Part 6: The Way They Were

--

The woman appeared in a doorway off the living room with a bemused expression and a hand on her hip. She was beautiful, much more so than any photograph could capture. The too red hair falling in waves past her shoulders, the bright blue eyes, the quirk of a loving smile. She didn't wear makeup; she didn't need to. She was dressed in jeans and an oversized violet sweatshirt that hung low off one of her pale shoulders.

"Deklin," she said again, calling to her husband as she approached him, "You're supposed to put the baby to sleep, not the other way around." The smile on her lips shifted into a smirk. She stopped just in front of the couch, barely a foot from where an adult Sasha was still crouched.

Deklin stirred, lifting his head with tired eyes and a small smile of his own. He looked down at what was so obviously his son, a wide awake little bundle of a boy who was happily squirming in Daddy's arms. "Well that was the original idea. You're making me look bad, buddy," he whispered to the tiny redhead.

A smile broke onto the real Sasha's face, but it was a sad smile. His eyes were turned down at their edges and already shimmering wet.

"He's like a little space heater," Deklin was saying, resituating himself but not getting up from the couch, "Puts me out every time. I can't help it."

Solaris—for there was no denying who she was—looked thoroughly amused by the situation. She leaned towards Deklin and kissed his forehead, smoothing back his longer dark hair with her hand. Deklin had that black Irish look going for him—black hair, blue eyes, fairer skin, though not as fair as his wife's. His hair was layered and wavy to his shoulders. He looked twenty-five of course, but what surprised Dean was the sight of rugged stubble.

Sasha didn't even have a shaving kit. Dean had certainly never seen the guy shave and assumed that as an incubus he didn't need to. It made Dean wonder if the rules were different for the initiated.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so easy to put you to sleep if you weren't staying up so late with all that research," Solaris said chidingly to her husband. She was still smiling.

"The bad guys don't take days off, Sol, so neither should I," Deklin replied. He looked down at little baby Sasha again and smiled. "Besides, if I'm already up then I can take first shift with this guy. Male bonding time is very important for us, ya know."

A melodic giggle left the succubus. "I'm not saying I don't enjoy the benefits," she joked, "Just don't wear yourself out. You can still get fatigued as an incubus. You're not invulnerable. You're a hunter, a husband, and a father. Some might consider that too much for one man."

Deklin just grinned. "I thought that's what all the sex was for," he said through a laugh.

"Very funny," Solaris droned, bending down again to kiss him full on the lips. It was a slow, easy kiss, comfortable in their passion and how it flowed between them. Dean liked to think his parents had been like that. His young memories weren't enough for him to be sure but when he thought of the few times his father actually talked about Mary Winchester there was definitely a longing in the man's words that could only exist when the love lost had been potent.

Solaris pulled away. Deklin was smiling wide as ever and that's what finally did it for Dean, what made him realize something that should have been obvious. Sasha looked just like his father. Pictures couldn't really capture the resemblance well enough but it was clear before them now. Sasha had his mother's eyes, but the rest of his face, especially the smile, was all Deklin.

Maybe Dean was thinking or feeling too loudly because that was the moment Sasha turned and saw them. Dean and Sam both shrank back but Sasha wasn't upset. He just smiled wide with an expression so like his father's and turned back to the scene.

"Well, young man," Solaris began in a mock-stern voice to her son, "If you're not going to take a nap like you're supposed to then I guess there's no way around it. Deklin," she said, looking to her husband, "dinner has about five minutes left. Until then…tummy time!" Her smile was devious as she turned back towards what Dean had to assume was the kitchen.

The look on Deklin's face left behind in his wife's wake was simply laughable—abject horror if Dean had ever seen it. "Sol!" he called after her miserably, "He hates it. Screams bloody murder the entire time."

"He still has to do it," called back Solaris' voice from the other room, "All babies need tummy time, Deklin. He can cry all he wants. There will always be necessary things he won't like doing. Doesn't mean they don't have to be done. It's part of life."

"Says who," Deklin grumbled.

"Deklin." The tone left no room for argument and it was obvious who held the real authority in the household.

With a defeated sigh, Deklin rose to his feet and shifted little Sasha to his other arm. This gave the brothers at the door a clearer view of the baby finally. Other than the small bit of Crayola red hair he looked like a perfectly normal infant. Paler birth-blue eyes, rosier skin. Dean vaguely remembered a survival-of-the-fittest lecture he once heard about how babies had big eyes and all that cute going for them so that parents would become that much more attached and want to protect them. Maybe little stubs of horns and the rest came later.

Then Sasha answered Dean's thought processes as if he knew exactly what Dean had been thinking.

"It's what we call an instinctive glamour," Sasha said, standing to get out of the way as his father moved to the center of the room where a blanket was already laid out on the floor, "That's why I look so human. It usually lasts most of a child's first year. Defense mechanism. Our parents can put one on us after that if we're in the human plain. We don't master how to put one on ourselves again until we're older."

"Now listen up, buddy," Deklin said, lowering himself to a cross-legged position in front of the blanket. The older Sasha immediately quieted. Deklin looked like he could fit into almost any time period, clad in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and looking so much like a normal young father holding his son. "Rule number one," he grinned as little Sasha cooed up at him, "Women never make sense. You'll be happier from the start if you learn that right now."

That brought a smirk to Dean's face. He definitely liked this guy.

"Rule number two," Deklin continued, "When in doubt…see rule number one."

"I can hear you out there!" called Solaris suddenly and Dean lost it. That deserved a laugh even if he was hesitant to interrupt the scene. He didn't feel bad about it though because Sam and Sasha chuckled too.

They laughed even harder when Deklin's reply was a grinning, "Love you!" and Solaris' response came back just as mirthful.

"You better!"

Deklin returned his attention to what he was supposed to be doing and his grin faded. "Okay, pal, gotta do this," he said to his son, holding little Sasha carefully out in front of him, "Rule number three, and this one's a little bit different. No matter how bad things get, trust me, they can always get worse."

Dean snorted at the familiar saying.

"But eventually, and I promise you this," Deklin went on, getting his face close to his son's with a warm smile, "They will get better. Now you may not believe me in a minute, but I swear they always do. I got you, didn't I? Mom's not too bad either," he whispered.

That would have been worthy of a laugh too if Dean's heart didn't feel like it was tearing at the edges a bit. Sasha had moved to sit near his father on the floor. Dean could see the incubus' face clearly and it had the same signs of breaking that Dean could feel in his own chest. And yet Sasha, just like his father, was smiling. There was adoration in his eyes almost strong enough to mask the pain, but Dean still saw it, saw the menagerie of emotions playing out on his friend's face. He wanted to enter the room so badly just then because even though Sasha was only a few feet from the father he had never known, it made him look so strangely alone.

Deklin carefully lifted his son to lay him on his stomach on top of the blanket. It took maybe two seconds for the little boy to realize he was in a position he did not like before he started wailing.

"Come on now, it's not so bad," Deklin tried, smoothing a thumb over the boy's plump cheek. The baby cried on. "You're breaking my heart here, kid," Deklin said despondently, even though he was still trying to smile.

It was such a painfully heartwarming thing to see how the young-looking hunter turned incubus lay back to mirror his little boy and got his face right down there too. Dean could easily forget that Deklin was a man who had lost family and friends over twenty-five years worth of hunting when he saw how much Deklin was in love with being a father.

"Your uncle Jonathan hated this too," Deklin said, talking freely like he almost expected little Sasha to talk back, "I was barely five when he was your age, which was…god, forty-five years ago, but I remember. He howled the whole time. Your grandfather," Deklin spoke right on through the boy's crying, "He said I was so excited to have a little brother that I'd set toys next to him and pretend we were playing even before he could crawl." And then came the sorrowful smile, such a perfect echo of Sasha's—the one Sasha wore often and was definitely wearing now—that Dean had to bite his lip.

There was something sinister in this house if it made them see things that wrenched their hearts so fully. There had to be.

Little Sasha was not calmed by his father's voice but just kept on crying loudly, unable to roll over and right himself as he wanted—clearly not a fan of this necessary tummy time. Deklin was caught somewhere between distraught over being unable to stop the crying and amused at how determined the baby was to scream his lungs out.

Apparently, Deklin had been saving the big guns as a last resort, because when even gentle little strokes on the boy's back did nothing to calm him, Deklin grinned wide and started singing.

Oh, the shark has pretty teeth dear
And he shows em, pearly white
Just a jack knife has macheath dear
And he keeps it way out of sight

Adult Sasha let out a bark of a laugh. He immediately covered his mouth so he wouldn't interrupt the song. Deklin didn't quite have the same flare for singing as his now grown-up son, but he put all of his heart into it. He hit the notes fine, he just wasn't anything special. Dean assumed Deklin was more into the playing side of things what with all the guitars. Sasha must have gotten his singing talent from his mother.

Little Sasha didn't care for the particulars though. While his father's voice hadn't soothed him before, the change into singing started to bring the wails down to unsure sniffles. Deklin's smile grew as he sang on.

When that shark bites with his teeth, dear

Deklin made a little chomp with his teeth and Dean caught a flash of fangs.

Scarlet billows begin to spread
Fancy gloves though has macheath dear
So there's never, never a trace of red

"Deklin Kelly," sounded Solaris' humored but disapproving voice from the doorway. Dean looked and saw the redheaded succubus poised between kitchen and living room with arms crossed tight across her chest. "You are not singing Mack the Knife to our six week old son."

That hand-in-the-cookie-jar guilt crossed Deklin's face for maybe a moment and then his grin grew so that it strained across his cheeks. "Anything Old Blue Eyes sings is a good enough lullaby for my boy. And that's the one he likes best remember? When you were pregnant he only kicked when it was Frank." Deklin lifted his head to peer around the couch at his wife, his smile wide and toothy. "Soothes him too so shush." He turned right back to little Sasha then and started in again.

On the sidewalk, one Sunday morning

Deklin's voice was louder now, and though the baby had started to fall back into crying during the interruption, he quieted when Deklin continued. Solaris walked into the living room, no honest disapproval left on her face. She reached her men and was about to sit right down next to them—and right next to the older Sasha too. Deklin kept singing but sat up and gestured to his wife to keep standing. She looked on a little curiously, but listened. Deklin stood up and took Solaris' hand, leading her just enough out of the way so that they had room to dance.

Dean knew immediately that that was Deklin's plan. It was written all over the man's face in a way so like Sasha again. And indeed the dark-haired incubus—Dean had to keep reminding himself that since he had always thought hunter first when thinking of Deklin Kelly—pulled his wife in close and led her into a smooth, practiced two-step. Sasha's grace clearly didn't come only from being an incubus.

From a tugboat, on the river going slow
A cement bag is dropping on down
You know that cement is for the weight dear
You can make a large bet mackies back in town

From what Dean knew of normal human infants, six weeks was a little young to really know what was going on or even see all that clearly, but baby Sasha sure seemed to be looking towards his parents just like the adult version was. Deklin sang, dancing like someone who had learned how back when dancing was the way youth rebelled. Deklin had been a teenager in the 50s so that was just about right.

My man louis miller, he split the scene babe
After drawing out all the bread from his stash
Now macheath spends—

A buzzer went off in the kitchen, startling both of them so that Deklin cut off mid-verse and the couple almost tumbled against the back of the couch. They laughed long and hard after that. Until little Sasha started wailing again.

"Oh," Solaris said down to the boy, looking all kinds of motherly, "I suppose that means you're done for now, baby, but don't think you'll get off so easy next time." She pulled out of Deklin's lingering hold and went to lift her son from the blanket. He quieted as soon as he was safe in her arms.

"Hey now," Deklin said, "That's not fair at all."

"What?" Solaris blinked back at him.

"Now I look like the bad guy and you swoop in to be the hero. That's not right. He'll still be mad at me." Deklin was wearing an honest pout and it made Dean chuckle a little again. Dean would never have guessed this man was actually around fifty. Deklin acted much more like the twenty-five he looked. That had to have been one of the reasons Solaris fell for him, Dean figured. A man who never let himself feel his age was a perfect fit to be an incubus.

"I don't think he thinks that hard on it yet, Dek," said Solaris, "He'll forget he even had tummy time in a minute and you'll still be his favorite. Aren't you Daddy's little boy?" she cooed at her son.

There went another tear into Dean's heart. He just knew that his empathy-crazed little brother was feeling the same way and that Sasha had to be howling inside.

There were times when Dean felt like he had had that life, even after Mom was gone and they were all hunting. That's why he clung to those memories and let Sam dwell on the more often bad times. At least the Winchester boys had something of good times in their pasts. This tiny glimpse was as close as Sasha would ever get to knowing either of his parents.

Dean was about ready to call to Sasha that they really needed to move on. The sun was up, time was waning, and they were still no closer to solving this mystery. They shouldn't have let themselves get so wrapped up in their pasts to begin with, but then maybe they were right in assuming taking the tour was the best way to figuring things out. Dean certainly wouldn't have wanted to start off on the wrong foot only to regret it later. Now, however, it was time to finish the hunt.

"Tell me to stop."

The quiet plea was so sudden that Dean wasn't sure at first who said it.

"Tell me to stay," Deklin went on, walking up to stand before wife and son and looking all sorts of uncharacteristic distraught, "Tell me to let it stay just like this. And I'll do it. I'll quit. Life will be hard enough on him with what he is."

"Deklin…" Solaris looked just as suddenly troubled, the son in her arms finally looking tired and read for his overdue nap.

"Just say it and I will. You know I will."

"I'd never ask that," Solaris cut right back in, her red brow furrowed, "I'd never ask you to stop being what you are. This is something you need to do. I fell in love with a hunter. As crazy and dangerous and plain stupid as that was, it was right. I knew what I was getting into."

"But how can I raise him like that?" Deklin said forlornly, "We'll always be in danger, more than we would just by being something other than human. I don't want him growing up only knowing that, thinking he has to be like me. God, I'd wish him any life other than mine."

That seemed like such a blow that Dean felt it on Sasha's behalf. But looking at the older version, who had since stood up near his family, Sasha didn't look bothered by what Deklin had said. He had the sad smile, sure, no way around it, but there was something else. Something like inevitability. And Dean found himself envying Sasha more than he ever had.

It was an opposite life to the one Dean had led. Sasha chose to be a hunter and would never regret that even though he has now heard his father say that he wished something better for him. Dean never got that. Dean never got a choice. He knows he wouldn't have chosen anything different, but that chance was never even presented. Dean's father expected it. His father practically demanded it.

"Everyone makes their own choices, Deklin," Solaris said, smiling softly and reaching out to stroke her husband's cheek while she cradled her boy in the other arm.

"But what if he hates me for it?"

That was the moment Dean really understood the difference between his father and Sasha's. Deklin asked that question. If John ever had, Dean certainly never knew about it, and the answer hadn't been enough to stop vengeance from leading their lives. It made Dean wonder for one whole second if he would trade that part of his life with Sasha. It took him half that time to know the answer.

Never. Knowing John Winchester, hard as things were and resentful as Dean allowed himself to be sometimes, was better than never knowing him. Dean couldn't' judge his father because he didn't know how that felt. Losing everything—oh Dean knew that. But not really. Not everything. Not the loss of love like John lost when he lost Mary. That was something Dean hoped he never lived to understand.

"I could never hate you…" came Sasha's broken whisper like something so private Dean felt invading for having overheard it.

However Solaris responded Dean didn't hear, but Deklin was kissing his wife's temple now and then bent a little to kiss baby Sasha too.

"We…we have to go, right…?" Sasha asked, turning back to the door with tears in his eyes. Apparently, all that had been just one step too far for him.

Next to Dean, Sam smiled, all reassuring with the 'I'm here for you' look that Dean often mocked but loved at moments like this. "Yeah, we really should. After this it should go faster though. None of us can move past this room for memories. Dean?"

It took Dean a moment to understand why Sam was prompting him. Sasha was coming towards them and the incubus paused before stepping out of the room. In the end Sasha didn't look back before exiting. That meant it was Dean's turn. He had a twenty-five years ago. Sam didn't.

Dean wanted this over quickly because he knew exactly what he would see and he really didn't want to feel any lower than he already did. He wanted to grab Sasha by the back of the neck and kiss him until the incubus stopped looking so shattered. He couldn't yet though. They didn't have time. And time seemed to be the key with this place.

Casting Sasha one long look of affection, Dean saw an answering smile but still wished he could do more. He turned to the room and stepped over the threshold. The momentary white room changed again, this time into a bedroom. It was early morning so still a little dark. Dean could barely see but he knew it was his parents sleeping there.

Both of them.

The door to their bedroom cracked open and a little blonde four-year-old snuck inside. At first he was careful and sneaky about things, but as soon as he got to the foot of the bed, he scrambled up on top of the covers and pounced towards the larger figure. Dean expected John to wake up with a start, but apparently the ex-Marine was ready for this attack. Just as little Dean lunged forward John was up, flipping the boy over onto the mattress and tickling him mercilessly.

"Daddy!"

"Gotta plan those sneak-attacks better, Dean-O, or you'll never get one up on your old man," John laughed with that wide dimpled grin Dean wished he had seen more of in life.

Then what Dean didn't want to deal with happened. The other figure in bed sat up too, more tired looking but still radiant and smiling just as Dean remembered her. "Caught again, huh?" she said.

"Mama, help!" little Dean said through giggles, writhing on the bed as John continued his tickle assault.

"Oh, no," Mary said, "You got yourself into that mess. You can get out of it." She grinned and swung her feet over the edge of the bed and eased herself up onto her feet. It was easier than it would be over the next three months, though she was still fairly pregnant at this point, the bulge of a waiting Sammy making Mary's white nightgown stretch out in front of her. "Ooo," she said, sitting immediately back down on the edge of the mattress. She brought a hand to her stomach. "Someone's riled up this morning. I think your brother wants to say hi, honey."

By now John had ceased tickling and was wrestling more playfully with Dean on the bed. He let up when Mary said that and allowed Dean to scramble over to his mother's side. "Guess he's anxious to join in on all the fun, hey, pal?" John said.

Young Dean looked positively transfixed by his mother's stomach. When Mary took his little hand and placed it on a particular spot, Dean gave a jump as he felt the baby kick. He stared up into Mary's face with a wide smile. "I felt the baby, Mama."

"Can you say hi back, honey?"

"Hi, Sammy," little Dean said right away, real loud right next to Mary's stomach, sure in his four-year-logic that the baby could hear and understand him, "I wan' pancakes for breakfast. You wan' pancakes?" Dean jumped again when Sammy kicked. "He said yes, Mama!"

"Nice try, wise-guy," John said, reaching over to haul Dean up and over onto his own lap.

"Well," Mary said, standing up again and this time staying that way, "He did kick again. I suppose we might be able to do pancakes."

"Yay! Pancakes!"

Mary and John both laughed at Dean's exuberance. "You better help then," John said, getting out of bed with Dean lifted up into his arms, "What happened to that rule about no getting up before seven on a Saturday, huh?"

The real Dean had seen enough of the domestic scene. He had enough 'if onlys' to last him three lifetimes. Seeing things like this made him think too much about what might have been and that could lead nowhere good. That kind of thinking is what got Dean in trouble with the djinn. Dean wondered sometimes how different his perfect life would be if he ever ran into a djinn again. He was pretty sure that the model for his favorite beer would no longer be Mrs. Right.

Dean turned to head out of the room before the young Winchester family could head off down to the kitchen and came face to face with that twin puppy stare boring into him from the doorway. He really hated it when they did that at the same time. It was surely enough to undo the cosmos.

"Enough already, geez," Dean couldn't help saying, since he had had enough of the emotional crap what with last night's yellow-eyes scare. This walk down memory lane shit was far worse. They really needed a night out again. One that didn't end in run-ins with angry incubi or crazed hunters trying to kill them. "Onward march, boys," Dean said, pushing both Sam and Sasha in the chest when he reached the doorway, "Got people to save and a crazy house to stop. Move it."

Looking a little put out, Sam and Sasha obeyed, heading off further down the hallway towards the next door. Dean took one last moment to look over his shoulder—the way Sasha hadn't been able to do—and just stared at his pregnant, living, breathing mother. John and little Dean were already at the bedroom door, heading out. Mary lingered. She paused, placed her hand on her stomach again and smiled as if the baby was still kicking.

Dean knew that the woman in the scene couldn't hear him, but he hoped the real thing could, wherever she was.

"I got him, Mama," he whispered as quietly as he could, "And I'm not gonna let anything happen to him."

Sasha and Sam were waiting for Dean at the entrance to the next room. They were staring up at the inscription above the door with concerned faces.

"What?" Dean pressed, "Different than the others."

"No, not that," Sasha said, his brow crinkling, "It's just…it says thirty just like we thought it would. But then…we're not sure if we should go in."

"Why not?" Dean shrugged, pushing past them, "None of us have memories back that far so there's nothing to see." Dean stepped right into the room and both Sam and Sasha cried out after him. Dean turned back to stare at them and shrugged. "What?" he said again. The room was just another white square. Obviously, it didn't change into anything. Dean was twenty-nine not thirty.

A confused look passed over Sam. "Oh," he said, "We thought…well, we were worried maybe the spell went wrong if someone entered a room that went back older than they were. Guess not. You still should have waited though."

"Why?' Dean said. Sometimes the apparent 'brains' of the operation could be really dense. "If having people in a room with different memories confuses the house then obviously it wouldn't show anything if you aren't as old as the room. And if it was what you were thinking then I doubt the cops would have been spared just by going into these rooms together. All of them under thirty, or under whatever as the rooms get higher, would have had to come out vegetables. They didn't. We're up for a whole floor of plain white rooms now. Bring on the fun." Dean headed further into the room and whipped the EMF back out for good measure. At least this part of the hunt should go faster. He just wanted to get to that third floor. That's where the answers really were. He was sure of it.

Sam and Sasha were both a little put-out again by Dean's logical conclusion having beaten out theirs, but they didn't say anything. The next fifteen rooms went by surprisingly fast, leading all the way up to one hundred in jumps of five years. The layout was similar to the first floor. That didn't actually make a lot of sense with how the house looked from the outside, but again they figured normal construction rules didn't apply with cursed buildings.

As they were finishing up the last room, Dean pressed the research twins for more info. He was getting anxious and wanted to make sure they were all prepared before heading upstairs.

"Okay, so let me make sure I got this," he said, "This place was originally just a family house built way back when. Our dead curator's father, Williams Hollander Senior, turned the place into a museum for tours in 1948 when he was still a young guy. He died in the early 90s, leaving the house to his son, who continued the tours. When did the incidents start?"

"1948," Sasha said, leaning back against one of the plain white walls of the room, "About a month after the tours first started. Even back then they were private. Neither Hollander ever allowed the Historical Society to actually lay claim to the house. It was a private museum."

"For what?"

Sasha gaped at Dean a little. "For…the tours," he said lamely, "I guess it's never been stated to the public what the museum was for. People just assumed—"

"And that was their first mistake," Dean cut in, "Okay, so tours. They were pretty consistent over the years but only resulted in vegetables once in a while, meaning some people managed to get through this place fine. Why exactly did the police never tie the incidents with the Animus house?"

"That's the best part," Sam said. He and Dean gathered together over by Sasha. "When there was still a Hollander in charge, the people who didn't make it out of the house okay were found in their hotels or homes or somewhere else. There was no way to trace what happened to them here. Not enough hard evidence anyway. Which tells me…"

"They signed some kind of waver?" Dean questioned.

Sam shrugged. "Something like that."

"But then what about Mrs. 'I Saw My Husband's Ghost'? She saw a memory. She had to have known that. Why speak out."

"Maybe she didn't believe it," Sasha shrugged, "Even after signing something or promising something to Hollander. She didn't finish the tour. He probably thought good riddance. She only lived another year anyway. She was ninety-two."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. This was more frustrating than he wanted this early in the morning and he was sweaty from scouring so many rooms. "Okay, we've found the same thing for the last…what time is it?" he looked at his watch, "Shit, like two hours. Let's assume everyone on the tour always makes it through these rooms, looking in on their pasts until they get to the point they can't go back any further. Last step's the third floor. That's gotta be where our answer is."

There was obviously some anxiety over taking that next step though since they all knew what could potentially happen. They weren't cowards though, they were hunters, and risk to themselves was always part of the deal. Nodding to each other, the three boys headed out of the last room, back out onto the landing and started to climb the stairs.

There was no accompanying message scrawled at the top of the stair this time, but when they got to the third floor they came to a much smaller landing as if they had reached an attic. Before them were two close-set doors. Here there was a long message up high and then separate words directly above each door.

Sam used his flashlight since it was darker up here without any windows and started reading. "Look to the past and you move forward. Stay in the past and you stand still. Seek the future…and you shall fall behind."

"Great," Dean said. Poetic and all but, "What's it mean?"

"Well," Sasha supplied with a shrug, "I'd say it means…you should learn from your past without dwelling on it, and…if you think too much about the future you forget to live today. It's actually a pretty good lesson."

"With a nasty consequence," Dean snorted.

Sam was still pouring over the Latin. He brought his flashlight to look more closely at the words directly above each door. "Iam could mean the present or now," he said, reading the word above the door on the left, "And advenio," he said about the door on the right, "could mean future. It usually means to come, to reach, to arrive. So it's like a riddle. And the answer is either Present or Future. Right. At what point does David Bowie declare his love for us again?"

Dean snorted. Sammy wasn't completely useless in the pop culture side of things. "At least the riddles in Labyrinth actually get ya thinking," Dean said, "This one's easy. I'll take door #1, Wink," he said smacking Sam on the back.

"Yeah…" Sam said, but he wasn't looking at door #1.

"Hey," Dean insisted, pushing Sam a little harder this time, "Eyes on the prize. I'm sure after seeing the past a lot of people thought that glimpsing their future sounded like a fair deal. But we're not stupid, remember? It's pretty damn obvious that going through the future door, whether you get to see what it suggests or not, dumps you out on the other side a rug-rat. I don't know what the present door does, but if you ask me I say we make things simple."

Sasha and Sam turned to look at Dean expectantly.

With a grin, Dean took the small bottle of tighter fluid from his large leather coat pocket. They wouldn't need much to get a place like this going, old as it was and all wood. "We sanctify both doors and burn the place to the ground. We can sanctify the whole grounds afterwards if you want. That should nullify the spells and keep anyone knew from wandering in."

"But Dean," Sam objected, "We don't even know what the spells are. There are countless possibilities. This could be anything from basic witchcraft to idol worship or some kind of god. The power of this place may rest solely in memories but it's still great." Sam paused a moment, his brow crinkling like he was the biggest idiot in the world. "Animus house. Animus can be Latin for memory. That…really should have dawned on me before now."

Dean snorted. "Who cares. Memory House is going down. If it was just those rooms below I'd say, sweet, leave it be, but too many people would wonder through door #2 up here and we'd have even more cases like our Jane Doe and the others. It's a curse. Plain and simple. Sanctifying and burning the place should work."

"But…" Sam was looking at the future door again, "Think about this, Dean. Think what we might see. If we could harness this power instead of just destroying it—"

"Hey," Dean said sharply, grabbing the collar of Sam's coat, "You're the psychic boy, you figure out the 'I see the future' crap on your own time. You know better than to mess with curses."

"Maybe if we only looked inside," Sasha suggested meekly.

Great, both of them now. "No. Will you two listen to yourselves. You're not taking that kind of risk just to see if there's some secret way to save me from Hell in there." Dean wasn't stupid. He knew what they were looking to the future for, and that's what would get them in trouble. In any other situation neither of them would be so foolhardy. That's what bothered Dean the most, that even common sense eluded them when saving him came into play.

Sam and Sasha both had downcast eyes because of course they knew how foolish even thinking about doing what they were suggesting actually was. For decades people had been making the wrong choice in this house, whether knowing the consequences or not. But they were hunters. There was no room for negotiation.

Dean walked up to Sasha, opening the incubus' new dark leather coat, and plucked the flask of holy water from his inside pocket. He turned to look at Sam then. "Book," he commanded, pointing towards Sam's jacket where their father's journal was safely tucked away, "We sanctify. We burn. We sanctify again. Just like any cursed spot. No peeking allowed."

Reluctantly the others gave in to Dean's authority and everything seemed to be going fine at first. Sasha made a circle of salt around them on the landing to protect them from any safeguards the house might have. Dean sprinkled holy water on door #1 and Sam read the sanctifying spell. A curse didn't have to be demonic in nature for things like this to work. But anything that had a curse, even if only as a penalty for stupidity, had some dark magic to it, and a general sanctifying spell would be enough. Only a remaining living person or ghost of the initiator of the spells could nullify that. Both Hollanders were dead but the EMF had only gone off when faced with echoes of ghosts in the rooms.

Dean moved to door #2 and sprinkled this one with holy water as well. He nodded to Sam. The first word of Latin was barely out of Sam's mouth before the house started shaking.

"We have a winner!" Dean yelled over the noise, trying to steady his footing. He stared hard at Sam and the taller Winchester kept on reading. Dean wasn't going to waste any time. They were safe for now as long as they stayed inside the salt line. A cursed spot could be very much like a spook if it was put in place by someone powerful. Sometimes they even happened naturally, like most cold spots. Dean tossed Sasha the holy water and took the lighter fluid. He soaked both of the doors while Sam read. As soon as Sam was done they would light the place up and run for it.

They were all crouching lower to avoid falling as the shaking of the house intensified. The more Sam read the more the place shook, so much that they would almost think this was a demon attack if they didn't know better. The magic put into this place was strong all right and it did not want to give up its dominance over this spot.

Dean pulled out his lighter. He didn't smoke, but having a lighter sure came in handy in their line of work. Matches were too unpredictable. Marisol had pounded that one home.

There wasn't much left of the incantation to go but Sam was starting to lose his footing and his place in the book. Sasha moved carefully over to him and grabbed onto Sam's shoulders from behind to steady him. They were closer to door #2 while Dean was by door #1 with his lighter out, waiting.

Sam was two lines from the end of the spell when everything went sour.

The house shook more violently than ever, as if an earthquake was wracking the foundation, though they all knew that anyone passing outside the house would notice nothing out of the ordinary. It was such a violent tremor that Sasha slid back from his position behind Sam right into the salt line behind him. With the line broken the house gave a great shudder, an impossible wind rose up out of nowhere, and Dean went down. He had never cursed himself so much for being overly prepared. He had already readied the lighter. When he fell, the flame hit the floor and a blaze erupted.

The book flew from Sam's hands with the increasing wind. Sasha was still hanging onto Sam's shoulders even with his feet pushed back after sliding away. Dean tried to yell to them over the roar of the shaking house, but he couldn't even hear his own voice when it left him.

With a BANG both doors flew open away from each other so that the doors themselves slammed into the wall. All Dean could see was bright light emanating from both of them, like some crazy portals to god only knows where. He shielded his eyes and looked to Sam and Sasha, trying to yell louder this time because he couldn't move and the fire was already lapping towards his coat and climbing up the walls.

Sam and Sasha were staring into room #2 though, barely noticing the fire. Their eyes went wide as if suddenly seeing something unexpected. Before Dean had the chance to look as well and see what had them so frightened the wind spun into a vortex, lifting Sam and Sasha into the air and sucking them right into room #2 without ceremony.

Dean screamed but no sound came. This wasn't happening. He tried to move, tried to crawl, but the vortex spun towards him now, unseen but definitely felt, and lifted him into the air just as they had been. Dean was sucked away too but not towards where the others had gone. Dean flew towards the door closest to him. Door #1. White light may have been emanating from it before but when Dean went through the door marked 'present' everything went painfully black.

--

A pain in Dean's shoulder screamed as he came to. He had almost forgotten how it was still sore and bruised from being dislocated while all that mess was happening inside the Animus house.

The house.

Dean's eyes sprung open and he immediately sat up, pain be damned. He was sore in a lot more places than just his shoulder, and it was no wonder. Dean was lying on the lawn of the Animus house in the early morning sun, not too far from the sidewalk. This was good considering if he had been any closer he might have gotten caught in the debris that was left of the building.

The whole place had collapsed and was still smoking from the fire. Thankfully, the walls coming down must have smothered the flames before they could spread too far. That would have been a comfort if Dean didn't know that Sam and Sasha were buried somewhere amongst all that.

He thought for a brief moment that maybe that had been expelled like he had, but there was no sign of them. They had to be in the rubble. Dean didn't even think, he just ran, straight for where he thought made most sense for them to be after being sucked into the future room. As Dean scrambled forward, he couldn't help noticing how there didn't seem to be enough debris to make up that whole house, like maybe half of it had been sucked away into nothing.

Oh, god. Dean didn't want to think that that's what had happened to the others. He would rather find them broken and bloody than just find nothing.

"Sammy! Sasha!" he screamed as he climbed over on top of everything in search of some sign as to where they might be. At least it was still early so that no one seemed to be around. That didn't mean a house collapsing wouldn't bring company quick. He had to find them. "Sammy! Sasha!" he called again.

Dean spotted movement to his right and started scrambling that way. He reached the spot he thought he had seen shifting wood and started tossing pieces away. His shoulder burned with the effort. Dean had to lift what was left of a door and since none of the memory rooms had had doors attached, he guessed it was from the future room. Underneath that was a piece of broken wood from the 1st floor. He could still see the Latin and the number 'twenty' that had been above one of those rooms.

"Sammy!" Dean continued to call as he dug. He was so relieved when he finally spotted a hand and the cuff of Sam's jacket that he broke into a grin. As he was pushing and tossing more rubble away he noticed that the rubble was pushing up towards him too. That meant Sam was conscious. Sam was okay. "Sammy!" Dean cried in relief as he finally reached his brother. It shouldn't have been possible but Sam only looked dirty and out of breath. He didn't even have any cuts on him. "Jesus, are you okay? How are you okay?"

Sam was breathing very heavy and his eyes were as wide as Dean had ever seen them. He stared right at Dean, wild. "I…I don't know. What happened? Ev—" he cringed as he tried to move, "Everything hurts."

Of course Dean worried about internal injuries—Sam had just survived a house collapsing down around him—but then maybe being sucked into that room had somehow protected him. "Just…don't try to move for a minute, okay? Let me look at you." Dean reached towards his brother's face first even though it was obviously fine. He was surprised when Sam flinched before he could touch him.

Those hazel eyes were still wide, still staring at Dean, but now they looked as if they were trying to place Dean's face, like…they didn't know if they recognized him. "Dad…?" Sam said softly.

Dean's hand froze. "What? You…trying to be funny or something?" Dean half grinned. The expression fell flat though because the look on Sam's face was way too serious.

Sam started shaking his head and trying to scoot back away from Dean. "You…you're not my Dad," he said, his voice sounding small and frightened like Dean could barely remember hearing in the last who knows how many years.

"Sammy…" Dean called forlornly, "Hey…it's me. Of course it's not Dad. It's Dean. You know it's Dean." Even as Dean said that last line he wasn't sure if he believed it. Sam looked at him like looking at a stranger. "Sammy…"

Again, Sam scooted away when Dean tried to reach for him, shaking his head more fiercely. "You're not Dean. You…you can't be. Dean's only nine."

Nine. Lightning struck Dean's heart and everything stopped. Dean had to stay calm. "Sam," he said slowly, "How old do you think you are?" He asked the question but he knew this couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening.

"I…I'm four," Sam said, looking around with terrified, childlike eyes, "Where's Dad? Where's my dad?" He tried to scramble up onto his feet but couldn't get any real footing with all the wreckage beneath him. He ended up on his knees and flinched when Dean dropped in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Sammy, listen to me," Dean said, forcing himself to sound stern but also supportive. He couldn't panic. He needed to get things as under control as possible. The cops could be coming. Anyone could be coming. He had to get Sam and Sasha and get out of here until he figured things out. "Just believe me, Sam, please. You're not four. You're twenty-four, almost twenty-five." Dean thought of the piece of wood with the word 'twenty' on it as he said that. Twenty. Twenty years ago Sam was…four. "Look at yourself," Dean insisted when Sam tried to pull away.

Scared as he was, Sam listened, probably automatically since both of them could sound so much like Dad when they were being commanding. Those hazel eyes went even wider if possible as they took in the sight of the large body that belonged to Sam Winchester. "I…I'm all big."

A morbid part of Dean might have laughed but none of this was funny. "You're all grown up, Sammy, and I am Dean. You just need to trust me right now, okay? There's a friend of ours around here too and he might be hurt. I have to find him. Can you…can you just stay here and stay calm for me? Please, Sammy." Dean knew this was asking a lot of a not-quite five-year-old.

Sam looked up at Dean again and searched his face so hard that Dean almost felt invaded. It was the kind of open look only kids could give because they didn't understand tact or comfort zones. Sam still looked scared and unsure but Dean saw the moment when Sam calmed. "You…you look like Dad and Dean. You're Dean all big like me?"

Dean tried not to let the anguish he was feeling show in his expression. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm Dean all grown up. Just like you. Can you just…can you just sit here while I look for Sasha?"

A plank of wood went flying into the air from a spot right next to them and both Winchesters flinched away to the side, falling onto their hips. A hand was pushing out of the rubble and Dean recognized the dark brown of Sasha's leather jacket.

Trusting that Sam would at least stay put, Dean dropped his grip on his brother and moved over to this new spot. Sasha had come out pretty much right next to Sam it seemed. Dean called to his friend as he dug him out, so relieved again, because even if he found Sasha in the same state, at least both of them were alive.

Finally, there was that red hair Dean loved so much and bright blue eyes staring up at Dean, looking just as wild and frightened as Sam had looked. Still looked. Sasha didn't even try to speak or ask questions though. He stared at Dean and shrunk away, scrambling out of his hole in the rumble like a scared animal.

"No, no, no, wait!" Dean called. He couldn't risk Sasha running for it. "Wait," he said calmly, catching Sasha's gaze and holding it, "It's okay. I'm a friend. We're friends. You're Sasha Kelly. You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm just trying to help you. Can you…can you tell me how old you are?" He didn't want to ask but he had to. He wasn't at all surprised by the incubus' answer either.

In a voice almost too soft and small for Dean to hear, Sasha said, "F-Five," and his eyes darted over to Sam and then back to Dean, showing just how unsure he was that he could trust these strangers.

Four and five. They had both been underneath that 'twenty years ago' part of the spells. Dean couldn't help being thankful. If they hadn't fallen through the building when it went they probably would have come out like the others at age zero. At least Dean could reason with them at these ages. At least they could walk and talk.

But right now they had to get moving. Dean wanted to stay, wanting to sanctify the rest of the grounds and maybe finish what they started to get Sam and Sasha back to normal. But the last thing they needed was for the cops to show up halfway and take Sam and Sasha into custody. Who knows what would happen to them then. Dean could lose them forever to the state as mentally handicapped or who knows what. This was a nightmare.

"There's no time to explain, but you have to trust me," Dean said to Sasha, who thankfully looked just as uninjured as Sam aside from being sore, "You're not five. You're an adult but something happened to you. I'm your friend and I'm gonna help you figure it out, okay?"

Sasha was still looking wildly between Sam and Dean and Dean knew that if he made the wrong move he might lose Sasha. If the incubus got up and ran, or heaven forbid flew, Dean might never catch him. But as Sasha looked down at himself to find an adult body, he looked much as Sam had—scared but more inclined to believe that things were messed up.

"Yeah, I know this is weird," Dean said, "But me and my brother Sammy here, we know about this stuff. We're hunters."

Wrong thing to say. Sasha immediately blanched with a look of pure terror and rolled onto his front to try and scramble away.

"No!" Dean called, diving forward and just barely grabbing onto Sasha's ankle, "Hunters like your dad!" Dean amended, "Good hunters. Friends." Dean knew he couldn't stress that enough, but thankfully referencing Sasha's father seemed to do the trick. The incubus stopped trying to get away and looked back over his shoulder at Dean. "Yeah," Dean said, "Like your dad. We know what you are but we're your friends. You hunt with us. Well, actually, right now Sammy's in the same boat as you," Dean gestured over to his brother, "See, he looks all grown up too, right? But he thinks he's just shy of five. The same thing happened to both of you and you're gonna need my help to get better. Please. We have to get out of here."

Dean reluctantly released Sasha's ankle, relieved when the redhead stayed where he was. He looked from Sasha to Sam and back again. They were just scared little kids but something in their faces told Dean that they trusted him. They were smart enough to realize something was wrong and Dean was the only one who could help. If that's the only grace Dean was offered right now then he'd take it.

"Okay, now our car is parked down the street. We have to get to it and get out of here before any…any bad guys show up. See…they'll try and take you away and…and you won't know anybody. I know I seem like a stranger but I'm not. You gotta come with me."

There were so many questions both of them wanted to ask, Dean could tell. Kids were always like that but this was a special circumstance. This was different. Bigger. Therefore, Dean could have kissed them both when they got to their feet on wobbly legs, unused to maneuvering such large bodies, and gave him little nods of approval.

"Good," Dean smiled, standing as well and reaching out for Sasha to take his hand, "You know you can trust me."

The incubus hesitated, his head lowered like he was the shyest thing in the world, but he took a step towards Dean and grabbed his hand anyway. Dean led Sasha back closer to Sam then and reached out with his other hand to his brother.

They probably painted the strangest picture—three young men walking down the street holding hands. If the others had the bodies of five year olds it would have been sweet. But even if they did look strange, Dean knew it would make Sam and Sasha feel safer to have the physical contact, and frankly it made him feel safer too. He felt as if letting them go would mean losing them forever, and no matter how bleak things looked right now, Dean could not let that happen.

tbc...

A/N: I said this arc was called Children, didn't I? ;-) All right now, people, you really need to head on over to deangirl1 and read her companion fics. She'll have a new one up soon and it is so hysterical and hot at the same time. As always, feel free to check the website that I have been pretty good about updating and can be reached through my author profile. Otherwise, HAPPY JUNE! Six weeks to go til wedding time, two showers done and two more to go there, and...man! I must really love this story to be so addicted for you guys amidst all the wedding stuff. Thankfully, my honey understands. Now if I can just get him to draw me that picture of Sasha he promised...

Reviews are LOVE!

Crim