"Knock it off, boys! Dean! Leave your brother alone and get in the car!" John Winchester crawled out of the black Impala to see where his sons had run off to. Twelve-year -old Dean had his eight-year-old brother, Sam in a headlock, and was in the process of giving him a fairly violent head-rub.

"Dean! Ow, that hurts! Stop!" Sammy, a few inches shorter than his older brother, and quite a few pounds lighter, was having a difficult time escaping this trap. It didn't matter how hard he pushed on Dean's chest or how far he dug his nails into his forearms, Dean would always be stronger.

"Oh, you're such a wuss." Dean finally let go and shoved Sam into the door of the car.

"Dean, watch the car. Kids, quit messing around. We've got things to do today!" John had had enough. He had been putting up with the boys all day. They had woken up in yet another hotel, and Dean and Sam had been nothing but trouble since they kicked each other out of bed at 5am this morning in a fight for the blankets. In addition to burning John out, both had been antsier as usual, and he had yet to figure out why. "Come on." He said a bit gentler.

Dean shoved Sammy out of the way of the passenger door and attempted to pry the door open around his brother, who was now on the ground.

"Dean!" Sam whined, slowly getting back up and dusting himself off. He didn't bother even trying to fight his brother in this match. "You always get the front!"

"No, you got it yesterday!"

"Dea—"

"Sam, just get in the car. I'm not in the mood today."

The boys climbed in and shut their mouths until about a mile down the road. "Dad?" Dean tested out before going into a full conversation. He wasn't sure Dad was up to talking.

"Yea?" John let out a bit more gruffly than he had meant.

"When are we going to settle down? When do we get to hunt with you?"

"Dean, you know I can't let you guys hun—"

"Dad, we're sick of sitting in nasty hotels all day. I'm sick of hanging out with him all day." Dean made a gesture to the backseat.

"Hey!" Sam stuck a finger in his mouth, which somehow made it into Dean's ear without Dean catching him first.

"Ew, dammit, Sam!"

"Sam, knock it off. Dean! Language! Be the better man. You're his older brother; you're supposed to take care of him. It shouldn't be a chore to hang out with him all day."

"Dad, I don't care. When do we get to hunt?"

John sighed. He hadn't wanted to get his kids involved with the hunting scene, but after the death of his wife when Sam was just an infant, he had no choice. He had been on the hunt for the creature that killed his Mary for the last seven years. He knew Sammy didn't want a life traveling across the country, but he had no one to take care of either of them. His parents were dead, and Mary's parents Samuel and Deanna had never been much help in the raising of the boys. They loved them, but Samuel was a hunter himself. It would be the same. He also knew Dean was just biting at the bit to get out there and save the innocent from the horrifying supernatural entities that few knew existed. Just last night, John had left the boys alone in their hotel room to investigate a shape shifter case.

"Maybe soon. We'll see." John muttered as they continued down the road to their next unknown destination.

While Dean and Sam ate breakfast at a silver chromium diner just north of the minute village of Junction City, Arkansas, John sat on the opposite side of the table, stressing over a case that had just opened up. He looked up, smiling at the boys as they ate side by side, getting along for once. No punching, no hitting, no kicking, no name-calling…just civilly eating.

John was taking up most of the table with newspapers, books and his journal. His journal was his Bible. It had every beast, spirit, demon, and other supernatural entity featured within its torn and battered pages. Only a human's darkest, evilest beliefs deserved a place in this masterpiece. It was a supernatural hunter's dream to own a book like this. Its margins were packed full with information about these creatures from what types of climate or locations brought them out to play, what they ate/preyed upon, were they a threat to society, and among many other trivia, one important detail held its place above the rest—how could they be eradicated from this world. It was a mix of folklore as well as real life experiences. John had been keeping the journal ever since Mary had perished from the earth at the hands of—well, he hadn't quite figured that one out. The journal consisted of every creature John had come into contact with—and many others he hoped he never would.

Right now, he was reading an article in the Daily Junction Herald about a woman's body found in her own home. No one had been home at the time, and the husband and two sons came home to find her strewn upon the floor, her entire throat ripped out, by what they claimed was a dog or wolf. Strangely enough, there was no trace of a fight. No evidence that anything—human or animal had been in the home. John sighed. At least the family hadn't been home.

Sam's cries had jolted John awake. He had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room, the TV still casting light and movement across the ceiling and walls. Sam had been such a light sleeper since he had been brought home from the hospital only ten weeks ago. John groaned and rolled off the couch, heading up the stairs. Sam's lights had been turned on, and John figured Mary had already been up to try and calm the fussing child.

"Hey, buddy, hey, hey, you're going to wake your brother and Mom up. Shhh…." John picked his son up and cradled him in his arms, bouncing him gently up and down. Sam finally started calming down a little bit with each motion. His tiny body, less tense than it had been before. As John placed Sammy back in his bassinette, a small splash of red dotted his forehead. John hesitated. Maybe he accidently cut Sam's forehead a little as he rocked him? How? He looked down at the buttons on his shirt, and then back at Sammy. Another splotch of red.

"What the hell?" John looked up. The entire ceiling was engulfed in growing flames! And strangest of all, his beloved Mary was in the middle of the ceiling, mouth wide open, staring wildly back at him, burning in the flames. Then, and only then, did John hear the crackling flames, the screams from his beautiful wife, being burned alive. John yelled. How did she get on the ceiling. His mind raced from thought to the next, and then finally onto his children. John thought he had ridded himself from this other world when he married Mary, but this moment proved this notion wrong. Dead wrong. Supernatural forces were at work here. There was nothing more he could do, and as pain, guilt and more sorrow than he ever could imagine now bore their weight upon his shoulders, he deeply regretted not being able to save her. Right now, he had to get his children and escape before the home burnt to the ground.

"Dad?" John snapped back to the present as Dean patted his arm. He had had the flashback again, at the diner, and his two sons were now staring wide-eyed at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yea, yea, I'm fine." He took a deep breath. The inhale caught in his throat, and he felt warm and dizzy. Nausea played in the pit of his stomach. John felt the blood rush from his face. He had been looking into this new case, with a beautiful wife and the mother of two sons, and had been reminded all too well of his own tragedy eight years ago. He closed his eyes and counted silently to five. As the feelings of illness wore off, John found his voice again, "Um, finish up your eggs—we have to hit the road."

"Dad, we just got here." Sam argued.

"Samuel, don't argue, just do. Get in the car." As the boys inhaled their breakfast, John tossed some wadded up bills on the table and escorted Dean and Sam out to the Impala.

As they drove several miles into the small town, Sam softly hummed in the backseat while playing his Gameboy, and Dean sat up front playing with the lock on the door—pushing the tab in and out. The clicking was getting to John as he drove silently.

"Dean, stop, please." The clicking continued

Click up, Click down, Click up, Click down. Until John swung an arm across Dean's chest and grabbed his hand.

"Ouch, Dad!"

"I said, stop!" He knew he had grabbed Dean harder than he had meant to, but it was the little things that were annoying him. Really getting on his nerves. "Look, I'm sorry, but I asked you to stop."

"Dad? What's going on? Is it the case? What was it?"

John sighed, "I—I don't—I don't know. That's what I'm going to find out."

"Are you going to kill it? Can I help?"

John was silent for a moment. He hadn't wanted it to come to this. He hadn't wanted Dean—or Sammy anywhere near this lifestyle. And here it was. His own son asking to take part in a hunt too much like the one that already tore part of his life away. He swallowed.

"Um, when I figure out what this is, and I determine the danger level behind it, we'll see." Dean smiled and nodded.

Seeing his oldest son, dark haired, brown-eyed and handsome, ready to get down and dirty, made John realize how much Dean was like him. Seeing him get excited about something for the first time in days almost made John forget about the troubling case laid out before him—almost.