A/N: We are two people, hence Mamily Boriarty (we combined our names), who have written this crossover for our own and others enjoyment. We do not own the story and characters of Supernatural and Insidious. Due to being two different people, our schedules struggle to allow time for writing together. Updating will be a slow and tedious process, and we will appreciate your patience.

Prologue

When John Winchester stepped across the sagging threshold of room six-eleven of the Blue Bird Motel, he froze at the sight in front of him. His son Dean lay curled in a ball, asleep on the couch. His eyes twitched behind the lids, and John briefly wondered what his son was dreaming of. John's attention did not remain long on his oldest son, though, as he looked down at his youngest.

Sam was scribbling furiously on a drawing the boy had clearly done himself. Several other papers, thrown haphazardly around him, had the boy surrounded. The crayons, many only stubs, lay around him, dominantly blacks and reds. It was clear the young boy had emptied several boxes of crayons to supply such a large number. John came up behind the boy, still coloring frantically as he threw another sheet of paper aside to start on another drawing. The newest addition to Sam's pile surpassed anything else he'd ever seen the boy do. It was a door, bright red, obvious in contrast to the dark backdrop. It was surrounded by black, as if it would be engulfed in the darkness if not for the bright color.

"Sammy?" John asked carefully, crouching down next to him. "Can I look at your drawings?" The boy paid him no mind, but jerked his head permissively. John shuffled the papers, glancing between them, his worry evident. One page was completely black for everything except a hysterically drawn red oval, with black circles, like eyes. The first two drawings in the stack caused the most concern, and John stared at them both and glanced at his son, then back to Sam's illustrations. It was a drawing of a street with houses with a dark blue night sky, sprinkled with yellow stars. Beneath the street, words were written wildly. "Last night I watched myself sleep, and then I flew away," John whispered. A sloppy drawing of Sam was in the corner, wearing a cape as if he were a superhero.

"Why are you drawing these, Sammy?" John asked. His son looked up from the red face he was scribbling in. "I just wanted to, Dad. I see them in my dreams. Can we put them on the wall?"

John nodded distantly. "Sure, Sammy. Anything you want." He rose to his feet again, and shuffled the papers in hand to organize them. "It's time to clean this up, though. We've got to get some dinner. I'll wake your brother while you pick up."

Sam nodded, and began to pack crayons away, throwing out the broken and stubby ones. "Dean," John said, shaking his son on the couch.

John Winchester hated returning to his sons as late as he was this night. It was nearly midnight. John had been on a particularly gruesome hunt for the past couple of days, but it was finally complete after being away from his sons for almost sixteen hours of the day. He had only called in once to ask Dean to check the computer for the story of an unsolved murder a few years back. Needless to say, the murder had been solved an hour ago.

John's sons were curled up together in their bed. Dean's face was buried in Sam's small back, and his arm was draped over the younger boy's shoulder. Dean slept soundly, snoring lightly. Sam, though, despite being protected by his brother, twitched in his sleep, brow furrowing. John kissed Dean's forehead briefly, then rounded the bed to see Sam.

John kissed the boys head. "Goodnight Sammy." Sam shifted beneath him. "Dad?" Sam's voice was only a tired whisper. John ruffled Sam's shaggy hair. "You need a haircut." Sam smiled. "Get some sleep, we've got a long day tomorrow." Sam looked at him questioningly. "My job's done here. We'll be back on the road before breakfast."

He kissed his son's forehead one last time, but as he turned away, Sam's hand shoots out and grips John's arm tightly. "Dad." His voice is barely over a whisper. When John turns to him, the boy's face is stricken with panic. "Don't turn around. Dad, there's someone standing behind you."

John's eyes widen and despite his son's warning, his head whips around. But nothing was there. "What did you see, Sammy?" John's eyes scan the room, glancing around. He stood and checked the closet and the bathroom, but the area was clear. "It was a woman, with dark hair tied up in a neat bun. She was wearing a white dress. She just… stood there."

Despite his own fears, John gave a small smile. "Don't you worry about it, Sammy. Get some sleep. There's nothing there." John wasn't sure if he believed himself.

Sam stumbled into the bunker, followed closely by a concerned Dean. "Sure you're O.K man?"

"Yeah I just need to sleep it off is all," mumbled Sam. He clearly wasn't though, as his knees began to buckle underneath him and Dean had to quickly support him.

"Yeah well you`ll probably be out of commission for about week or so before you can even think about hunting," Dean said as he helped Sam into the nearest chair.

Dean bent over to check on Sam`s bandages. Each of his forearms had a long and particularly deep cut reaching from his elbow all the way to the base of his palm. Sam winced as Dean peeled away part of the bandaging to check on the wound itself.

"This will definitely take a couple weeks to heal. Hope you got plenty of reading material, because you are going to be under house arrest for awhile." He looked up to see Sam passed out, his head slumped forward.

A/N: Short chapter, we know. More should be posted soon with the end of school.