Two hundred seventy-four.

Death watched and, as he always did, he counted. He viewed the world sans two hundred seventy-four souls who should have been walking the earth. This was merely the average. If he wanted to complicate things, he would have the numbers in three columns: those were dead who should have been alive, those who alive who should have been dead, and then the average between the two.

In all actuality, Death didn't particularly care who owned the souls. It was the soul itself that was important, which is why he counted by the average. His reapers had taken two-hundred seventy-four more souls than they would have if things had gone according to plan.

It was nice, though, seeing the Winchesters in this life. For one who was nearly as old as time itself, he looked forward to meeting those who would make their mark on the universe. The Winchester brothers were two such people, though they seemed rather normal now. Death wondered what was so special about these two boys that the fate of this entire planet depended on their choices almost exclusively.

Even now, the eldest was unconscious while his brother was in the kitchen having the abrasions on his face cleansed. They did not seem up to the challenges that awaited them. They were not hunters. They knew nothing of the supernatural, thanks to their father. They were not prepared as thoroughly as they should have been. The future would surely be as bleak as the scripts claimed. Their decisions would even reach as far as to affect Death himself.

They were truly remarkable souls.

Death gripped his cane tighter, holding himself back. Both brothers were injured—injured in different ways, but injured nonetheless—and neither was prepared for what was to come, but this was not Death's fight. He'd made a vow and he would stick by it, even if everything in him wanted nothing more than to reach through the sands of time and change their fate. There was only one good ending to this story, and, unfortunately for the brothers, those decisions had long since passed, leaving them with nothing to look forward to but what would be a burning wasteland of their home.


MOMMY!

"Dean," she whispers.

How did she get there? She never did this before. Stop playing Mommy, it's not funny. Get down from there. That's what she says when I'm not s'posed to be on the counter. Get down from there. But Mommy's not listening. She can't listen like I can 'cause the fire's real loud and it's too close. It's gonna burn. I know that 'cause of when Tommy and me roasted marshmallows outside in his fire pit with his dad. Fire burns and Mommy's too close and she's going to burn too. And burns hurt. But Mommy's already hurt bad like when I fell offa my bike when the training wheels came off only there's lots more red than when I was hurt. The red's dripping lots and I can see it drip on Sammy.

Get down from there, Mommy.

Mommy doesn't listen but I can hear her whispering "Dean," so maybe she can hear me too.

I can't talk 'cause, when I look at Mommy, her hair is already getting burned by the fire. I want to giggle, but cry too 'cause the fire looks like her hair now, but I know it hurts bad and she's scared. I didn't know Mommy could be scared. I can be scared though and I am 'cause my heart's pounding—thuthump, thuthump, thuthump—real hard and it's hard to breathe now.

So I run. I run to where it's safe, where it's always safe. I stand in the door to Daddy's room 'cause I hafta see even if I'm scared. Four is big, but I close my eyes anyway. And when I look Daddy's really close to me like magic. He was in Sammy's room and now he isn't. Maybe Daddy can abracadabra Mommy offa the roof and then we can stop her hurt.

"Daddy!" I yell to tell him to help, but he starts talking fast.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can," he says and he gives me Sammy. There's drips on his mouth that I know is Mommy's red and Sammy's crying real loud so I can't say anything either. "Don't look back!"

I can't run with Sammy. He's heavy and moving and I'm scared and Mommy's on the roof and she's real hurt, but Daddy doesn't care 'cause he keeps yelling, telling me to go, now. So I do what I know I should have done before. I listen. I'm always s'posed to listen to Daddy, specially when it's a emergency. If I listened before, Mommy woulda got down from the roof and her red would be inside like it's s'posed to be and Sammy wouldn't be crying loud and I wouldn't hafta listen to Daddy call Mommy's other name over and over sounding real scared like Mommy did.

Is Daddy on the roof now? I hope not 'cause there's lots of fire there and he could get hurt too.

I make it outside quick quick and I'm safe in the grass. "It's okay, Sammy," I tell him and then I'm flying in the air when Daddy picks us up. The windows make a crash and I think that I'm going to be on fire 'cause I can feel it now and it's real hot, but the fire stays inside. Daddy takes me and Sammy 'cross the street, but I watch the door, waiting for Mommy…


When Dean regained consciousness, it was with a sudden start. He was completely awake before even a second had passed and was on his feet a few moments later. There was no moment of disorientation, no dulling of his anger, no lessoning of the thoughts pounding into his head—walk away, my fault, protect Sammy, walk away, walk away, Sammy, walk away, my fault, protect Sammy, my, walk away, fault, away, Sammy.

Dean's anger was still hot, destructive, bad. He needed to move.

Dean bolted out of the house, happy that he didn't pass anyone on his way out. He headed straight for the tree line that bordered their backyard and didn't stop until he was far enough away that no one could hear him.

He yelled, screamed into the thick trees, giving the pent up frustration an outlet. It wasn't enough. He grabbed a fallen branch and swung it rhythmically against the heavy trunk of the neatest tree, using all of his excess energy. The branch broke before he did and, when it was nothing more than a pile of large splinters, Dean grabbed another and repeated the process.

He was there for an hour before he felt his resolve wane. He was panting and sweating and tired beyond belief. The tree that bore the brunt of his attacks stood unharmed before him and it was that sight that caused Dean to drop the branch.

He was still angry alright, but not at Fuller anymore. The guy was an idiot—a strong idiot—but an idiot nonetheless. Principal Morrigan would suspend or expel him and he would be taken off of the school sports teams indefinitely, especially after the coaches caught wind of what he'd done to Sammy.

Sam may not have been part of the team, but he was family. He came to every game, cheered them all on, even helped tutor a few of Dean's teammates when their grades were less than adequate. He was a good kid and teachers and coaches alike couldn't help but agree that Dean's protectiveness was contagious.

Fuller didn't warrant any of Dean's anger. He was old news, stricken from his mind even before Dean had collapsed in the bathroom.

Dean, on the other hand, should have done more to protect Sammy. He'd been given more opportunities than he should have had to help him. Sam had obviously known this was coming with the way he'd been acting that morning, then there was Derek's talk. He'd had plenty of time that day to stop Fuller before he'd gotten to Sam. It was Dean's failure.

Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now, Dean, go!

Take care of Sammy.

Protect your brother.

It had been drilled into his head over and over. Protect Sammy. It was his only job and he went and screwed it all up. This wasn't the first time either. It seemed as if his life was a constant state of disappointment. Spencer, his parents, even Sam, they were always bent on telling him that it wasn't his responsibility, but it was and why couldn't they see that? Sammy was his brother.

Dean heard the heavy footsteps even before he saw who made them. As Sam came into view, Dean was grateful at least that he wasn't lost in a rage like he'd been just minutes before. Had Sam waited until he was done before approaching? Or was it just good timing? Dean didn't know and for his own sake, he hoped Sam wouldn't tell him.

"Ma's looking for you," Sam said.

Dean nodded. He figured that she would be. By now, one of his coaches would have called to inform her of his no show.

"He was expelled you know."

Dean knew.

"Amy got the vice principal before Jake could get in more than a few hits. He's not even allowed to come back to get his stuff. They're sending everything home with Ralph."

Ralph Fuller, Jake's older brother. The senior wasn't as big of an ass, though they definitely had similar traits. Dean was happy the guy wouldn't be back. While he wasn't angry with Jake, he probably wouldn't have been able to keep from punching the guy if given the opportunity.

"Sorry, Dee," Sam said, shooting his puppy dog eyes at his brother.

What the hell did the kid have to be sorry for? Letting himself get beat up? Dean rolled his eyes and flung his arm over Sammy's shoulder.

"Come on," Sam said. "Ma called Spencer. I'm sure you're in for an earful."

Dean groaned, but followed Sam anyway back to the house. It was a long walk, longer than he remembered when he was running before, but it was easier this time without the blinding rage taking hold of him.

He didn't kid himself. Dean was still angry. This time, though, it wasn't an all-consuming, destructive anger. It was a cold, calculating anger that he'd learned to live with his entire life. He was angry, but it was under his tight control and not a single tendril would escape him unless he wanted it to. With this anger, there was no chance of it hurting anyone that Dean didn't want it to hurt. The problem now was that there was no outlet for it, no way to let it go.


I wasn't planning on including these two chapters in the story. I actually cut them out and pasted them in a seperate doc. labeled: DeletedCH_DeathCounted1, but then my friend (yes, Kristi, it's you this time) said that I should reconsider cutting them. I did as she asked and decided what the hell, can't hurt. The next chapter will still be posted tomorrow. Don't forget to review, Readers. I love reading them, especially the predictions on what you all think is going to happen. Read on!