"2 Peter 2:4 - For if God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down to hell, and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgment."
Andromalius; the serpent-wielding angel, and Azael; cohabitant of women. Two fallen angels, who sought sin, were stripped of their wings and cast unto Earth to live out their remaining days.
Of course, the town's drunk didn't know any of that when he found two young, and very unconscious boys in a suspiciously large dent atop an old Ford coupe in his salvage yard. About all he knew so far was that it was the middle of the night, he'd had a bit too much to drink, and when did he get this sawed-off?
Cautiously, he approached the source of the loud bang that surprisingly didn't wake Marcy, but he lowered his gun when the children came into view. He hurried toward them, and upon reaching them, he realized that he had forgotten his flashlight. Great, now he'd have to carry his drunken ass, a sawed off, and two unconscious boys across his yard in complete darkness.
Eventually, he managed to hold them all up without toppling over, which, to say the least, took a few tries. He wobbled inside, while most definitely not running into cars along the way, and plopped the boys down on the couch while he fetched the first aid kit.
Now that there was light, he was able to get a better look at them. He noticed that they were both around the same age, with skin that was just a shade darker than tan, and that one of the two boys was fair-haired, with dark, choppy locks that cut off somewhere between his ear and chin; he had a thin nose and pursed lips, and was carrying quite the worried expression.
The older boy, who appeared to be somewhere around 8 or 9 years old, had a more stern look about him, with his brows furrowed and eyes clenched. He had dark blond hair that looked quite tussled, given it's short length, and had flecks of light golden freckles that spread across his entire face.
The old man scanned them over, and to his surprise, he found that they weren't harmed in the least, and the only thing indicating that they got into any sort of accident at all were the two, very large, very raw, scars leading down from each one of the boys' shoulder blades to their lower back.
After checking for concussions, he stripped the boys of their shirts, laid them on their stomachs, and placed some ointment across their backs, followed by cool, wet rags. Before heading off to bed, he made sure to leave them with glasses of water, even though he doubted they would wake before he did.
In the morning, he was not surprised to see that the two boys were still sound asleep. He walked over to the couch to remove the rags and found that the scars were still hot and raw, so he made sure to replace the rags before preparing breakfast.
That morning, he cooked a breakfast for three, and stowed the leftovers in the fridge in case the children woke up soon. Since he wanted the be there when they woke up, and he didn't really have much to do anyways, he decided to stay home today, watch TV, and maybe look for a local hunt, since he wasn't too keen on driving 200 miles just to take out a couple of wendigo.
He was looking at the television, not paying it any mind, when he let his mind wander. What was he going to do when these mysterious boys woke up? Will they wake up? Where did they come from anyways? Then he remembered the deep dent in the Ford where he'd found them. He made a mental note to check it out later.
For some reason, it didn't really occur to him that they could be, well, not human. I mean, they did kind of fall from God knows where, after all (pun intended). Suddenly, he got this wave of urgency. Why hadn't he tested them? How could that have slipped his mind? He grabbed a duffle bag from the bottom of the pantry and started toward the still sleeping boys.
He made sure to try every test in the book, but in the end, he came up with nothing. They aren't demons, vampires, ghouls, leviathan, anything. Just utterly and inexplicably, human. Well, as far as he could tell at least. Maybe it was something new. Maybe it wasn't. Either way, he felt that he needed someone else's input on this whole situation, so he decided to call his friend Castiel, who was the town priest and a fellow hunter himself. He pulled his phone from his pocket, while simultaneously wrapping a bandage around the older boys' forearm, where he'd nicked it with a silver knife.
The phone rang for a few moments, and just when he was about to hang up and call Rufus, the ringing stopped abruptly.
"Hello?" Castiel answered drowsily. It was still pretty early; he'd hoped he didn't wake him.
"Hey, Cas, sorry, didn't mean to wake ya. Look, if you're not busy, I could really use a hand down here..."
"...Bobby? Yes, hello. What is it? Do you need help with a case?"
"Sorta. No. Well, not sure yet. It's just that last night, I found a couple a boys passed out in the salvage yard. Made quite a number on one of my cars, too; dented the roof right in."
There was a short pause. "...and you ran tests?" Cas asked.
"Yep. Every one I could think of, at least. There ain't nothing unusual about 'em, except these scars on their backs."
"Scars? What kind of scars?"
"I dunno, just...scars." Bobby replied, pacing the space between his desk and his kitchen. "They looked pretty fresh when I found them, but you should really come and take a look for yourself."
"Alright, I'll be right over." He promised, and hung up.
"'Be right over', my ass." Bobby muttered to himself, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
Castiel didn't arrive for another hour, hence backing up Bobby's earlier statement. You know, for such a formal guy, Cas really did lose track of time. And when he arrived, he continued to apologize profusely; he said he was, and I quote, "caught up in traffic". He does know that they live in the middle of nowhere, right? As he stepped inside, he continued to hang up his coat and look around curiously.
"Where are they?" Castiel wondered aloud.
"Oh, I probably shoulda mentioned; they're out cold over there on the couch." Bobby stated as he guided Cas toward the living room.
Castiel knelt down by the couch, lightly tracing his fingers down the swollen scar of the younger sibling.
"This is...strange." Castiel muttered to himself, inspecting further.
"Tell me about it." replied Bobby, overhearing him. "Well, what do you make of it?"
"I have no idea. But for now, I suggest we wait until they wake up before we continue."
"You read my mind."
And so, they waited. And waited. Aaaand waited. When the boys finally awoke, Cas and Bobby were in the middle of a not so heated poker match in the kitchen when one of them heard a soft grunt come from the living room. Almost immediately, Castiel was on his feet and striding toward the source of the sound, with Bobby following close behind. They knelt beside the couch, just as the older boy was slowly sitting up.
"Easy now." instructed Bobby, helping the boy get comfortable.
The child looked around cautiously, confused but alert. "Where am I?" the boys' voice came out rough, even though his body was practically shaking with convulsions, whether it be fear or nerves. Castiel quickly retrieved a blanket to wrap around him, and continued to rub the sides of his arms to soothe him while Bobby answered his question.
"Sioux Falls, South Dakota." Bobby answered softly, a worried expression clouding his face.
"Oh..." was all the boy could reply with. He didn't seem to understand what that meant exactly, but apparently chose it to be an acceptable answer.
"You got a name, boy?" Bobby pestered, leaning in closer.
The boy pondered this for a while, as if it was the hardest question he's ever been asked. Eventually, he answered. "I...can't remember. Sorry."
"Is there anything you do remember?" Cas intervened.
"I...this is my brother." He said, pointing to the younger boy. At this, Castiel sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"Okay, no problem," Bobby continued. "We'll sort this mess out eventually. But first, we should get you some names. Can't keep callin' you 'boy' forever, now can I? Cas, you got any ideas?"
Castiel thought for a moment. "What about...Dean? Yes, Dean. I've always been fond of that name." Hearing that, the boy, now Dean, beamed.
"I'll take that as a yes. Dean it is." Bobby declared. "Now, what about your brother here? What should we call him when he wakes up?"
They all thought for a few minutes, flitting through multiple names, but never able to stick with one.
"John?"
"No. God no. John's boring; too mainstream."
"Matthew? Matt?"
"Nah, he doesn't look like a Matt, does he Dean?"
Dean shook his head.
"David? Levictus? Phillip?"
"Levictus, Cas, really? Enough Bible names."
"What about...Sam?" piped Dean.
They both looked at him curiously. He'd barely said a word during this whole dispute, but now that he's suggested something, he's practically glowing.
"Sam?" conferred Bobby. "Yeah, 's got a nice ring to it. Samuel. Sam. Sammy."
"Sammy." whispered Dean contently, looking down at his brother.