Disclaimer: This is an AU story based on the world of Supernatural. All characters, locations, situations, etc, present within the show are the copyrighted property of Eric Kripke. I make no claim to these products, no money is being made from them, and no copyright infringement is intened. The following characters, however, are original characters and are therefore my own property: Charlie Morgan and Alaric Resoi. (This list will be updated as the story progresses.)


If someone were to walk into here right now, thought Dean, it would look really suspicious. Pictures adorned the walls – shots from Sam's burnt out house, a picture of Jessica Moore at university standing next to one of her professors – as well as various notes and pieces of mythology, the latter of which seemed redundant to Dean, as they already knew exactly what they were looking for. A demon with yellow eyes.

Were the police to enter the motel room where he and Dad were currently staying, they would no doubt come to some erroneous conclusions which could possibly lead to the two hunter's incarceration. Still, that had never seemed to stop his father from using this method before.

Right now, however, Dean was at a loss as to what they should do next. They knew of no way to track the demon's movements, and other than the fact that both of its victims had been females connected to the Winchester family, Dean could see no link between the two different cases. What had possessed the demon to attack them all of a sudden, after twenty-one and a half years with absolutely no sign of it? And what was it that caused the creature to come after them in the first place – other than the usual demonic desire to do evil? If Dad knew, he certainly wasn't telling. They'd had no word from Sam yet – and that was assuming the girl – Becky, wasn't it? – had passed on Dean's message to his brother about what motel they were staying.

Considering the conversation he'd had with his dad straight after leaving Sam's friend's house, he hoped that, if Sam did call, it wouldn't be Dad who answered the phone.

YESTERDAY

"Well, that went well," said Dean, his voice filled with sarcasm as he applied another tissue to his slowly bleeding nose. "At least he didn't break it."

His dad, standing near the Impala with both hands in his pockets and staring off into the distance (completely ignoring his son's injury), simply grunted.

"Dad, you alright? You didn't really say much in there..."

"Boy's made his own choices," said John quietly. "I guess that's something." Dean was silent. There was a slight inflection to John's voice that Dean almost recognised, but couldn't really believe. It sounded like pride.

"So, we going to leave?" asked Dean.

John turned to look sharply at him. Dean instantly cringed, regretting his words. "I just meant... What are the chances the demon actually sticked around?"

"We're staying," said John, the previous emotion – whatever it was – gone from his voice. "We've got a job to do."

TODAY

Dean sighed heavily and rolled over onto his stomach, the cheap fabric of the sheets rubbing against his skin, causing an irritation he'd learnt to ignore years ago. He reached out for his mobile, which was sitting on the bedside table, and began to punch in Bobby's number. Maybe he'd be able to help.

But he got no further than the fifth number of Bobby's mobile before the sound of someone ringing the bell of the motel room. Dean groaned but got up none the less. Dad had said he'd be back soon, but he had a key – so who was it that had come to disturb him?

Dean opened the door, half-expecting to see no-one, the bell having been rung by some idiotic teenagers. But instead he was greeted by a brown-haired man with a British accent.

"Dean, right?" asked the man.

Dean nodded and surreptitiously glanced down at the line of salt that ringed the doorway. If he was a demon, he would still be safe.

The man grinned and offered Dean his hand. "Name's Charlie. I'm a friend of your brother's. You doing anything hideously important right now?"

Dean shook his head, still suspicious.

"Right then," laughed the Brit. "Looks like you're coming with me."


S U P E R N A T U R A L

CHAPTER THREE:

" PREVIOUSLY ON... "

BY NAMIKO-KII


John had decided that he hated surprises.

Granted, surprises in his line of business tended to be bad. But that normally did not encourage a hatred of all surprises, even good ones. And there were of course, those that would consider the sudden reappearance of their long lost son a good surprise. Unfortunately for Sam, John was not one of them. John had long since accepted that his youngest son was gone. He hadn't been glad that Sam was gone, but he'd accepted it – known there was nothing he could do to change the fact.

For the first year, of course, he'd tried to find him – tried desperately – but after that he had simply chalked Sam up as another casualty to the Winchester life.

And now he was back.

He had no idea how to deal with that, because, even when his thoughts turned to the boy, he'd written Sam out of his life for good. The similarity of their situations had hardly helped. John knew he should comfort his son, help him through the grief he was feeling – and John did know what he was feeling – but somehow he couldn't.

All of this dominated his mind as he drove back to the motel, having been scouring the wreckage of Sam's house for more leads, and perhaps some answers to the questions in his troubled mind. Yet before he could come up with a good enough reason why he couldn't even offer his own son sympathy, he was interrupted by yet another one of those blasted surprises.

Pulling into the car-park next to the motel, he spotted Dean walking along the row of rooms. However, he was not alone. Next to him was a red-headed man John didn't recognise. And of course, unknown equalled untrustworthy.

Driving up to where the two of them were, John leaned forward, glaring at the redheaded man. "What's going on?" he asked, glancing at Dean, who rolled his eyes.

"Dad, this is Charlie," said Dean. "He's, well, he's Sam's friend." John stiffened slightly. What would one of Sam's friends want with them? The reactions they'd gotten out of the two they'd met so far – nervousness, and a punch in the nose to Dean respectively – did not bode well for this meeting.

"Best friend, thank you very much," inserted the redhead – Charlie – with a half-smile.

"Right," replied Dean. "Anyway," he glanced back at John, "he's offering to show us..." Dean frowned and turned to Charlie. "What exactly are you going to show us again?"

The redhead simply continued to smile vaguely at them, something that was already getting on John's nerves, and said, "I'm gonna show you what your long lost relative – that would be Sam – has been doing for the last six years."

John frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes, which caused John to narrow his eyes. He didn't have time for some fool – he had a demon to hunt. He was about to say as much – at least, the first part anyway – when Charlie said, "I guess I just thought you might want to know your son."

He turned and began to walk away.

"Nice one, Dad," muttered Dean quietly, but John heard anyway.

John sighed. For a moment he considered making Dean get in the car and then driving off for good. Curse it – if Sam didn't want their help (something he'd made clear by his sudden departure the day before), then there was no reason to give it. And yet...

"Oi!" John called. "Charlie Chaplin!"

"Yes?"

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

---

John watched sceptically as the redhead slid the key into the lock and swung the door open with practiced ease. "Here we are," said Charlie, stepping once more into Res's house. He flicked on the lights and beckoned them forward.

With cautious steps, John walked forward, the footsteps behind him indicating that Dean was doing the same.

They made their way back to the same room in which they had sat earlier although the room was now empty. As John watched, Charlie strolled over to a cabinet and began examining its shelves for something.

"So, where is it?" asked John bluntly.

Charlie turned to face him, an answer at the ready but then froze. John looked quizzically at him, before noticing that his gaze – not unlike that of the proverbial rabbit in the headlights – was not directed at him. "Where is what?" came a familiar voice.

John whirled around, and then he froze.

Sam.

For a moment, his direct stare softened, and he opened his mouth to speak. But the expression on his son's face stopped him. John felt the sympathy he had been lacking earlier rise up, but before he could express any of this, Sam turned and left the room without another word.

"Well, that went well," came Charlie's voice after a moment of stillness, his tone both sarcastic and sad.

John didn't look at him, staring instead at the empty doorway where Sam had been. A contemplative silence fell over the group until at last Charlie stood up from the cabinet, a photo album in hand. "Got it," he said, his voice almost hushed.

The three of them sat down, John and Dean on the couch and Charlie on one of the seats next to them. John watched as he placed the photo album on the coffee table in front of them.

"We were making this for their wedding," explained Charlie. "It was Becky's idea. I thought... well, it's more use to you now." He leaned forward and opened it.

Staring up at them was the same group photo John had seen at Becky's place. Written below it, in a cursive script that John – somehow – knew was Becky's, was the following:

'Congratulations, Sam and Jess. As we wish you the best in the future, here's a little bit of what came before. Sam, prepare to be embarrassed.'

John frowned at these words, trying to imagine what his scholarly second son could have done to embarrass him. Beside him, Dean grinned, probably thinking along the same line. Then, with a softness to his voice that caused Dean, he asked, "May I?", reaching for the book as he did so.

Charlie nodded, although John noticed him looking sceptically at him as he did so. John gently turned the page.

This one showed a picture of teenage versions of Sam, Charlie and another boy who looked a bit like Becky, all in soccer gear and grinning as they, along with several others, hefted a trophy in the air. A cheering coach stood near them.

"That," said Charlie, "was our year eleven soccer tournament. We barely won – Sam got the last goal."

The next few pictures were of both Sam and Jess with their respective friends, generally acting like idiots. Oddly, none of these pictures had anyone in common in them – not even the other member of the couple could be seen in Sam or Jess's pictures. When Dean remarked on this, Charlie shrugged and said, "They were in different groups at school. They were both pretty popular, but Jess was more shopping trips and cheerleaders, whereas Sam," he grinned, "didn't mind hanging out with the geeks."

John looked absently up at this. None of Sam's friends that he'd met so far seemed like, well, geeks.

Charlie laughed softly. "Right, you haven't met Zack yet," he said, and left it at that.

After this, Charlie started adding more commentary to photos, and John – despite himself – was almost grateful for this. Many of the pictures seemed to be accompanied by in-jokes, either in the captions or in just the inclusion of the pictures themselves, which he would not otherwise get.

For example, on one page there were two pictures, side-by-side. The first showed Charlie, Sam and the person he now knew to be Zack the geek. They were sitting in a cell at the local police office, on one of the bunks, while the person on the opposite side of the cell took the photo. The other showed a picture of the same three sitting inside a club, while Sam and Zack looked smug. They appeared to be teasing Charlie, who sat dejectedly next to them.

"Ah," said Charlie, leaning forward. "Yes... that."

John raised an eyebrow and said in a direct tone, "What?"

"Okay. You see that one on the left? The one at the club? That was when Sam and Zack made our fake IDs." John frowned at this, but he realised he could hardly complain about his son using a fake ID, considering the stash of them he had in the front of the Impala. But Charlie wasn't done. "And that," the redhead said, pointing to the picture in the police cell, "was when I made them."

Dean burst out laughing at this, while even John chuckled slightly.

Soon the pictures moved from high school to college. As they did, there was a shift. Sam and Jess started appearing in photos together, often with one of them looking at the other in a more-than-friends manner.

Charlie explained. "The rest of us went on a road trip for about a month after high school ended. Sam didn't come – he said he'd had enough of road trips when he was a kid-" John winced "-and besides, he wanted to get a head-start on his university stuff. When we came back, Sam and Jess were friends. It took them nearly two whole years after that to realise they both liked each other" he said, rolling his eyes. "The rest of us realised long before that."

More embarrassing pictures followed this. Charlie appeared, to John, to take great delight in pointing out the odd occurrences in the photos. "This is the first time Sam got drunk," he said, gesturing to a picture of a tipsy looking Sam. Turning the page, he added, "And this is the first time he got legally drunk."

At one point, Charlie turned the page and practically squealed in delight, causing John to look up at him, eyebrows raised and an expression of distaste on his face. "Sorry," said Charlie, although to John's mind he didn't look it, "this is my favourite."

The picture in question was one of Sam, smiling up at the camera, with a traffic cone on his head. "Yup," grinned Charlie, leaning back proudly. "That was when we crashed a frat party." Then he pointed, with great glee, to a figure in the background. Then he intoned, his voice deadly serious, "And that was the first and only time Zack hooked up in college." Sure enough, a closer inspection of the photo revealed Zack and a cheerleader making out. Dean laughed a bit at this, but John remained silent.

It seemed that, along with studying which Charlie assured John Sam actually had been doing, Sam had many crazy adventures, if they could be called that, while at college. Charlie happily showed them pictures from Sam's twenty-first, a weekend long trip to Vegas that Charlie had organised. "He nearly punched me when I suggested he and Jess elope while we were there," he said, a small shadow passing over his face as he said it.

There were pictures of Jess too, but Charlie had less to say about these, simply when the event in question took place. All the same, John found himself staring at these ones most of all. She seemed so... happy. They both did, whenever they were in photos at the same time. And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault they were no longer together.

Eventually they reached the last couple of pages. The second last page showed just Sam, holding up a letter. Underneath it was the words, scrawled in a different handwriting:

'Sam the genius – 174 on his LSATS!'

John felt a swell of pride at this, although in truth he knew that he was in no way responsible for his son's brilliant LSATs score, nor any other part of his life over the last six years.

The picture was accompanied by another, smaller and inset, this time of a party. In the background there was a banner reading, 'Congratulations, Sam,' with a messily drawn picture of a gravel – the type a judge used – next to it. It was the foreground of the picture, however, that drew John's attention. Smiling up at the camera were Sam and Jess, holding hands. They were both wearing engagement rings.

"That was taken the day after he proposed," said Charlie softly. "We all held a big party for them – a joint party for Sam's LSATs and their engagement. They were so happy." Reaching over, he closed the book, but not before John caught a glimpse of the last page.

It was fully decorated, but with an empty place for a photo still there.

As they left the house, John felt the weight of the past six years bearing down on him. Guilt – a hitherto unknown emotion for him, except in regard to Mary's death – clogged his throat, and he didn't say a word as he got into the Impala and drove off. Dean sat next to him, offering joking comments about the photos, but John did not respond and remained staring at the road in front of him.

Sam had had such a full life over the last six years, all of it without him. John had always acted like that was such an unworthy aim, to want a normal life – like Sam was an idiot for even wanting such a thing – yet somehow the boy had managed to achieve it. At only sixteen, he'd run away, fully prepared to be all on his own rather than with his family... God, it's all my fault...

But he hadn't been alone. He'd made friends, and excelled within the life he'd chosen. And for that, John was proud of him. What father wouldn't be proud – seeing these people, meeting them, knowing how well his son had done? Even if John had had nothing to do with that, he was still so proud of Sam for it.

And he was going to grow up, be a lawyer, get married, have children... be normal... if it weren't for that goddamn demon...

As he drove out of the street where Res's house was, John promised himself once more that he was going to kill that demon. But now, he did it not only for Mary, for the life he'd had that had been torn away, but for Sam, too.

John was willing to do almost everything in his power to help Sam live the normal life he'd always wanted, and never fully been able to have...

Because, for the first time in his life, John understood why he wanted it.