ms. Myers chuckled, "Well, even once he's here, Dean. He has to get a little older before you can do anything like that."
"Why?" Dean looked at her like she was a little out of it.
"Samuel will be a baby, Dean." The old woman said. "And babies simply can't do all the fun things you want them to." She paused and winked, "I have a bit of the same problem."
"Bud we're gonna play baseball." Dean frowned at her. "Can Sam play baseball?"
"When he's older, Dean." Ms. Myers said, straightening his shirt. "Now, you also have to understand that your mother and father will be a bit busy with the baby. And just because they might be with Samuel a bit more does not mean they love you any less."
Dean gave her a sharp look; because, hold up, Sam is going to make Mom and Dad not pay attention to him?
Ms. Myers continued, consolingly, "Sam will just need more help than you. You're big and strong. If you want to be a good big brother, you should help your parents help your brother."
"Whad do I do?" Dean asked. How do you help someone help someone else?
"Just take care of Sam, Dean." Ms. Myers smiled. "Your mother and father will really appreciate it."
Dean nodded seriously, before asking, "D'you dink Sam'll like pie?"
"Of course." Ms. Myers smiled, "Who doesn't like pie? If you promise to go to bed early tonight, tomorrow I'll let you help me make pie."
Dean nodded enthusiastically and let Ms. Myers tuck him into bed.
A few days later, Sam was able to come home from the hospital. John had set Dean down in a big Lazy Boy chair and said, slowly, "Now, be careful with him, Dean."
"I will." Dean promised. John hesitantly placed Sam in Dean's awaiting arms.
Dean was amazed; the baby was probably the smallest human Dean had ever seen. Sam, a rarely calm baby, stared up at his big brother for the first time.
And Dean screamed.
"HE'S SO LIDDLE!"
Sam flinched, eyes wide with shock, but he didn't cry. He made a grunty noise and glanced at John and Mary, but otherwise didn't do anything.
"Dean, don't yell." John scolded calmly, "You could hurt his ears."
Dean looked down at his brother's wide, confused eyes. "Sorry, Sam. I won' hurd you no more."
And he didn't.
Things were troubling at first with a new baby around. Ms. Myers was right, Mary would have to give all her attention to Sam. John was gone often, working; providing for his family. Dean liked when it was Sam's nap time, because then, he and Mary would watch TV until Sam woke up.
When Sam got a little bigger and could sit up on his own, Dean enjoyed spending time with him more. Because now, Sam could play with Dean's trucks too. He could giggle at the TV - even if it was at the wrong moments - and he could look at the pictures in the books Dean read to him.
"I do so like green eggs and ham!" Dean read with Sam sitting on his lap, "Dank you! Dank you, Sam-I-am!" Dean specifically liked to read Sam this book, because he and the main character shared the same name. When Dean first read it to him, he paused at every page and said, "Das you, Sam."
Sam didn't know, and probably care, what Dean was saying, but he stared at the pages intently anyway.
Dean read to Sam every night. It helped him learn, and it kept Sam quiet. Mary loved to sit and watch Dean sound out the words. He picked up on things quickly. In most of the books they read, he was able to recognize the repetition and guess what would come next. Mary was incredibly proud of her four-year-old son.
"Good job, Deanie!" Mary said when Dean closed the Dr. Seuss book. She was sure he had it memorized by now. John stepped into the room then, one of the rare times he's home before the boys are in bed. Mary gave him a look, "You missed a great story today."
John, at least, was able to look apologetic, "Dean'll have to read it to me tomorrow. You don't mind reading it again, do ya, tiger?"
"Yeah!" Dean shouted enthusiastically. Sam looked at him quickly and Dean remembered to keep his voice down. "Sorry, Sam."
"Bed time!" Mary said, picking up Sam smoothly and carrying him upstairs to his crib.
"Hey, I'll race you upstairs!" John said to Dean, already in a sprinter's crouch.
"Yeah!" Dean slid off the couch and crouched next to John, a little wobbly, but ready to run.
"You won't beat me this time." John said. "Ready, set…" He turned suddenly, picked Dean up, and dropped him back onto the couch. "Go!"
The man turned and jogged to the stairs. He could hear Dean laughing as he ran after his dad. "You cheaded!"
"No I didn't!" John said, already standing on the first steps, "I just used my resources."
Dean giggled and ran up the steps, John acted surprised as Dean pushed past him. He waited until Dean was almost at the top of the stairs and then called, "Here I come!"
Dean squealed as he made it to the top and started crawling towards his room. John scooped him up into the air and shouted, "He's gonna pass the other competitor! He's gonna win! He could go all the way!" As he did, he made unnecessary turns and spun around, Dean squealing in his arms the entire time.
John ran up to Dean's bed and dropped the small boy into a pile of pillows and stuffed animals. "Dang." John huffed. "He lost again."
"I won! I won! I won!" Dean shouted, panting with giggles and spent energy.
John chuckled, "Yeah. You did. Way to go, tiger." He then helped Dean get under the blankets. "Now, here's your dog." He held up Dean's teddy bear.
Dean giggled. "Tha's a bear, Daddy!"
"Is it?" John glanced at the bear in his hands. "You sure?"
"Yeah!"
"Looks kinda dogish to me."
"No, Daddy!" Dean reached up and grabbed the bear.
John laughed, "Well, you know better than me." He ruffled Dean's long, light brown hair. "Now. You all situated?"
"Yeah."
"You how you wanna sleep?"
Dean squirmed a bit to get comfier. "Yeah."
John gave him a mock-serious look, "You sure? Because I'm gonna tuck you in now. And then you won't be able to move from this spot."
"I'm ready." Dean nodded, squirming into the pillows more.
John smiled, "Alright. I'm gonna tuck now." He pushed the blankets around and under Dean, so he was more or less cocooned in warmth. "And, tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck," he said as he made he was down Dean's small body. "And toes!" He wiggled Dean's feet before he smooshed the blankets around them.
Dean giggled and smiled up at his father. "G'night, Daddy!"
"Goodnight, Dean." John pressed a kiss to Dean's forehead. "Do you want the nightlight on?"
Dean hesitated. He believed wholeheartedly what his mom told him; that angels were watching over him. But he wasn't sure what babies with wings and halos could do. "Um…"
"It's okay to be afraid, Dean." John said softly. "I'll turn the light on for you. Because even if you don't need it, I might."
"Do you haffta have a nigh'ligh?" Dean asked.
John nodded, "Oh, yeah. Sometimes two."
Dean smiled at that. "Okay." He watched as John turned on his Batman nightlight.
Before John closed the door to Dean's room, he said, "Goodnight, Dean. I love you."
"I love you, too, Daddy."
John smiled softly as he shut the door.
Most nights would go like this.
Some nights didn't, but Dean wasn't aware if it.
One of the rare nights John was home for dinner, a day in late October.
John and Mary ate quietly, having casual conversation only to fill the silence. Dean was eating Mac and Cheese by the spoonfuls, one of his favorite meals. Sam sat across from him in a high chair. He was supposed to be eating Cheerios, but he only occasionally managed to get one in his mouth.
"Daddy, wanna see my new toy?" Dean asked, interrupting his parent's empty conversation about the weather.
John shot Mary a significant look; to which Mary suppressed a sigh. The father smiled and said, "Sure, tiger. Go get it for me?"
Dean nodded excitedly, slid off his chair, and ran out of the room. Sam watched him go, a Cheerio stuck to his cheek.
"You bought him another toy?" John hissed across the table.
"He wanted it, John." Mary replied, setting her fork down.
"Mary, we've had this conversation." John starts, rubbing his forehead.
Mary shook her head, "It was three dollars, John. That's it. And he was really good this week, he deserved it."
"What if he's good every week?" John asked. "Are you going to get him a new toy every week?"
"I don't see why not." Mary held her ground.
"Money, Mary. That's why not." John said. "3 times 72, that's over 200 dollars a year. Just on his toys."
Mary rolled her eyes, "Obviously it wouldn't be every week-"
"You just said it would be."
"John, listen-"
"I just want us to have enough to be able to survive. And you constantly spoiling him isn't making it any easier."
"He's four. Let him have his fun."
"He can have fun with the toys he already has."
"I just want him to be happy!"
"So do I!"
"Then let him have the toy, John!"
John didn't reply, because Sam then threw his sippy cup off the side of his chair. As John leaned over to pick it up, the adults steadied themselves.
"Look," Mary said softly, "We already agreed I'd get a job once Sam was a little older. Until then, I know money is tight. But I've been making budget cuts of my own. Ones that don't involve the kids. Buying something for Dean every once in awhile is fine."
"Alright. Okay." John said, setting the cup down a little forcefully. Sam threw a Cheerio at his hand.
They could hear Dean's pants as he ran back to the kitchen. John gave Mary one last look before a smile stretched across his face.
"Wow! What is that?" He asked his son in faux wonder.
"'Sa Powder Ranger!" Dean said as he held up his new action figure triumphantly.
"Wow!" John replied, his smile less forced.
"Yeah! An' id comes wif a sword." Dean pointed to the sword in the Ranger's hand. "An' id fighs crime."
"What color is it?" John tested Dean.
The toddler stared at the toy in his hands for a moment, before he shouted confidently, "Red!"
"Atta boy." John smiled, ruffling Dean's hair.
Sam whined, tired and cranky. Mary's already standing up before John could look away from Dean. The mother carefully picks up the six month old and smiles warmly at it. "Is it someone's bedtime?"
"Not me!" Dean said.
"Not until you finish that food, little mister." John said. Dean smiled because this was the kind of food he wouldn't mind finishing.
After a few moments of silence, John asked his son, "Do you know what next month is?"
Dean nodded and said, "July."
"July? No, not quite." John smiled in amusement. "It's December."
"Right." Dean said as he abandoned his spoon and started to pick up individual pieces of macaroni with his fingers.
"Do you remember what holiday is in December?" John watched as Dean dropped some macaroni in his lap.
"Eader."
"Not Easter." John chuckled. "We already had Easter this year, remember? We went to an egg hunt and you got candy."
"Yeah." Dean nodded, hardly paying attention.
"So what holiday is in December?" John asked.
"I know." Dean replied, although he didn't further explain.
John supplied for him, "Is it Christmas?"
"Yeah." Dean looked up at his dad and smiled. "Yeah!"
"Do you remember last year's Christmas?" John leaned forward to wipe some cheese off Dean's forehead. Human children have a talent for placing food in areas it shouldn't be.
"Yeah!" Dean was nodding enthusiastically now. "Presens! An' Sana!"
"Right, right." John nodded, "Presents and Santa. Do you remember what the presents were under? That you helped decorate?"
"A twee?" Dean hesitated, unsure if that was the right answer.
"That's right. A Christmas Tree. We're gonna get one tomorrow. At the tree store. And I'll let you pick out the tree." John sat back in his chair, as if he just laid out the rules for a deal and was waiting for a response.
Dean just nodded, "Good."
"But." John said, "When we decorate the tree, you can't put all the decorations on one tree branch."
"Why?"
"Because they should be spread throughout the tree."
"Why?"
"Because it looks nicer."
"Why?"
"Because your mom likes it better."
Dean nodded, satisfied with that response. He picked at his food a bit more before John decided it was time for bed.
The caring father quickly cleaned up Dean's face and hands with wet wipes. "Hey, Dean."
"Yeah?"
"I'll race you upstairs!"
One night wasn't like the rest. And everyone knew about it.
It was November 2nd, 1983. John was working late, per usual. Mary and Dean had already eaten, cleaned up, and were ready for bed.
Dean started to climb the stairs slowly. Mary met him halfway. She stood to the side and watched as Dean climbed the stairs in choppy steps.
"Need help?" She asked.
"No." Dean kept climbing; step up with one foot, step up with the other, balance, step up with one foot…
"You got it?" Mary crossed her arms, leaning back against the wall.
"Yeah." Dean put his hand on Mary's leg to steady himself.
Mary shook her head and swooped her son up into her arms.
"Hey!" He yelled out, offended and surprised.
Mary laughed as she carried him the rest of the way up the stairs. She walked into Sam's room with Dean on her hip, "C'mon, let's say goodnight to your bother."
She set Dean down and the four year old ran up to Sam's crib.
"Night, Sam." Dean pressed a small kiss to his brother's forehead. Sam wiggled in his crib, making small baby noises.
"Goodnight, love." Mary whispered soothingly to her youngest. She also kissed Sam softly, on his head.
"Hey, Dean." A voice said behind them.
The boy turned excitedly. "Daddy!" He yelled as he ran into his father's arms.
"Hey, bud!" John hoisted him up into the air, letting the boy rest on his him. "So, wha'd'ya think? Think Sammy's old enough to toss around the football yet?"
Dean giggled, shaking his head, "No, daddy."
"No." John laughed out, bouncing the boy slightly.
"Got him?" Mary asked as she passed her boys.
"Yeah, I got him." As John said this, Dean curled up into his chest, slinging his arms around John's shoulders. John rubbed Dean's back as he said, "Sweet dreams, Sam."
The baby looked over at him from the crib. John turned and left the room.
The white house in Lawrence, Kansas was, much like the sun, peacefully falling asleep.
John had tucked Dean into his bed, kissed him good night, and went down to the living room to watch some TV.
Mary, tired from taking care of the boys all day, immediately went to bed; the baby monitor on next to her.
It was that same monitor that woke her up that night. She heard Sam crying through it.
Mary sighed, turning on the lamp, "John?" She asked. When she got no response, she turned to see if her husband was asleep next to her.
Noticing he was missing, she slid out of bed and padded across the hall to Sam's room.
A figure stood over the crib. Mary rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she asked, "John? Is he hungry?"
John didn't reply, or if he did, it was far to soft for Mary to hear. Too tired to argue, Mary simply sighed and turned to head towards the kitchen.
The light of the hall lamp started flickering. It was enough to make Mary pause in her trek for a bottle. She slowly walked up to the lamp. It's light fizzled lazily, trying to stay awake, but not exactly able to.
Mary tapped it with her nail, and the light stilled to brightness.
"Hmm." She hummed. As she turned, she heard some static and distinct voices. She slowly made her way downstairs, her steps illuminated by the television screen. Thinking, maybe John just left it on, she continued her descent. She froze immediately upon seeing John's sleeping, snoring form in their La-Z-Boy.
Two and two were slapped into place like a children's puzzle. Mary scrambled back upstairs, her heart pounding out of her chest in fear and panic.
Someone was in Sam's room. Someone was in Sam's room. Someone has Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. My baby!
"Sammy! Sammy!" She called as she ran through the hall.
She froze in the doorway at what she saw.
John was awoken with a start at the sound of Mary screaming.
"Mary?" He said, sitting up. The screaming continued. "MARY?!"
He bounded up the stairs like a madman, sprinting towards the sound of his wife's voice.
"Mary." John pushed through the door to Sam's room. The screaming had stopped, no one was there, except for the baby, who was squirming and whining.
John walked up to the crib slowly, his mind racing and his heart drumming in his ears. He slid the side of Sam's crib down as he looked down at his son with fondness.
"Hey, Sammy." He said softly. "Everything okay?"
Sam wiggled, kicking his feet definitely. John watched with ease.
A drop of a dark red liquid landed on Sam's blanket, close to his ear. John reached down to touch it curiously. As he did, another drop, a bigger one, landed on the back of John's hand.
And another.
John stared down at his hand in confusion and suspicion.
He looked up, his mind dropping down his throat, choking the air and any thoughts out of him.
It was Mary. On the ceiling, her hair splayed out haphazardly, her limbs held out at awkward angles. And her stomach was cut open, blood dripping onto the floor and ruining her white nightgown. Her skin was so pale; her eyes wide and missing the spark of life, her mouth open in a gasp.
John's kneels wouldn't work anymore and he fell to the ground, just barely catching himself on Sam's crib. "No! Mary!"
And then, it just got worse.
Flames spread quickly from behind her back, engulfing her in a bath of flames. The fire light up the night, crawling across the ceiling and down the walls. It was so bright, John was squinting; he couldn't tell where Mary was anymore - which was probably a good thing. He didn't want to think about it, but he also just couldn't not think about it. Her skin rotting; her hair curling up into thin, black ashen threads. Her eyes drying out into nothing.
Sam was crying. The sound of his son snapped John back into reality. Forcing his body into action, John got off the ground and plucked Sam from his crib.
He ran out into the hall, where Dean was standing in his pajamas, eyes wide.
"Daddy!" Dean yelled.
John shoved Sam into Dean's hands, yelling, "Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don't look back!" At Dean's hesitance, he said, forcefully, "Now, Dean, go!"
Dean ran down the stairs as fast as he could, holding Sam close to his body the entire way.
John turned and ran back into the nursery, shouting, "Mary!"
He watched as flames flickered, occasionally showing parts of her; an arm, a leg, a strand of hair. The flames curled up into a horrific ball. "No!"
John wasn't a fool, he knew he couldn't save her.
Dean stood outside, holding Sam, who was crying in his arms.
"Don't try to go back inside, Sammy." Dean whispered, trying to sooth the baby, "Everythin's on fire. It's okay, Sam."
John came out, barely slowing his run as he picked up Dean and held his boys close to his chest while he bolted through their yard. Dean looked over John's shoulder just in time to see Sam's nursery explode into flames.
Once things calmed down slightly, the firefighters were taking care of the mess, Dean was by his side, silent and still, and Sam was in his arms, awake, but not fussy, John had time to think.
What had happened in there…
It wasn't natural.
People don't just end up on ceilings, bleeding and burning.
John was going to find out what happened to Mary.
And he was going to kill the son of a bitch that caused it.
A few months later, at a bar, John overheard two guys, a little younger than him, who were talking about something unnatural. John left Sam and Dean at the diner's table and slid into the stranger's booth.
"Do you mind telling me what you're talking about?" He asked as kind as he could muster before his third cup of coffee.
The two glanced at each other, carefully shuffling his papers out of John's sight. The smaller one of the two said quietly, "Uh, we're talking about World of Warcraft? It's a game."
John stared, unimpressed. He knew he heard the words 'demon' and 'hell fire'. And these two didn't look like nerd by any means. One of them had a tattoo of a star and fire on his wrist, the other was just fucking buff as all get out.
"Sir?" A young, female voice stole his attention. He looked away from the two guys to see a pretty young woman with black hair and blue eyes. She looked over at Sam and Dean with some fondness, and then to the two men across the table with something akin to disgust. "My name is Alex. I heard about your house."
"We're in Oklahoma." John said simply. "How do you know about my house, in Kansas?"
Alex just smiled smoothly, "I can help you. I'll tell you what these two can't."
This is how the Winchesters were thrown into the world of the supernatural.
By the age six, Dean spoke again for the first time in two years.
After Mary's death, he simply refused to talk anymore. He would smile at John, and John would see the same smile that Mary used to have. Dean would watch as sadness filled his father's eyes. And, slowly, Dean stopped smiling.
Not talking was his form of coping.
John would try to coax him into speaking gently. "What do you want to eat for dinner, Dean?"
The boy would just shrug and continue to color.
John gave up after a month. When he spoke, he didn't expect an answer.
For two years Dean was silent. And then, one day after talking to some witnesses, John walked in to Dean talking to Sam.
"I am Sam." Dean said slowly. "Sam I am. Would you like green eggs and ham?"
John didn't move, he stood in the doorway, frozen with shock. How long had Dean been talking to Sam when John left them alone? What would the six year old say to the toddler.
He knew Dean taught Sam how to walk. He held Sam's hands and walked backwards, while Sam followed, staring at his feet.
But he did that, like he did everything, in silence, with small nods of encouragement being the only communication between them.
"Can you say 'yes', Sam?" Dean asked after a moment.
Sam just stared at him.
Dean bit his small lip, "Can you say 'no'?"
Sam shook his head and that made Dean giggle.
"What'd'ya wanna say, Sam?"
John's eyes widened as Sam opened his mouth and said his first word with ease.
"Bean!"
Dean smiled at that. "Dean? You mean Dean?"
Sam nodded pointing to his big brother, "Bean!"
John stepped fully into the motel room, dropping his bag on the floor and closing the door. Dean jumped at the noise. He turned to see his father with wide eyes. His mouth snapped shut and he lowered his gaze.
John was a little disappointed that Sam's first word was 'Dean' and not 'Dad', but he could kind of understand why. Dean was around all the time. John wasn't.
The morning, when he came back with breakfast, he also brought a pile of Doctor Suess books for Dean to read to Sam. The boys were excited for it, and John smiled as Sam sat on Dean's lap while the other read proudly, "I am Sam. Sam I am."
By the age of seven, Dean had traded the better part of his hearing for the skill to hold and shoot a gun.
He mentioned it to his father once.
"You're going to shoot that empty can right there." John said. He had taken Dean out into an empty field for target practice. The adult had placed some empty beer cans on a box about twenty feet in front of them. "And we won't go home until you knock them off the box. Any questions?"
"Why are you so quiet all the time now?" He asked, not yet understanding what was happening to his ears.
John ignored the question and carried on with his instructions, "Keep your shoulders square, no, don't close your eye…"
Dean didn't ask again, assuming it was probably normal. To compensate, he simply turned the TV or radio up louder. He raised his voice more; sat closer to Sam when they were whispering while John was asleep. Dean learned how to read lips.
By the age of ten, Dean had given up his old version of "family" and accepted his new version.
They haven't had a real Christmas since before the fire. When he was younger, John would sometimes buy them a box of candy, or take them to the movies. It was the only time he would spend money - even if it was just a little - on the boys. But once Dean reached the mighty age of seven, John stopped altogether.
Dean asked John for some candy.
"No." John simply replied, continuing to flip through the pages of possible hunts.
Dean frowned, wiggling in his seat. "Why not?"
"You don't need candy anymore. You're seven." John didn't look up from what he was reading. "Seven means you're a big kid. And big kids don't get candy. They help their father take care of their brother."
Dean looked down at Sam, who was playing with a small action figure on the dirty motel floor. When he didn't reply, John nudged Dean and said softly. "You take care of Sam now. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." Dean slid off the chair and sat down next to Sam, who smiled up at him.
By the age of fourteen he had given up the idea of family all together.
Dean's smile was big and dopey. He leaned against the motel door, hands brushing against the other's soft body. The other teen, a tall drink of water named Jamie that Dean had taken a fancy to, couldn't hold back their giggles as they pressed Dean against the door.
"Shh..." He whispered in between their giggles, "Don't wake up my dad."
They giggled again, pressing quick kisses into Dean's neck, "I had a great night." Jamie said, voice soft and sincere.
"Me too." Dean admitted, pulling them closer to himself.
Jamie hesitated, already knowing the answer to their question, "Can... can we do this again? Tomorrow?"
The smile fell from Dean's face instantly, "I can't. I'm leaving tomorrow."
Jamie shifted away from him, "But... You just got here."
"And tomorrow I'm just leaving." Dean's hands dropped from their waist.
"Why?" The other teen's voice was strained. "Why can't you just stay?"
"It's... it's the family business
." Dean said, looking away from them. "I have to go. Goodbye, Jamie."
"Goodbye, Dean. I hope you can settle down one day."
"Yeah..." Dean murmured. The young hunter pressed a chaste kiss to Jamie's cheek, before quietly slipping into the motel room.
"Who was that?"
Dean jumped sky-high at the voice. Panic slammed into him at the idea of getting caught, but he relaxed once he saw his little brother was the only one in the room.
"Where's Dad?" Dean demanded, panic fading into worry. When Dean snuck out to go on his date with Jamie, John and Sam were fast asleep in their beds.
"He got a phone call. He was mad, left really quick." Sam said quietly. "I thought it was about you, but he didn't even notice you were gone..."
'Must be about the case, then. Guess it's not as done as he thought it was.' The older brother thought warily.
"How long ago was that?" Dean asked, looking out the window carefully. Jamie had already left.
Sam shrugged, "An hour?"
Dean's gaze snapped to Sam, "You've been alone the entire time?"
Sam shrugged again. He then simply asked, "Who was that girl?"
Dean looked away again, a blush crawling up his neck. "They weren't a girl."
"Who was that boy?" Sam asked, just as simply as before.
"Weren't no boy, either." Dean said, his eyes on the ground.
Sam frowned slightly. At ten, he had only known of boy and girl. But there were other humans, ones that didn't fall into those categories. He was curious, but he didn't know how to ask the question. He tried anyway, "Who were they?"
"No one."
"Did ya like them? It looked like you liked them." The smile on his face could be heard in his voice.
Dean flushed bright red at the innocent comment, "God, Sammy, where you watching us?"
Sam nodded and then asked, "Are ya gonna marry them?"
Dean pulled a face, "No, why would I?"
Sam giggled, like he was about to tell a secret, "Cuz you kissed!"
Dean rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean anything, Sam."
"Yeah it does. Moms and Dads kiss. And Princesses and Princes kiss. Then they get married." Sam has officially, in Dean's book, watched too many Disney movies.
"No. We don't- I won't- get married. Ever. Or have any kids. Or whatever." Dean said aggressively, sulking past Sam.
"Why not?" Sam asked.
Dean didn't want to go through the explanation.
Because I'm a hunter.
Because we always travel; we don't have a home.
Because no one should live this life.
Because there's no way out of this life.
"Because, Sam..." Dean sighed. "You're too young to understand. Just, because."
Because what if they end up like Mom?
By the time Dean was 18, he was the perfect soldier. He shot when John said shoot. And he killed when John said kill. He only doubted John's orders if they put Sam in danger.
He was cold and cruel when it came to monsters.
By the time Dean was 22, Sam had left him.
He wanted out.
Dean couldn't blame him for it. Sam had always yearned for the normal, much more than Dean did. While Dean accepted and conformed to his new life, Sam rejected it. And in doing so, he rejected Dean.
"I want to go to college!" Sam said, exasperatedly, "Get into Stanford, be a lawyer! I want-"
"Stop." John interrupted forcefully, "Stop."
"-to find a girl I love and marry her! Have kids, go to parent-teacher meetings, and soccer games." Sam continued as if John hadn't spoken.
"Stop!" John said louder.
"I want normal!" Sam raised his voice as well.
"Normal died with your mother!" John screamed. "We don't get normal anymore!"
Dean flinched, but Sam didn't. He stared their father down as he said, "We could if we just let this all go."
"Don't you care that your mother's dead?" John asked accusingly.
"Yes, dad, I care. But you've been hunting this thing for eighteen years and you have nothing to show for it." Sam pointed out bravely. Dean's eyes widened. He watched the battle from just a few feet away. No thoughts came to his head as he heard the two throw insults and arguments at each other.
Yeah, the more Sam grew up, the more he fought with their dad, but Dean never expected that Sam would leave because of it.
"If that's how you're going to act, you can just get the fuck out." John yelled.
"I will!"
Dean's eyes followed his little brother as he stormed across the room, grabbed his bag and started stuffing everything he owned into it.
John stood on the other side of the room, still as a stone, he watched as his youngest prepared to walk out on the life he built for them. It wasn't much, admittedly. In fact is was probably one of the worst lives someone could be brought up in. But John - usually - tried his best to give his boys everything they needed to survive.
And then Sam did something that usually doesn't happen in their fights.
He acknowledged Dean.
"Come with me." He said, turning to his brother.
Dean, who usually has a response for everything, didn't know what to do then. He glanced at his father, who looked horrified, and then looked back at Sam.
"I…"
"Please, Dean." Sam said, "You can get a job as a mechanic, I've seen how you fix up the Impala. I know you're smart, you can get a job doing anything."
"...It doesn't work like that, Sammy." His voice sounded so small and scared. He didn't want Sam to leave, but he also couldn't imagine leaving his father. He wasn't like other people, he wouldn't be able to fit in. And the job would catch up to him, he was sure of it. John always talked about how no one got out of hunting alive. "I don't even have a GED. No one will hire me."
"We can figure something out." Sam begged desperately. His eyes were trained on Dean, silently pleading for his big brother to go with him.
Dean couldn't bear it; he had to look away.
His silence was enough of an answer.
Sam nodded, a bit brokenly, and turned toward the door.
John spoke up again, his voice pure venom, "If you walk out that door, don't ever come back."
Sam only paused to turn to Dean, with his heart in his throat, he mumbled, "Goodbye, Dean."
And Dean Winchester watched as his little brother, the boy he practically raised by himself, walked out of his life.
That night, John went to the nearest bar, and drank himself into a stupor. Dean searched the motel room to see if John left any alcohol in his bags, but there was none. The boy, now a man, had no way to numb the pain.
He sat in silence, his knees pressed against his chest, for a long time. John typically didn't let his sons cry. Not only was it heartbreaking to see children cry, but it was also dangerous. Because when kids cry, they wail. They scream and sob and shout. If that happens in the middle of a hunt, or when they're in hiding, it could end horribly.
So John drilled it into Dean's head that crying is for sissies and girls. And when Sam cried, John made it Dean's responsibility to calm him down.
Dean did so the only way he knew how. On this day, alone in a dirty motel room, tears rolled down Dean's face as he calmed himself in the same way he used to calm a crying Sam.
"Hey, Jude…"
After that day, John started taking more and more cases on his own, leaving Dean in motel rooms like he was a boy again.
"What do we got this week?" Dean asked, rubbing his hands together.
"I got a nest of vamps. You got daytime television." John said as he packed his bag for the hunt.
"Oh, come on, Dad. I'm not ten!" Dean argued.
John didn't even bother looking up as he zipped the bag and said, "That's an order."
Dean bit his tongue and nodded. "Yes, sir."
He flinched when the motel door slammed shut.
Now, I don't know why he left Dean alone during some hunts and why he let his adult son come along on others. I have some theories, though.
One is that this was his way to discourage the hunting life. In an attempt to get Dean to take up Sam's offer.
Another was that John was still angry that Dean even considered leaving him, and this was his punishment.
The last was just that John didn't want Dean to see him get completely smashed after every case. John's drinking problem had gone through the roof once Sam left.
Eventually, he must have realized that Dean was simply living in a different jail cell every week. Well, more likely Sam wasn't around anymore, so John didn't need a constant babysitter. He didn't need Dean anymore.
He gave Dean the keys to the Impala.
"Now, listen here." John said sternly, "If there is even a scratch on this car…"
He didn't have to finish the threat; Dean already had the scars to imagine the rest.
"Yes, sir." Dean nodded. He held the keys in his hands, looking down at them.
He knew what this symbolized. Yes, it meant that now he had a badass black 1967 Chevy Impala, but it also meant that John was leaving. Which meant Dean would have to be alone.
This is something I've never understood about humans. They're so eager to be separated. They are pack animals by nature, and yet, as soon as their child is deemed old enough, they essentially kick it out of the pack.
Some children react like Sam, ready to leave and start their own life with their own rules and morals. They see the empty road ahead of them as a trail leading to vast opportunities and experiences; exciting and promising.
Some children react like Dean, with a repressed gulp and hidden fear. Because the empty road means nothing if the car on it is empty as well. Those experiences aren't half as great if they're experienced alone. Dean had grown up always having at least two other people with him at all times. He wasn't prepared for the loneliness that this road would bring.
John left the next morning, before Dean woke up.
For a few weeks, Dean Winchester adapted fairly well.
He continued to hunt, keeping things professional: ganking the monster and split town. Occasionally he'd partner up with other hunters, but it wasn't the same as working with John. And any thoughts of his father only reminded Dean of his brother, which only reinforced how crippling alone the hunter was.
"Good job today." Dean said, patting Kimmi's, a hunter that specializes in werewolves, shoulder. "After we get cleaned up, do you wanna head out and grab a celebratory drink?"
Kimmi glanced at Dean and snorted, "Sorry, pal. I got another case down south."
"Already?"
"I'm a professional." She winked, slinging her bag over her shoulder, "I'll see you around. Tell your father I said hello."
Dean nodded, "Right. Okay."
Dean went out to get a drink anyway, but it was no longer celebratory.
The young hunter learned best from his father, I suppose. He drank himself into a stupor, until his thoughts were no longer about an absent father and a successful brother.
Loneliness was something I never expected with humans. Other creatures experience it too; pack animals, mostly. They get this unexplainable bout of sadness that simply lingers longer than expected. It clogs the mind and darkens the soul. Humans experience it the most painfully, I've learned, they let it hold them down in ways that other creatures don't.
Dean curls around a pillow that night, only achieving sleep with the help of the alcohol.
Those four years would be the emptiest years of his life. Despite everything he would go through in the future, in the end, he would still rate these four years as some of the worst.
He might be being dramatic. It wasn't all bad.
It wasn't like John had completely detached himself from Dean.
There were phone calls and short texts; keeping each other updated and giving each other cases to take.
From Dean: Got a vamp nest taken care of.
From John: And? Go to the next case. New Mexico, chupacabra.
From Dean: Yes, sir. On my way.
Sometimes John would meet up with Dean, or they'd accidentally take the same case.
'Dammit, Dean. I've got this one.' John would say in a hushed FBI voice.
'Well, I had this one first, so it looks like we're in this together, or you're hightailing it outta here.' Dean would hardly be able to hold back a grin.
That was a line Dean would use often. Because John would rather die than refuse a case. So nine times out of ten, he would work with Dean on the case. They'd catch up, get a beer, sometimes find another case together, sometimes not.
The problem with seeing John again was that it got Dean's hopes up.
Every time John would book a motel room for two, a small voice in the back of Dean's mind whispered, 'He won't leave this time.'
But then every time Dean woke up the next morning, John was gone. Bags packed, bed made, parking spot empty.
When he was sober, Dean belittled himself for acting like a clingy girl the morning after. But when he was drunk, he didn't give a fuck. He'd tell how upset he was about the fact to anyone who bothered to listen. Usually it got him some soft, sweet, pitty sex.
Which, he reasoned, everyone needed sometimes.
In those four years, he found Cassie Robinson.
She was kind and spunky, and, more importantly, willing to put up with Dean. They met in Ohio. And Dean was wrapped around her finger faster than you can say called it.
But we'll talk about her later.
Anyway, it was during one of the weeks where John had finished a hunt with Dean. They were packing up their supplies in their respective vehicles. John had ended up hotwiring a reliable, although slightly rusted, truck.
"I, uh, was looking up some possible cases. I think there's this voodoo thing going on in New Orleans." Dean said, taking his time to put everything in the trunk how he liked it.
John glanced at his son, but didn't reply.
Dean licked his lips, "Do you want to come?"
"No." John said, leaning against the side of the truck.
Dean ducked his head to hide his disappointment, "Right. Alright."
"I've got my own case. A road in California." John opened the door to his truck, keys jingling in his hand. "Might be nothing. I'll tell you how it goes."
"Okay." Dean closed the Impala's trunk. "I'll text you about New Orleans. Um, be careful." They didn't typically tell each other that last part. But Dean was hoping it could become a more common expression between them. It would at least be something he could hold onto when he was alone.
John just gave his son a hard look. "Don't mess up my car."
Dean's face fell slightly, "Yes, sir."
The hunter watched his father drive away, wind pulling on his jacket aggressively. As he stood in the cold, Dean could feel a deeper cold sinking into his bones. The hold grasp of aloneness.
Dean knew it well. It wrapped around him without consent and buried its face into Dean's soul; trapping him completely in the embrace.
When John didn't call him after a few days - he should've been at the sight of the case by now - the cold ghost wrapped around him gripped him tighter, dousing any hope of escape.
Dean's texts quickly grew in proximity.
First it was a day apart.
Then once every few hours.
Then once every hour.
Then once every time he looked around and noticed how small a motel room is when it's for only one person.
Eventually, Dean threw his phone against the wall. John ignored him plenty when he was standing right next to Dean, but he had never ignored one of Dean's texts or calls without a good reason. He always replied instantly.
Dean figured he probably just wasn't a face-to-face kind of person.
Once four days had past, Dean had successfully finished his case. He had no more obligations in New Orleans, and he was worried for his father. So he did the one thing he hadn't done in four years.
He ran to Sam.
Dean sped the entire way, making a B line for Stanford. He was able to find which apartment was Sam's easily. He wasn't exactly hiding, because - for four years - he had nothing to hide from.
The elder brother was able to sneak into Sam's apartment without alerting anyone of his presence. Because he's totally a professional.
Dean's foot got caught on the window curtain, he lost his balance and crashed to the ground; on his way down his shoulder slammed into a chair: it scraped across the ground and Dean landed with a loud bang.
So close.
He could already hear Sam's footsteps through the house.
Dean scrambled to his feet and slipped into a hallway. As he snuck throughout the house, his feet occasionally landed on a squeaky floorboard. If he was on a hunt, he would take better care to step lightly. But this was just Sammy, Dean was in no danger here.
As he thought that, a hand snapped out of the darkness to grab his arm. Hunter instincts kicked in as Dean turned swiftly on his heel, shaking the hand loose from it's grip, surprising them slightly as Dean swung his other arm forward to punch them.
They - who Dean was now positive was Sam - grabbed his arm before it made contact, Dean gripped their wrist, twisting their arm around so it was behind them. He wasn't going full-force because either Dean got it wrong (somehow) and this was a civilian's home, or it was Sam. And he didn't want to hurt the former and he definitely didn't want to hurt the latter.
That was why Sam was able to force himself out of Dean's embrace, but before Dean let go completely, he sung Sam around like a shotput, letting go and sending Sam scrambling to stay on his feet. Dean followed, Sam kicked forward, but he missed. Dean pushed his brother through a doorway, stepping into the new room himself.
Sam swung, but Dean was able to block it. In a split decision, he decided - why not? - and aimed a punch right for Sam's cheek. Not a hard one, but it was enough for Sam to step back and let out an annoyed huff.
The younger brother brought his fists up in defense against the other, he lunged forward, but Dean grabbed his arm, swung him around again and ended up pinning him to the floor.
"Woah, easy, tiger." Dean say, mirth in his voice.
Sam instantly relaxed his shoulders, confusion knitted into his brow as he gasped out, "Dean?" Said brother let out a child-like giggle, over joyed with being next to his little brother again. "You scared the crap out of me."
Dean smiled, wide and honest, "That's 'cause you're out of practice."
Sam's face hardened. In a second he had grabbed Dean's arm, used his leg to kick Dean in the back and then use the surprise and momentum of that to flip Dean onto his back. The elder grunted as he landed on the floor he let out another giggle, although this one was slightly pained.
"Or not." Sam patted his shoulder. "Get off me."
Sam helped him up as he said, "Dean, what the hell are you doing here?"
Understandable. Wasn't exactly the reaction Dean was hoping for, but he did just kick his ass, so; understandable. He fixed up Sam's shirt, because that's what he always does; take care of Sam, as he said, "Well, I was looking for a beer."
Then the light clicked on.
"Sam?" A female voice said.
Sam and Dean both snapped their heads to look at the new figure in the room. Sam's expression serious, if nothing else, while Dean's expressed a more surprise-with-a-hint-of-fear look. But his wide eyes calmed when he got a sight of the pretty girl in the doorway.
"Jess, hey." Sam said, turning to say to Dean; who was all eyes on Jess. "Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."
Jess stepped further into the room, recognizing the name. "Wait, your brother, Dean?"
He stepped forward, getting a good look at her. She was tall, blonde, and pretty. She wore short pink shorts and a grey crop top with the smurfs on it. Sexy.
"I love the smurfs." He pointed with a cheeky smile. Dean walked up to Jess, looking her in the eyes as he said, "You know, I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league."
"Just, let me put something on." Jess said, slightly annoyed with the stranger's statement of her boyfriend, related or not, it wasn't a good first impression.
"No, no, I wouldn't dream of it." Dean said quickly, stopping her from leaving. He took a deep breath, letting out a sincere, "Seriously."
And that makes it even worse. Jess glanced at Sam, who looked apologetic, but used to Dean's antics.
Dean stepped away from her, half-turning to Sam, "Anyway, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business. But, uh, nice meetin' you." At the last part, his voice was the kind of soft silk he reserved especially for pretty girls.
Sam glared at him, "No." He glanced at Jess, moving to stand beside her, "No. Whatever you need to say, you can say it in front of her."
Dean gave him a look that read, 'Seriously? What part of Family Business did you not understand?'
He sighed, his expression one of serious determination. "Okay, um, Dad hasn't been home in a few days."
Jess looked at her boyfriend, confused at the significance of this statement. Sam took a deep breath as he said, unconvinced, "So he's working overtime on a Miller time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."
Dean nodded, mentally agreeing with the spite behind that statement. After a moment, he stared at Sam and said, solemnly, "Dad's on a hunting trip." He paused to let that sink in, "And he hasn't been home in a few days."
Sam didn't break eye contact with his big brother as he said quietly, "Jess, excuse us."
I would say this is where our story begins, but I don't actually know myself where it starts. It's a little far into the story to say that this moment, right now in 2005, is the beginning of said story. I suppose the beginning is different for everyone. You could say the beginning was during that fire on November 2nd, 1983. You could say the beginning is when Dean was born, January 24th, 1979. You could even argue - as many will later - that the beginning of this particular story was when the world began. Or when other events occurred, that we won't mention. This story could've been in progress for billions of years, waiting for the right time to actually unfold. For others still, the beginning has yet to come. The story won't start for many more chapters.
But, I digress.
Sam followed Dean out the fire escape, "I mean, come on, you can't just break in, the middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you."
Dean shook his head, speeding down the stairs, "You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him."
"Remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton?" Sam's hard on Dean's heels, holding the rail as he went, "He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine."
Dean stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning on his brother, "Not this long. Now you gonna come with me or not?"
"I'm not." Sam said firmly.
"Why not?" Dean tried to hide the disappointment from his eyes.
"I swore I was done hunting. For good." Sam said, and he meant it. He had a good life at Stanford. He was studying pre-law, about to get an interview to go into law. He had the girl of his dreams - whom he was madly in love with. He had a safe home, with everything anyone needed to get by. He was happy and comfortable here. Sam had everything he couldn't have while hunting with his family. He was determined to keep it that way.
"Come on, it wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad." Dean said with an eyeroll, continuing to walk down the alley.
"Yeah?" Sam asked, following his brother, "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a '45."
"Well, what was he supposed to do?" Dean turned, defending their father. Dean ignored the memories of their mother checking his closet, his bed, his dresser for any signs of monsters. He ignored how she winked and told him he was protected. He also ignored how he did the same for Sam, when John wasn't around.
Sam gave him a hard look, "I was nine years old! He was supposed to say, 'Don't be afraid of the dark.'"
"Don't be afraid of the dark?!" Dean nearly shouted. "What? Are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!"
"Yeah, I know. But the way we grew up after mom was killed. And Dad's obsession with trying to find the thing that killed her." His voice was harsh, trying to prove a point. "But we still haven't found the damn thing. So we kill everything we can find."
Dean nodded, smiling smugly, "Save a lotta people doin' it, too."
Sam lets out a small, humourless laugh at that. He stares at Dean, not surprised at all by his brother's choices. Dean never really had many opinions on the matter, or if he did, they always agreed with John's. And if they didn't, Sam never heard about them. He tried what always got a rise out of Dean, "You think Mom would've wanted this for us?"
Dean turned and pushed his way out of the gate leading up to the parking lot. He hid his anger with his steps. Sam didn't know their mom, but that didn't hide the fact that he was right. From what Dean remembers, Mary was a kind, peaceful spirit who would never hurt a soul.
"The weapon training," Sam continued, following his brother closely, "and melting silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors."
"So what're gonna do? You gonna live some normal, apple-pie life?" He turned, stopping next to the Impala, "Is that it?"
"No." Sam replied calmly, "Not normal. Safe."
"And that's why you ran away." Dean said, his heart sunk at the words. He'd rather be safe than with his family; with Dean. He got the hot chick and the successful future, while Dean got dark motel rooms and silent car rides. Oh, it was totally safe. Normal people die all the time. Safe was with Dean. Dean could protect Sam, he always has and he always will. But not if Sam keeps running away from him. Dean had to look away from his little brother.
"I was just going to college." Sam reasoned, keeping his voice fairly calm. "It was Dad who said if I was going to go, I should stay gone."
At some point, they both had realized that was John giving Sam a way out, and then ensuring that he couldn't come back into the hunting life. By locking the physical door to the hunters' motel room, John had locked the metaphorical door on the hunting life; leaving Sam on the outside, where it's safe. But neither of them brought that up right now.
Sam shrugged, his voice a touch sad, "And that's what I'm doing."
"Yeah, but Dad's in real trouble right now." Dean said, "If he's not dead already. I can feel it."
The former hunter just stared at his brother, his face not giving anything away.
Dean tried another angel, "I can't do this alone."
Sam's eyebrows knitted together slightly, "Yes, you can."
Dean certainly did not pout as he looked away and mumbled, "Yeah… well, I don't want to."
Sam stared at his brother, surprised by the honesty of the words. He took a deep breath, mentally stepping closer to the idea of saying, 'yes' to his brother. "What was he hunting?"
The elder brother tried not to get too hopeful at the thought of Sam joining him, as he opened the trunk of his Baby.
"Alright." He sighed, rubbing his hands together. "Let's see… Where'd the hell I put that thing?" He asked as he opened the case that held all his weapons. He propped it open with one of his favorite guns.
"So when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?" Sam asked from the other side of the car, leaning his arms against Baby like he used to when he was always with Dean and their dad.
Dean didn't hesitate to say, "I was working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing down in New Orleans."
Sam gave him a dubious look, "Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?"
Instead of saying, 'After you left, I did everything by myself.' Dean gave his brother a odd look and said, "I'm twenty-six, dude."
He quickly found what he was looking for and changed the subject. "Alright, here we go." He pulled out a bundle of papers, and skimmed through them. "So Dad was checkin' out this two-lane blacktop just outside Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy -" He hands a new article over to Sam, "They found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA."
Sam read the headline of the article: 'Centennial Highway Disappearance' and glances at the man in the picture. He looks up at Dean, "So maybe he was kidnapped."
"Yeah. Well, here's another one in April." He drops another news article in front of Sam. As he continues, he drops more and more of the papers for Sam to see. Each story is a different person, with the same incident. "Another one in December 'oh-four, 'oh-three, 'ninety-eight, 'ninety-two, ten of them over the past twenty years."
Before Sam can reply, Dean snatches the papers back up, continuing, "All men, all the same five-mile stretch of road." Dean pulls out a small bag and opens it up. Fishing for what he wants, he says, "It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough…" As he talks, the necklace he always wears dangles off his chest. It catches Sam's eye and something inside him softens. Dean pulls out an old-fashioned recorder from the bag and continues, "And then I get this voicemail yesterday."
Dean presses play and their father's voice cuts through the static. "Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger." Dean clicks it off and turns to look at Sam.
"You know there's EVP on that?" Sam asks almost instantly.
Dean nods in approval, pride noticeable in his voice, "Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it?"
Sam shook his head in response, trying to hide his smirk.
"All right." Dean said, switching tapes for the next soundbite. "I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got."
A woman's voice dragged through the speakers, whispering, "I can never go home…"
Dean presses stop on the recorder and puts it down.
"Never go home…" Sam mumbles, thinking through the possible monsters.
Dean nods and closes the case full of arsil, and the trunk, before he turns and leans against it. He lets out his words like they're rushing to escape, but just barely being held back by a thread. "You know, in four years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing."
You know how much that hurt?
You know how many nights I almost reached for the phone?
You know how many times I woke up with your name on my lips, traces of dreams and memories still clinging to my mind?
Do you know how much this one hunt would mean to me?
Sam sighed, looking away, "Alright. I'll go." He nodded slightly, "I'll help you find him. But I have to be back first thing Monday. Just wait here."
Dean nodded as Sam turned to run back to his apartment. He was about to jog off, but Dean's voice stopped him, "What's first thing Monday?"
Sam turned on his heel, letting out a breath as he looked at Dean, slightly apprehensive, "I've an interview-"
"What, a job interview? Skip it." Dean shrugged.
Sam almost shook his head at Dean' s immaturity. He turned so he was completely facing his brother, explaining slowly, "It's a law school interview. And it's my whole future on a plate."
"Law school." It wasn't a question. Dean nodded slightly, tilting his head. He never pictured his little brother as a lawyer. He didn't really want Sam to be a hunter, either. It was a sucky life, and Dean was actually incredibly happy that Sam got out. But it still stung when he wasn't around.
"So we got a deal or not?" Sam asked, his tone even.
Sam packed up his things as quickly as he could, promising Jess that everything was okay as he went.
"But what about the interview?" Jess asked, sitting on their bed.
Sam let out a little huff as he zipped up his duffle, "I'll make the interview." He started to walk towards the bathroom, "It's only for a couple of days."
"Sam, please, just, stop for a second." Jess said, voice growing annoyed. She stood and followed him, her voice softer, she said, "You sure you're okay?"
Sam stepped up to her, gently rubbing her arms, "Hey," he said softly, seriously, "everything's going to be okay, I promise."
He held her gaze for a moment, making sure she understood him. Then, he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek and turned to go get his toothbrush.
"At least tell me where you're going!" She called after him.
Of course, I'm not talking to idiots.
You know how the story goes; the boys set out, solve the case - it's a Woman in White, nasty bitches, those are - and save the day. Dean is snarky, Sam rolls his eyes. Everyone laughs. They're one step closer to finding out where John is - coordinates he left in his journal for Dean:
35 - 111.
Dean's the happiest he's been in a while, now that Sam is around. They get a run-in with the law. You know, the usual. All's well that ends well.
The family business. They're the heroes of this fairy tale; they always win: slay the dragon, kill the witch, and then they come home to the princess of their dreams.
But this story isn't a fairy tale.
For Dean, the joyride ends when he sees Sam's expression after he says, "We should buy gas, we can make it there by morning."
Sam shifted in his seat, "Dean - I - Um..."
He didn't have to say more. Dean glanced at the road, feeling his heart sink further into his chest, as if it was trying to hide from the truth. He could already feel Loneliness settling into the back seat of the Impala, kicking up its feet for a long, silent ride.
"You're not going." Dean said simply, his face clearly painted with disappointment that was only barely hidden by the dark of the night.
"The interview's in, like, ten hours. I've got to be there." Sam said firmly.
Dean looked out the window, taking a deep breath. He sat up straight and looked back to the road, nodding a few times. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever." He smiled at his brother, "I'll take you home."
He couldn't hold back the pain that he felt when Loneliness tapped his shoulder and reminded him that they were home. The Impala was home. They were each other's home.
Or they used to be.
They spoke a little on their way back to Stanford. Dean not giving any specifics about the past four years, or making something up to make it seem less horrid. Sam spoke about how he met Jess and when they decided to move in together.
Eventually, the Impala stopped outside Sam's apartment.
Dean was silent as Sam climbed out of the beautiful car.
Sam turned and looked at him before he left, saying, "Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?"
Dean nodded, trying to seem nonchalant. "Yeah, right."
Sam patted Baby's door and walked away.
Dean couldn't watch him walk out of his life again, so he turned the key to start the Impala's engine. It roared to life and hushed Loneliness's whispers.
The older hunter turned to his brother's retreating form, almost yelling, "Sam!"
Sam turned, almost instantly, to look at the other man. He stayed silent, waiting for what the other would say.
"You know, we made a helluva team back there." Dean said, a slight smile on his face.
Sam just nodded, his word flowing out of an exhale. "Yeah."
Dean's shoulders slumped slightly as he turned back to the road, placing his hands on the wheel. As he drove off, the world felt too quiet; the seat next to him missing a familiar body. Loneliness patted his shoulder, not at all comforting the man.
Sam's fairytale ended shortly after.
He sighed as he watched Dean drive away, a part of him wishing he could convince Dean to stop hunting and stay with him.
Instead, Sam trudged upstairs to his apartment. The walk seemed to take longer than normal. Sam opened his door and called into the dark home.
"Jess? You home?" He walked through the room, there was no sign that his girlfriend was there.
He sat on their bed, glancing around the familiar room. Comfort and ease rolled through him in waves. As he flopped back onto the bed, he couldn't help but smile at how the soft comforter is a million times better than the crappy motel beds.
Sam let out a deep sigh, relaxing into the warmth.
A drop of something made Sam shake his head.
Another made him open his eyes.
His face immediately contorted into one of terror and horror at what he saw. Jess's eyes wide, but empty. Her mouth frozen in a mute scream. Her legs and arms twisted painfully; her body glued to the ceiling. But the worst was her stomach; it was slashed through; staining her white nightgown a dark red.
"NO!" Sam shouted, crawling back on the bed. Before he could react any further, Jess's body went up in flames like a bonfire.
Dean kicked down the front door then. He had come back - snuck in his apartment again - in hopes of trying to convince Sam one last time. Then he heard Sam's scream and that plan was the last thing on his mind. "SAM!"
He followed Sam's horrified scream of "JESS!" to the bedroom.
What he was greeted to sent him back 18 years. There was no one to tell him to grab Sam and run, he just knew it by now.
The fire was spreading quickly and soon the whole room was aflame.
"Sam!" Dean yelled.
Sam couldn't get off the bed, he was screaming, covering his eyes, "No, no!"
"Sam!" Dean yelled again. He practically threw Sam off the bed, pulling him out the door. Dean stood in front of him, blocking him from the flames. Sam tried to fight back, to try to save his long-gone girlfriend, but Dean was able to muscle him out.
The shouts of "No! NO!" and "JESS!" overpowered the sound of skin sizzling and wood snapping.
Even long after they got out of the building and the fire was extinguished, everything seemed silent to Sam. His thoughts were now completely focused on avenging his girlfriend's death. When Dean walked up to him, he was checking out the ammo in the back of Baby. He had a shotgun in his hands, while he looked through what had survived four years, what had been upgraded or thrown out.
He decided they had enough to take down the son of a bitch that killed his Jessica.
Dean gave him a careful look as Sam put the gun back.
"We have work to do." Sam said.
The Impala's trunk slammed shut.
Tell me what you think!