Before the story begins is it such a sin
For me to take what's mine until the end of time?
A Little Piece of Heaven, Avenged Sevenfold
Sam Winchester sighed in relief, easing away some of the tension that had gripped his muscles at the start of the fight. He looked down: a pile of smoking ashes was what was left of the demon and its meatsuit. Sam allowed him-self a small smile: he'd made it.
Satisfaction was immediately shoved aside, though, as he turned around and saw his brother's body still sprawled on the floor, like a broken doll. Castiel, the angel, was kneeling beside him with a look of concern on his face.
In a second Sam was by his side, staring with silent horror at the wounds and bruises that marred Dean's skin; he couldn't shake away the feeling that Alistair had gone off the hook far too easily.
He scrambled to grab Dean's wrist, searching his pulse: he found it. He checked his breath: it hadn't stopped. A short, relieved chuckle escaped Sam's lips: Dean was alive. All was well in the world.
He turned to Castiel to ask if he knew where the closest hospital was, but the question died in his throat as he saw deep worry painted on the angel's face.
"Castiel?".
The angel didn't show to have heard him, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean.
"Castiel?" Sam repeated with a little more force.
Castiel emerged from his reverie and looked at him questioningly.
"Is something wrong? You're staring at Dean like... like he's... I don't know, I mean, that bastard surely gave him a hard time but Dean's tough, right? He's gonna be okay, right?".
Castiel avoided his eyes, concentrating once again on Dean's bruised face.
"Right?".
When Castiel finally met his eyes, he seemed lost and maybe a little scared; he regained control fast enough, though, and told Sam in his usual gruff voice: "I can't answer right away. I can tell that something happened, something bad, but I don't understand what exactly. I'm sorry".
He stayed silent for a moment, glazing into Sam's terrorized eyes and then, in a gentler tone added: "Come. Let's get him to a hospital".
Resurrection, California
Resurrection was a nice town. Its streets were wide and clean, carefully paved with dark-red tiles. There were no malls, only pretty little shops with well-cleaned windows and brightly coloured signs. There were no jointly-owned buildings, just two or three-floored houses.
Every house had its lawn. Every lawn was well-kept and furnished with a classical post box which bore, in neat black letters, the surname of one of the 1000 families that formed the well-knit community of Resurrection.
Everybody agreed that life was truly great in that little, almost forgotten town.
It was well past midnight: the streets were desert while all the denizens slept peacefully in their comfy beds.
Into a nice neat three-floored house, whose garden was covered with cheerful decorations, Mr and Mrs Daimon, the young couple who owned the place, were solidly asleep. They were curled together, dreaming of the little bundle of joy that was soon to be delivered; they didn't know the sex of the baby, the Daimons being one of those families who loved surprises, but they were praying for a girl. After all, they already did have a boy. He was a shy, lonely child, way too mature for his five years of life.
He was too sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the world. That is, right until he was engulfed in white light and started to toss and turn and kick and trash...
He stilled.
Alistair opened his eyes.
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