3. 1991: May 24th, 1991

Brian felt himself grow cold, the heat seemed to have been sapped right out of him as he watched a doctor go over his brother's body and officially pronounce him D.O.A. "What was the time of death again?" He inquired. "Uh," The medic checked his watch. "He flat lined at 11:45pm." The doctor nodded curtly, scribbling the bit of information on the clipboard. Brain watched him hand the clipboard to the medic, then watched as they carted Stephen away to the morgue. The little boy in him wanted to scream.

After their parents died, Stephen was the one constant in his life (aside from Adcox and their mother's sister, their aunt). Stephen took on the role of the parent like a duck to water. Brain, for the most part, allowed it without too much resistance. Stephen was always the first to rise, he made breakfast, washed their clothes, helped him with his homework, all by the age of 12. You name it, when they weren't getting on each others nerves, Stephen did it.

Brian was grateful for it, it distracted him and Stephen from the ordeal that was Dennis McCaffrey's funeral, not three weeks ago at the time. Their aunt Dakota thought Stephen was overcompensating, that he needed to give himself time to grieve. Like a firecracker, Stephen would go off on anyone who tried to get him to stop and think about the fact that their dad was dead. "I have to look after my brother, Dakota. You don't think I'm grieving enough? I have a brother in the other room who reminds me everyday, that dad is dead. I hate him, how could he leave us like that?!" Brian remembered the exchange like it was yesterday, remembered he thought Stephen meant that he hated him, not their father.

It stuck with him for the longest time. Afterward, no one bothered Stephen about his "grieving process" again, until he visited the firehouse on his fourteenth birthday. Brian was nine, he was playing on the pole when he heard crying in the other room. He followed the sound until he found Stephen leaning against the fire truck, Axe standing next to him with a hand on his shoulder. Brian was so startled by the scene that he tripped over his own feet in his escape (Stephen didn't need to know that he saw him crying, he deserved that much privacy). Stephen stopped crying immediately, he became embarrassed when he saw Brian. Quickly, he composed himself and dragged Brian out of the firehouse, bidding Axe a good afternoon. They didn't speak until they reached Dakota's house, but Brian never brought up the "crying" incident, much to his brother's relief. Afterward, Stephen lightened up a bit, wasn't so astute in taking care of him, Brian actually felt like he had a brother again, like it was okay to make fun of him again.

Their rapport was stable for the longest time, they fought, they joked, ignored and schemed with each other until Brian turned eighteen, the legal age of adult privileges. He couldn't stand how things changed so rapidly around him. Stephen spent less time with him, too distracted by his girlfriend, Helen, and was moving out of their aunt's house to live with her, yet still thought he could tell him what to do. Brian didn't take to Stephen's bossing around as lightly as he did when he was a kid, and let his older brother know he was old enough to make his decisions. He didn't need to be mothered, Brian was his own man. But even when Stephen wasn't bossing him around, Brian was set off by the tiniest things and by the time Stephen was out of the house, the two rarely spoke to each other anymore. Stephen immersed himself in becoming a career fireman and dealing with newly-wedded responsibilities with Helen. Brian was busy with maintaining funds for collage with multiple jobs until he finally got the bright idea of becoming a fireman himself. It was just a curiosity he needed to satisfy, a fantasy he wanted to live since he was a child.

So, as soon as he graduated, Brian entered the academy at the age of 20. Stephen, 25, was now juggling the responsibility of his and Helen's baby, Sean, and fighting fires. Brian took the time to get his nephew and finally talk to Stephen. His older brother was only too happy to oblige to Brian's sudden appearance, more eager to ask him how things were going down at the academy than anything else. Brian reintroduced himself to Helen again; she was a charming, strong-willed woman, he could see why his brother was attracted to her. He was in awe at the infant boy, demanding the constant attention of his parents. Stephen was more than willing to devote all his attention to Sean; Fatherhood came like second nature to his brother.

Sean was an eerie reflection of his brother, right down to the blue eyes. "Does he ever stay, you know, still?" He remembered asking. "Hardly!" Stephen replied, adjusting the squirming Sean in his arms. Sean squealed gleefully, tugging on Stephen's shirt. "You were like this when you were a babe. Mom hated it when you pulled on her hair-- ow!" Brian laughed as Stephen tried to remove his finger from his son's mouth. The next instant, Brian found himself in a state of panic. Stephen got back on the issue of his time at the academy, asking if he was enjoying any of the lessons or if he ever got excited thinking about going into an actual fire one day.

This lead to a detailed recount of the first time Stephen faced a real fire, Brian listened, doing his best to hide his uneasiness towards the subject. Stephen's tale lasted until Helen strolled into the living room and politely asked her husband to change the subject. Before Stephen could argue, Brian redirected their conversation back to Sean. When Brian went home, he was unable to sleep. Stephen's romanticizing of the fire brought up those bad memories he never wanted to think about, memories he thought he succeeded in burying. He remembered being terrified of fire after their mother died. The smallest flame would send him off on a crying fit.

Dennis, who was an emotional wreck himself at the time, struggled to clam him down, rarely succeeded. Stephen was the only one he managed to calm him down, and it was same after their father died as well. He wasn't sure when he stopped being afraid, he just woke up one day and never paid the dancing fire on the stove any attention. The day Brian went back to the academy, he found himself faced a simulation of a Backdraft. He fainted before fire even got going, his friends never let him live down. Brian couldn't believe how badly he froze up. The next time it happened he suffered a panic attack, and it was right there Brian knew he couldn't be a fireman. Not until he got over his fear again.

He quit the next day and prayed that no one told his brother about it. That wish, of course, went unfulfilled. Stephen came over to his apartment demanding to know why the guys at the station were gossiping the fact that his brother dropped out of the academy. If Brian hadn't felt so guilty, he would've told Stephen to "fuck off". The look of utter disappointment and anger on Stephen's face made him feel three inches tall. "Well, can you tell me why you quit?" Stephen asked, calmly as he could. The words, "Because I didn't want to be a fireman. I'm not in love with fire," came out of his mouth quicker than he could reconsider them.

Stephen blinked, taken aback my his brother's admission. A scoff escaped him. "You think I'm obsessed with fire, Brian?" It was more of a statement than a question. With the way Stephen was looking at him, Brian might as well have called him an arsonist. So he did the only thing that he thought he could at the time. He answered in the affirmative, knowing it would piss his brother off. It was a partial truth anyhow. "Yeah, I do. And while we're on the subject, I find it extremely annoying that you walk around like nothing has happened, or will happen to you!" Brian proclaimed. Now Stephen was beyond lost. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I mean, our parents died in fires, Steve. Most people go out of their way to distance themselves from that kill their loved ones. But you -- you embrace this "job" and sometimes, I swear, its like mom and dad never existed for you! You pretend like they -- they just vanished for you didn't they?" Brian remembered being knocked on his ass barely a second after he finished speaking. He cradled his throbbing jaw and bit down on his bleeding lip, Stephen stood over him fuming with rage.

"You've got a lot of a fuckin' nerve sayin' that to me. I am reminded everyday of my life that they died in a fire. What do you expect me to do Brian? Mourn for the rest of my life? Get a job in accounting? Being a fireman is all I want to be. I go into those buildings so I can keep people from ending up fucked like we were. I get to help people, give them a second chance with their families! I make a difference!" Stephen was yelling at the top of his lungs, face red with anger.

Unconsciously, Brian found himself searching for the landlord's footfalls, the old man hated disruption in his building. "I'm not gonna run away because of what happened to mom and dad. I'm doing something important, something they could be proud of. I'd be nothing if I ran. If I'm obsessed with anything, its being half as good as my old man was. What's your excuse?"

Brian suckled on his busted lip, his anger deflated and his pride wounded. "I just don't want to be a fireman anymore," Was all he could bring himself to say. Stephen stared down at him as if he wasn't sure he heard his brother right, condescending eyes burnt a new hole into Brian's already tattered pride. He walked away from the apartment doorway afterward. Brian sat on the floor for what seemed like a lifetime, Stephen's words hanging in the air, buzzing loudly in his head. He retreated back into his apartment and nursed a couple bottles of beer. He stared at his apartment walls for three hours before finally summoning up the courage to pick up the phone and call Stephen's house. Helen answered the phone, sleep evident in her tone. Suddenly he felt rotten for calling. "What do you want, Brian?" Helen asked. "C-can I talk to Stephen, please?" He said.

"No, he's not feeling well right now," She whispered. This gave Brian pause. "He-- is he alright?"

"Yeah, it just a migraine. He gets them from time to time," Helen replied. "…Did you two get into a fight? He came home in a mood."

"N-no, I haven't seen Stephen since yesterday," He lied. There was a hum of suspicion in Helen's sigh, she didn't believe him. "Alright. I'll tell him you called." And Helen hung up before he could thank her.

Thinking back now, Brian wished he told Stephen about his phobia of fire instead of letting him assume he stopped because he thought his brother was obsessed with it; Maybe their relationship wouldn't have ended up in a shambles (so to speak). Stephen would've understood, maybe even helped him overcome his fear quicker than he did. Now Stephen was gone, dead before they could really be brothers again. Brian had nothing but regrets, which far outweighed the moments peace between them. God, what was he going to tell Helen and Sean? Everything was fucked now. Brian lowered his head into his hands, the fireman's jacket felt heavier than before.

John Winchester heaved out a heavy breath as he leaned back against the wall of the waiting room. Beside him, his boys, Dean and Sam, sat quietly, their gazes focused on the their mud covered shoes. They'd been sitting in the hospital for last hour and a half, waiting for someone to look at Dean's wrist which he sprained in a fight with his brother. John remembered stepping into the motel and feeling his heart stop at the sight of his oldest cradling his arm against his chest, and Sam on his knees apologizing like he'd caused the end of the world. John hoped to get out of Chicago without incident.

He spent the better part of his time researching and tracking down a trickster who managed to collect a mass of bodies from various graves and set them loose on unsuspecting wanders in the park, near the lake. It was a pain in the ass trying to survey its hunting ground without being attacked by reanimated bodies. He must've cleaved about a dozen heads from their bodies before finally calling Bobby for assistance. Bobby gave him a incantation fore a locator spell and a quick reminder to use the stake when he went in for the kill. John thanked him, ignoring the last comment. The Redneck still didn't think he was any good at the hunt and was neglecting his children, but John was used to it by now, the open and implied criticism regarding his fighting and parenting skills. He was no novice when it came to the art of death (he was a soldier after all), and despite what people thought, he was doing better than he expected in concerns with raising Dean and Sam. Bobby's little trick worked perfectly: he found the trickster with little trouble and after a little tumble with the undead, drove the steak into the heart of the creature. Making sure he left no traces for the police to follow, John hauled ass to the motel. Now he was sitting In the hospital, his least favorite place in the world.

"Winchester? John Winchester?" The elder Winchester looked up from the floor toward the sound of the voice. A young woman, the doctor, looking to be no older than thirty eight, glanced around the hall for John when the man stood up. She was slightly taken aback by the height and rugged appearance of the man approaching her. "I'm John Winchester," He said with a sigh. The doctor nodded, casting her gaze to the sullen boy cradling his arm. Looking down at her clipboard for a quick refresher, she glanced up at the expectant John. "You said your son broke his arm?" She asked. John seemed to release a breath he wasn't aware of holding in. "Yes, he was rough housing with his brother, Sam. I just got back from work and found him favoring his right arm," John explained.

The doctor nodded her head, scanning the board once again. "Okay, well, let's get him into X-ray and see how bad the break is," She said, forcing a smile on her face. John nodded wordlessly, he started to order Dean out of his chair when he noticed Sam's chair was empty. "Dean, where's your brother?" He demanded. Dean snapped to attention, wincing only slightly when he moved his arm. Dean turned to check on his Sam, only to find he was missing from his spot. The color in his face drained completely at the sight of the empty chair next to him. Crap! The memory his other fowl-up crept into his mind and Dean couldn't stop the look of aghast from befalling his face.

He looked up to John, panicked. "He was right here a minute ago," He exclaimed nervously. "Shit," John muttered, running a hand through his hair. Sammy was never one for doing to what he was told. Johnny surveyed the area for a mop top of brown hair and Thundercats t-shirt, but saw nothing besides white jackets and green scrubs. Damnit. Looking to the doctor, who'd been ignored for the time, John said, "Doc, could you look after him a while? I gotta go look for my youngest," The doctor nodded. "Of course, I'll be waiting here," She said. John nodded his head in thanks, he hated leaving Dean alone with a stranger, but he needed to find Sam. Giving his eldest a pointed look, John took off down on the hall, calling for Sam. Dean watched his father fall in with the crowd with dismay. He messed up again, disappointed his father, again. When was he going to learn?!

"Does your brother disappear a lot, Dean?" The she-doctor asked. Dean gave her a half-hearted shrug. "Sometimes. Not a lot," He responded. The doctor made a noncommittal grunt, her eyes shifting to the left. Dean knew what she was thinking without even trying. He never understood everyone's fascination with the shortcomings of his father, or even why they tried to lay the "abuse" card on him. He was good man doing the best with what he had, he couldn't understand why he was the only who saw it. Sinking further into his seat, Dean's eyes averted to the clock on the wall, the hands hadn't moved since they got here, they were still stuck on 12:34am. He glowered at the wall. He was going to strangle Sam when Dad found him. First chance he got.

If there was anything adults made perfectly clear to kids like Sam, it was "never take candy from strangers" and "never talk to strangers". Technically, Sam was doing neither, but he got the feeling his dad was going to be upset with him anyway. And John would make it his business to drive his mistakes into his skull until he learned not to repeat them. Just like he did with his silent treatment in the car on the way to the hospital. Sam really didn't mean to hurt his brother; Dean was making sure he knew how to twist an opponents arm the proper way and stupidly, decided to use himself as a test dummy. Well, Sam caught the gist of what Dean was trying to show him a little too well. And John, who was usually impressed by things like that, was not happy to come home and have to take his sons out to the hospital to get his arm set.

Sam didn't try to apologize anymore, he just sat next to Dean like a man waiting for his execution day. Sam had been lazily observing the hall when his eyes fell on a man standing right beside him. Years of watching his father taught him not to jump, he simply watched, his wide eyes particularly focused on the bloodied and tattered side of the man's short sleeved shirt. When Sam blinked, the man was across from him, standing in the middle of the floor. He looked a little younger than John, his sandy brown hair was short, spiky, and wet. Blood ran down the left side of his face from his bloodshot eye. Sam blinked again, the man was now standing further away, the crowd walked through him, confirming Sam's suspicion. This guy's a ghost.

When the man didn't move any further, Sam got the strange feeling he wanted him to follow him. Out of compulsion, not reason, Sam rose from his chair and went after the ghost, never once looking back to see if his family noticed his absence. Sam was thankful the ghost remained on the first floor and didn't stray too far from where Dean and Dad were. Sam was fascinated by how the ghost seemed to travel without really moving, his feet hovered a few inches above the ground, toes pointed downward. Just as he was gaining ground on the ghost-man, he vanished over the threshold of an open door. Sam stumbled to a halt, surprised. "I guess we're here," He mumbled to himself. Cautiously, Sam approached the doorway hoping he wasn't attracting any undue attention to himself. Peering past the door frame his gaze focused on none other than the ghost himself. He laid in a hospital bed, hooked up to an heart-monitor, IV and breathing apparatus. Another man sat on the other side of the bed, face hidden by his hands. Sam's gaze shifted to the right, across from the bed a blonde woman sat in a chair, observing the ailing man with tears in her eyes. They must be his family, he thought.

Suddenly, the ghost-man on the bed started to move. The man and woman sat up in attention, watching nervously as the heart-monitor began to beep rapidly and ghost-man started to convulse a little, back arching off the mattress. Sam looked on as well, no longer concerned about getting back to John and Dean. A cough escaped the man as the woman placed herself on the edge of the bed and took her hold of his twitching hand.

The man's eyes fluttered opened, from this distance it was hard to tell what color they were. As if that matters, he thought. Sam felt himself jump back when the man's head turned to the side, eyes focused directly on him. He started to back away from the door just as someone snapped, "Samuel!" Sam turned in the direction of the voice, a very pissed John Winchester came marching toward him.

Busted, was all that came to mind. Sam looked to the strangers in the room, they watched him, perplexed expressions on their faces. John came up on him before Sam could apologize for invading their privacy. "Sam, what have I told you about wandering off? Huh? What have I told you?" John growled, dragging the boy away from the door. Sam reframed from telling his father how much of a mother hen he just sounded like and kept his gaze downward. "I think I saw a ghost," Sam said. "This is a hospital, Sam. There are more dead people here then there are at a cemetery," John remarked.

"No, I know, but --- he showed up like a ghost and I followed him down the hall. When I got there, to the room, he was alive in the bed," Sam rambled. "How's that possible?" John glanced down at his son, confused. "What are you trying to say, Sam? That the man had a out-of-body experience?" He asked.

Sam shrugged. "I guess," Sam said. Finally, John came to a stop, Sam gulped nervously when his father gripped his shoulders and proceeded to pull away. John lowered himself to the Sam's level, ignoring his evasive movement. "Whatever you saw doesn't matter. You never go off on your own, you never leave your brother's side. Do you understand me, Sam?" John said.

Sam nodded quickly.

"Your brother and I can't protect you if you don't do as your told. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand! I'm sorry for leaving," Sam blurted, hating to repeat, verbally, an affirmative to his father's question. John raised an eyebrow, not so confidant he got the message across to his son. Standing up John proceeded to lead Sam back to Dean. From behind, Helen McCaffrey watched the father and son go down the hall before retreating back inside the room. "Who was that?" Brian asked.

"I dunno. A boy and his father, I think," She replied. Helen sat back down on the edge of the bed, Stephen opened his eyes again. They didn't go any further than half mass, they were red and puffy, sore from being in that chemical fire. Add to the burning in his lungs into the mix and he was a package of pain that clearly indicated the meds were wearing off. Feeling pressure being applied to his hand, he turned his head to the left. Brian watched him worried. "Hey, man, you okay?" The words fell nervously from his mouth. Stephen noted his brother seemed like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Stephen managed a small shrug, struggling to blink, a shaky hand reached up and slid the breathing mask away from his mouth. "Was that -- Sean?" God he sounded horrible. He would never go into another fire without a mask again.

Brian paused for a second, he glanced up at the doorway remembering the curious little boy standing the doorway, a nervous grin graced his features. "Nah, just some kid," He replied. Stephen allowed his eyes to shut, fairly relieved. "Remember, I told you? I took Sean to my folks. He's alright, Stephen," Helen assured. Stephen grimaced at the patronizing tone in her voice. He hated being treated like an invalid, even if that's what he was presently. "…I don't remember," He whispered. "I could've sworn I died…" Brian felt his throat tighten at his words. He watched his brother drift off again. Helen met his gaze, her grip tightening on her husband's hand. Brian said nothing, just watched the troubled expression on his brother's face with concern.

(TBC)

Authors Note: So there you have it, the First three parts of this odd choice of crossover. After watching the Backdraft DVD for a refresher course, I've basically come to the conclusion that Brian McCaffrey lacked a decent sense of commitment, and not so much a fear of fire (though I wouldn't exclude that possibility altogether either), when it came to any profession he decided to delve into. That and, given Stephen's "Oh, you do? You know how I felt?" comment, I was reminded that neither brothers probably faced each other after Brian ditched the Academy six years ago. Nothing like a little elaboration from the imagination. As for the ordeal between Mrs. McCaffrey (who's name turns out to be "Mary Elizabeth McCaffrey". See the film's script, I kid you not.), Missouri, and Azazel? I'll elaborate on that later. Anyhow, let me know what you thought, I would love to hear from you.