Athens, Ohio
One Week Prior
Keith Smith decided to go out for a drink that night. It was unlike every other night when he returned home after work at the docks, exhausted and just in dire need of food and sleep. His wife, Anna, often worried about this schedule of his. She wished he would be more social and try to spend more time with her but she didn't complain for she knew that this was the only way they could make their ends meet.
"Hey, Ann," Keith said into the phone. "I'm going to the Founders for a drink with Johnson and Andrews. Try to join us if you can. Love you sweetheart!"
He hung up and looked at the sign with the name of the pub, glinting evilly as if it knew what exactly was happening.
Keith breathed deeply. It felt like a whole new being just to enter into the musty pub smelling of sweat, beer and complaints all brought to life through a few drinks. The bartender was flashing behind the counter taking orders and trying to add a little bit zing by flairing Brian Flannagan style.
It was weird that, since a few days, no matter how much Keith worked, he was never tired. He felt different too. As if, his life was clearer somehow. Put into perspective. He felt every touch, heard every word more surreal than ever before. He did not know why he felt that way. There was something about this feeling that told him he should be scared but he shook off that feeling.
He remembered the night prior to feeling this way. He had a dream so real that it took time for it to sink in that it was, afterall, just a dream. The window had opened of its own accord while he slept. A black smoky haze entered inside and went right into him.
He crackled his neck once and then went on to sit with Matt Johnson and Gerard Andrews.
"Three beers," Andrews said to the bartender.
With three beers in front of them in split seconds, they began to talk. They laughed uproariously till the bar was close to empty.
"Hey, hey, Jim! Come on man! Fifteen minutes more before last call!" Matt said to the exasperated bartender.
"Matt, you said the same thing an hour ago. Please I have to get home to my wife," Jim said, firmly reaching out for the bell to warn the drunkards in the corners.
Before Jim could strike the bell, the door opened and a dark man entered. He was wearing a black formal suit unlike the people who usually haunted the place.
Matt and Gerard rubbed their eyes to look clearly as to who it was. Keith was already on his knees in front of the man.
"My Lord, how can I be of service to you?" Keith said in a crackling, husky voice.
"Get up, my son," the dark man said, gently lifting Keith up by his shoulders.
"Keith, what the hell dude?" Matt said, drunkenly.
The dark man's eyes shone yellow for a minute and he smiled at Keith, knowingly.
Keith got up as if in a trance, picked up a beer bottle off the counter, broke it and stabbed Matt.
"Son, I don't think we want eye witnesses," the dark man said, smilingly.
Gerard, Jim and a couple more people, revealing themselves from behind the veil of darkness, looked terrified at Keith and tried to make a run for it. The dark man was faster and, with a flick of his hand, he shut the doors and windows.
Next, all the drunken men, outside, heard were screams of agony and saw as the street lights flickered.
A pale-faced little boy lay horizontally on the bed with his sheets disturbed around him. A black robed thing stood over the boy's face sucking something blue from about him, making the boy's face look hazy. It chilled Dean to the bone.
He knew what to do. He had been told enough times. He picked up the gun from behind the door but before he could shoot at the monster, his father returned.
"Dean where were you?" John Winchester shouted, grabbing his younger son and holding him tight.
There was a buzz in Dean's ears. Where was he? What had he been doing? Leaving Sammy alone like that? Was really going more important than his little brother especially when he had the orders to stay?
"Dean, Dean!" he heard John say but his lips were not moving. He just looked at his son, disappointed.
Dean was suddenly pulled away as if through a long tube. Sunlight was pouring from the right and a dark shadow stood over him, calling his name.
"Son, wake up!" John said, shaking Dean, exasperatedly.
"Huh?" Dean murmured, huskily, waking up.
He was back in the present, safe from the past. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"I found out just this morning that a woman was strangled by the curtains of her own house. Of course, the police are calling it a suicide but we know better. No harm in checking it out," John rambled, handing Dean a steaming cup of coffee.
"But dad I thought we already had a case, seeing we reached here yesterday," Dean said, groggily, sipping the coffee.
"Uh, well," John hesitated. "Um… I, I checked it out and it was nothing."
Dean's brow furrowed but he did not say anything because he knew he would get no answers. He moodily sipped his coffee and thought about the last time his dad had been entirely truthful with him. He figured that there had been no such time that he could recall. It was either out of his sons' safety in mind or just the general veil of mystery that surrounded him.
"So you comin' or not?" John asked, already at the door with his satchel, keys and his trusty diary.
"Dear diary," Dean scoffed under his breath, getting off the bed, the coffee still warm in his hands.
