Well… It's certainly been a while since I've written a fanfic… And I think I might be just a little bit rusty… So excuse my lame attempt at trying to write after my nearly 1 year break! I hope you all enjoy! And remember kids… No commercials!
Disclaimer: I do not, in anyway own Supernatural. I tried to sneak into the WB building one night and steal the rights, but the guards caught me. Did you know pepper spray hurts… a lot?
Warnings(?): A few typos here and there most likely… I go over everything before I post, so don't think I don't care about them. But I'm not perfect so I'm certainly not going to get every single little detail here! Humm… Just a little bit of swearing here and there. But nothing you haven't heard before on the show right? (That's right Dean, we're talking about you.)
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Prologue: PILOT
Lawrence, Kansas- 22 Years Ago…
Outside the window, the wind swept the branches of the tree onto the windowpane. Mary Winchester looked up from the bundle in her arms and stared out the window. It was dark, almost 10 PM, the moon barely hiding behind the clouds. It looked like it would rain tomorrow morning.
Mary looked back down at her arms, smiling at the cooing baby in her arms. Baby Sammy looked up at her with large eyes, a smile on his lips. He reached up with his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers.
She brought her hands down to play with his fingers, and jumped slightly when the door opened slowly behind her. Turning, she spotted the little bobbing head of her other son, Dean who looked up at her with expectant eyes.
He was dressed in blue pajamas, the shirt just a little bit longer at the sleeves so that only his fingers poked through. "Mom…?" he asked quietly.
She smiled at him, and gestured him to come in. He did so, a large grin on his face as he followed Mary to Sam's crib. He watched as Mary leaned forward, using her hands to guide Sam softly into his crib.
Dean tried to lean in and see as well, but was, unfortunately too short to see. He felt arms on his waist, and gave a squeal when the fingers started to tickle his sides. He turned around to throw his arms around his father.
John laughed as well, and without even a grimace or complaint about his bad back, lifted Dean into his arms. The both of them approached the edge of the crib and both of them smiled down at Sam.
Sammy grinned up at them, hands waving up at them. Dean allowed his father to lean him down further so that Dean could touch Sam. He let Sam take his finger in his closed fist, staring up at Dean with what seemed like admiration in his green eyes. Dean smiled back, and leaned down further and brushed his lips onto Sam's forehead.
"Good night Sammy!" he said, teeth flashing in a smile.
John, with a soft grunt, let Dean down so that his feet finally found the ground. He ruffled Dean's head of golden brown hair, and asked, "So do you think that Sam is old enough to play football Deanie boy?"
The boy in question reached up his hands to brush at John'as hands, giggling in the process. "No, daddy!"
"And don't you think it's about time we got you sleep?" Mary asked, a smile on her lips as she watched the display of affection between her husband and oldest son. Ever since she had first laid eyes on John, she knew he would be a good father. Something about him screamed at her that he would always look after his son or daughters no matter what.
She kneeled and opened up her arms to Dean, who ran up to her and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Good night Dean. I'll see you in the morning."
He nodded into her shoulder and whispered, "Good night. I love you." With that said, Dean unhooked his arms and raced out of the door.
John paused at the door, and came back to Mary, wrapped his arms around her as well. "Are you going to bed too?"
She shifted in his arms, and glanced at Sam's crib, and nodded. "Yeah… I'm tired, and I have a feeling Sam might be restless today."
John nodded, and kissed the top of her head. "If you need anything, just call me, alright? I'll be downstairs." He gave her another quick peck on the cheek, and was out the door, calling to Dean, "Whoa slow down tiger! Your dad's not as quick as he was!"
Mary chuckled, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She was feeling sleepy, and when a yawn escaped from her, she decided she'd call it a night. She turned to Sam's crib, and used her fingers to touch the mobile above Sam's head.
It immediately responded, and began to turn slowly, a lullaby beginning to sift softly through the room. She looked down at her baby, whose eyes were slowly drifting shut, the music making him drowsy.
Leaning forward, her golden hair brushing on Sam's forehead, she kissed him on the lips, and whispered, "Good night Sammy. I love you."
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It was 12:57 am, when Mary jolted awake. She scanned the darkened ceiling, her mind still foggy with sleep. She didn't know why she was awake right now, but at the moment, she could only feel slight irritation. It wasn't often these days that she was getting enough sleep because of Sam, but now her body needed to keep her awake as well.
Yawning, her heart nearly stopped when the baby monitor next to her head flicked to life, Sam's cries sounding distorted. She turned to it, and flicked it off rising to her elbows as she did so.
Her arm draped across from her body towards where John should have been, feeling nothing beside her. Her eyes caught sight of the empty side of the bed where John normally slept, but she didn't panic. John had told her himself that he would be in the living room; most likely he was still watching a late night show and had not returned.
The blankets rolled away easily, as she lifted her feet to the floor. The wood was cold, chilling her to the bone and she shivered despite herself; perhaps John had decided to open a window?
She made her way to the nursery, which was just down the hall from their room. The light was turned on at the end of the hallway, illuminating enough for Mary to see where she was going. The door to Sam's room was slightly ajar, the room thrown in soft yellow light; it would have been completely pitch black if it wasn't for the nightlight they had kept on in there.
Using her hand to push open the door wider, she stepped in, taking notice of the hunched over figure right next to Sam's crib side. Her voice came out soft, and barely above a whisper. "John…?" Something about this person made her uneasy, but she could not mistake the dark hair and prominent shoulders that was John Winchester.
The figure turned, confirming Mary's beliefs that it was John. He raised a finger to his lips, and a soft 'shushing' sound escaping from his throat.
She was a bit confused by his action, but his voice calmed her down. "I got him Mary. Go get some sleep."
She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and whispered back, "Alright." She turned, taking one last look at John who was smoothing back the dark curls of hair on Sam's head from his forehead and made her way down the hallway.
Nothing wrong with that right?
She rubbed her sore eyes again, and stifled a yawn. There was a feeling inside of her that was demanding she stop and just fall asleep on the floor; and at the moment, it felt a lot better than going all the way to her room and to her bed.
But she stopped when something caught her eye. Just in front of her, the light at the end of the hallway was flickering, plunging the hallway into darkness for a few seconds and then bathing it with light once more.
She walked up to it, and tapped the glass surrounding the bulb contained inside. It jiggled, the glass clinking lightly under fingernails. It however, seemed to respond to her touch, because it stopped flickering a few moments after.
A small 'hmm' came from her as she inspected the bulb once more, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Mary was just about to turn into her room when another sound stopped her.
Was tonight 'Keep-Mary-Awake' night?
She made her way down the stairs, her hands sliding on the banisters. They were nice and polished, something which she took pride in doing. Nothing could ever maker her house dirty without her cleaning it; it just didn't work for her to have a messy house.
The floor was also very chilled, and it made her wonder silently, just what it was that was making the house so cold. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and noticed the blue light filtering through the door leading to the living room.
John must have left the TV on again… Sighing, knowing in her head that she would have to have a little talk with him in the morning, her body froze in the middle of the door.
That was John sleeping on the recliner.
His body was limp, a small bit of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth. His fingers just barely brushed the buttons on the controller, and his loud snores vibrated out forcefully from his deep within his throat.
But she had just left John with Sammy.
Gasping, she tore from the living room, almost tripped on the stairs as she ran. But not even a broken leg would have stopped her from reaching her youngest son; he was in danger and that thought kept her going. No way was she going to let a murder take him from her.
She skidded to a halt at Sam's door, and ran in, ignoring the kind of danger that she could be possibly walking into. The room was empty unfortunately, and nothing stirred; not even the clock made any noise. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in everything before she walked straight up to Sam's crib.
She looked over the bars, and watched Sam as he looked up at her. She lifted a hand to his forehead, brushing the hair in between her fingers and heaved a sigh of relief. It was just a dream. A horrible dream at that, but it would always stay that way.
A dream.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, looked down at Sammy one last time, before she turned…
And screamed…
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It was 12:59 when John woke with a start. His breath caught halfway through his throat in between a snore and it quickly became a snort. He coughed heavily, and blinked blearily at the moving pictures on his TV.
He could barely even see what it was that was playing on the TV. All he knew was that the man was clearly going very bald and the other woman had too much makeup on; and her hair could not be real.
Stretching so that his joints cracked, he yawned and clicked off the TV. He took notice of the clock on the wall, and decided it was time he went upstairs, got into bed, and slept peacefully knowing that his wife was beside him.
He grunted slightly as he lifted himself from the recliner, stretched his back a little more and prepared to make his way up the stairs.
That was when the scream echoed from upstairs.
John would never forget that scream.
The cry of his wife filled his body with shock, as he froze at the bottom of the stairs. His wife's name stuck in his throat, and he ran up the stairs, grabbing onto the wall and banister as he almost tripped more than a few times.
"Mary!" he shouted as he burst into Sam's room. His eyes frantically searched the room for any sign of his wife, but found nothing. Confusion ran through his mind; he could swear he heard Mary's shout come from Sam's nursery.
He made his way to Sam's crib, leaning in to take in Sam's appearance. He appeared safe enough. He fixed John with bright green eyes, and he giggled, reaching up short arms to him as though expecting a hug of sorts.
John chuckled lightly himself, and being unable to resist his either of his son's wishes, reached down and stopped when something dark stained Sam's pillow. It was a small spot, just above Sam's right ear and it looked fresh.
He reached down his fingers to touch it, and they came away wet and stained. It was too dark to see exactly what it was, but he gave it a chance and brought it to his nose, sniffing.
It smelled coppery… intoxicating almost… and suddenly John gagged when he recognized the smell.
It was blood.
He reached down to take hold of Sammy, afraid that the blood was his when another drop of the crimson liquid dripped onto his hand. He froze breathing catching sharply in his chest as he slowly titled his head back to look up at the ceiling.
He stumbled back in shock, body beginning to numb as he continued to stare, unable to tear his eyes away.
Mary… his beautiful angel and wife… was pinned to the ceiling. Her golden hair spread out behind her head, crowning her head like a halo. Her eyes were dull, paled to a dark grey with pain, and across her stomach was a cut.
John knew from his experience in the Marines that Mary could barely be alive. The incision was deep, and long turning her white nightgown red with her blood. A few more drops escaped from her body, and landed on the carpeted floor without a sound.
"Mary…!" he choked out, his hand trembling as he tried to reach his wife.
Something began to make it past her lungs as she gurgled out softly, blood running down her chin, "J… ohn… Help…"
And then a spark.
Fire erupted behind her, tearing across the ceiling, and licking against the white walls of the nursery. A few of the flames reached down, as though searching for new victims. Her skin began to bubble angrily, turning a bright red and beginning to char under the immense heat of the flames.
Slowly, she was being burned alive.
John shield himself from the flames, the heat actually scorching the robe that he had on. He could hear Sammy crying over the roar of the flames, and he jumped towards the crib, hands shaking badly as he reached down taking Sam's small squirming body in his arms.
He pressed his body against Sam's, trying his best to protect him from the fire, and with his head bowed ran out into the hallway.
Already, smoke was spilling into the rest of the house, hanging low and thick. John coughed as he opened his eyes in slits, attempting to see through the haze. He heard footsteps running up to him, and he searched blindly with his hands for who it was; he had a pretty clear idea it was Dean running to him.
He managed to catch Dean with his hand on his shoulder and kneeled down low, still coughing. Dean looked up at him with fearful hazel eyes, breaths panting in his throat; John could see that his face was red and eyes were watery from coughing and trying to see through the curtain of smoke.
"Dean!" John shouted, still coughing. "Take your brother and get outside as fast as you can!"
Dean opened his arms without a word, adjusting his arms so that Sam's head was correctly held. He looked up once again at his father, a cracked voice calling out, "But dad-"
John shook his head. "Now Dean, go!"
A determined face masked Dean's previous doubts and he nodded. "I'll keep him safe Dad." And with that said, he ran from his father, who was currently running back into the nursery, his jaw set.
Dean did his best to not trip over his own feet as he carried Sam. He was currently squirming in Dean's arms, crying loudly and shrilly. Dean's face was red from the heat, and his arms were hurting from carrying Sam for so long.
But he pressed on, determined to not disappoint his father. Once he said he was going to do something, Dean did it - no questions asked.
He had just made it to the bottom of the stairs, and was now making his way through the living room. Dean could feel the heat pressing all around him, and he silently wondered to himself why he himself wasn't shriveling up. He wrapped his arms tighter around Sam, unprepared to imagine his little brother dying.
Finally, he made it to the door, and pushing against it, it opened, spilling cool air into the room. Smoke fell out, escaping into the night sky as Dean ran out, gasping in deep lungfuls of chilled wind.
He turned to look up at the room that had been Sam's nursery. The windows were closed, but Dean could see the crackling of the fire, almost as though beating at the glass for release.
He felt more than saw arms grab him and lift him away from the house. He continued to stare up at the windows, when a loud BOOM echoed across the street. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing himself against his father's chest.
John's beating heart quelled a little of his fear, but he still felt himself shaking. Sammy was still crying, wiggling in Dean's arms. "Dad…?" Dean whispered. He stared up at his father's face, which looked much older than he remembered.
John looked down at Dean, his own hazel eyes wet with unshed tears. He took hold of Dean, unaware of the commotion going on around him. People were coming out of their houses, a few women screaming for someone to call 911.
Everything passed as a blur to John, not feeling anything; not even the hands that inspected himself and his children for injuries. He numbly became aware of the police and firefighters that milled about the lawn, asking people to stay back.
Without a glance to anybody, he led himself and his sons towards his car, the Impala. The only thing to survive the fire. He still held Sam in his arms, and Dean was clutching tightly onto his hand.
He turned to stare up at his home, the perfect house that every married couple grieved for, the one that he had bought for his wife Mary.
And it was now gone.
Along with his one and only love.
Nothing could make him feel ever again. Slowly, his mind began to be taken over by an obsession, a deep rage at whatever had killed his wife.
Soon, whatever had killed his wife would die.
And it would regret ever even hearing the name John Winchester…
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So! What do you think? I know it's just the beginning part of the show, but oh god, this was escalating badly! I didn't want to torture people with a 50-page chapter, I think we'd all die by now, especially my poor fingers! Sooo… next chapter will be the start of the Pilot! I hope everyone enjoyed reading this, and hopefully I got everything as accurate as I could…! Until next time!
MG