March 10, 1985

The car pulled up to the Storybook Motel, the tires crunching the pebbles that were laid instead of asphalt. Lips pursed; Winchester twisted his head to look over the windshield towards the motel's roof. There were shingles peeling off and curled. The windows of the rooms in front of the parking lot were frosted but not with textured glass – instead, they looked as if the panes had separated to allow water in between where mold grew relentlessly. There were a few garden gnomes and mushroom statues by the front door, where he imagined the owners thought it would be whimsical. Instead, they were moss-covered and dilapidated as the rest of the place. The branding said 'storybook', there was no specification of genre; perhaps the owners wanted their place to reflect a sense of horror. It was par for the course and perfect for the plans he'd made – well out of the way and barely any law enforcement.

A test at the neighboring motel last month determined a dismal police response time of seventeen minutes; they had to be careful to spread out the calls. They didn't want to call often enough to trigger a route and schedule modification. Last time, the cops that showed up were languidly sipping coffee and stereotypically eating donuts at the front desk, bullshitting with the secretary before realizing it was a crank call. The entire town had a total of four police cars.

"Daddy?" The small voice peeped from the car seat in the back, jarring him from his thoughts. "Sleep time?"

Gruffly, the man tiredly wiped at his face, then put on a fake gentle smile to answer the baby. "Yes, Sammy. We're sleeping here tonight. Want to go?"

"Go, go, go!" The almost-two-year-old chanted excitedly, spittle flying a foot in every direction as he started squirming to get out from his restraints.

John opened the door to his 1967 Chevy Impala, letting his legs drop to the ground before going around to the back so he could pick up the eager child. He barely unsnapped the clip before Sammy wriggled his way across the bench. Expectedly, the toddler threw himself on his brother's lap and hugged him as if they hadn't seen each other in hours. "Dee – let's go!"

Dean's body was curled into his brother, protective, yet silent. The boy's eyes were red-rimmed and teary. John supposed crying nearly non-stop for three days straight would be exhausting for anyone; Dean looked like a puff of wind would blow him over. "Dean," John started softly, "it's time to get settled for the night. I need you; the desk clerk can't be suspicious or think I'm kidnapping you or your brother. Wipe your eyes and smile, huh, son?"

"What about Stevie and Miss Dennison?" Dean prompted, swallowing hard and starting to turn green yet again.

With a hand against the boy's shoulder, John tried to offer what little comfort that he could. "Dean, I'll take care of it. You just take care of your little brother – how's that?"

Jerking away from the touch, Dean picked up his clinging little brother and walked ahead towards the registration office. John pulled down his leather jacket, taking a moment to put on a friendly innocent face. There was no reason for anyone to think him anything other than a loving father driving his boys across the country towards Disney Land as a pre-birthday treat.

He opened the door where Dean was waiting for him, Sammy dozing in his arms. Entering the office, John was happy to see an old lady manning the front desk. Putting on that good 'ol boy charm, John introduced himself, "Good evening, ma'am. I'd called earlier to book a group of rooms for my old college buddies. John Dixon's the name."

The old lady didn't say much but asked for his ID and credit card. He handed her his fake Iowa driver's license. "You requested the corner room? That's room 110. Your friends are in rooms 109, 108, and 107. There's a courtyard – not much there, but you could have a small bonfire to entertain or make smores for the kiddos – long as you don't burn down the place." The last part was said with a bite.

"Thank you, ma'am. That's very kind – I'm sure my boys would love that. And I promise we won't burn down the place." He spoke in a jovial tone, one that he used to put most people at ease while he investigated the monster that killed his wife. He'd be damned if another year went without justice.

With that, he steered Dean towards the room in the back, handing him the keys to the motel room while he drove the car towards the room near the dark room furthest away from the main office, and at the edge of the woods. During his research, he'd discovered that he could park across from the room, and the woods and building would block any outsiders' view. It was a blind spot.

Standing outside, he waited until he heard the roar of engines; his friends were on the way.

Poking his head inside the motel room, he spotted Dean in bed, cradling his baby brother; the six-year-old wasn't asleep but stared blankly across the room. For a second, John felt ashamed of himself but shook it off. This certainly wasn't the time for a guilt trip. Grabbing the key that Dean had left on the desk, Winchester locked the door just in time for the cars to park themselves next to the Impala.

He had to get his head in the game; what they were doing was necessary.

As if movie-moment coordinated, his team got out of their cars at once, then paraded themselves until they stood in front of him. John breathed deeply, then met each person's eyes when he spoke. "Thank you for coming, Daniel, Bill, Ellen, Bobby, Rufus, Jim. You will never know what this means to me – to my boys." He gave them a smile and shook their hands. "I've already paid for your rooms. You'll just have to pick up the keys from the front desk."

Bill Harvelle was lean but muscular. Most of all, the man was fast. Ellen joked her husband used to run track in high school and that the sight of him in the skimpy running shorts hooked her. Bill always joked back that the track uniform left little to her imagination, teasing her. In return, she'd make a joke about the size of his package, but looking at Ellen's swelling pregnant belly, no matter the dimensions, Bill's equipment did its intended job.

"Ellen, thank you for agreeing to watch the boys and for traveling all this way – especially in your condition."

Ellen gave him a smirk, "I wasn't going to miss this, John. While I can't run a marathon anytime soon – I can support you, boys. I'd be one happy new momma if I knew the big bad was dead before my daughter is born. Now, where are your babies?"

With a jerk of chin, he pointed towards the corner room, "Room 110. Next to yours." John waited for his team to check in at the front desk, then headed towards the 'courtyard' that the old lady offered. It was about as hospitable as the rest of the hotel. Dirty plastic chairs were blown away by the wind and not bothered to be picked up next to a stack of wood from trees that had fallen over, leaves decaying on the branches.

Soon, the group sat close together to finalize the last steps. There was an air of excitement as well as horror. John, as the unofficial leader of the group, went around the circle. "I've got both his son and daughter in the trunk of my car. Bobby, are you sure you know how to summon and trap it?"

Bobby was gruff. He had a full head of brown hair and a thick mustache. If anyone would walk past him in the street, they'd never know he'd just lost his wife to a demon. The man was smart; he knew his stuff. John considered him the brains of their operation. "The trap I put in your trunk held, didn't it? So, yeah – I can do it, John. Let's end this."

"Okay, let's go through the plan one more time. We know the contingencies; but if all goes well, we'll have saved the world tonight. Step 1) prepare the traps. Rufus, you and Jim start hammering the consecrated iron down on the ground. We can't risk salt tonight; we aren't letting this plan get ruined by a gust a fucking wind. Step 2) Bill and I will get Meg and Tom out of the trunk and in the trap. We'll get em' to summon their father. Jim – that's where you come in. If anything happens, we all have the exorcism memorized and can finish it. Step 3) we get Azazel here and we use Daniel's colt to put a bullet in his brain."

Ellen spoke up, "well, what about the hosts, John? You got a six-year-old little boy who's possessed by a high-level demon in your trunk. Your son's friend, right?"

John's eyes darkened, hatred filling his expression. "Yeah, the bastards were in my home. They slipped past me and came after my boys. Never again. Now, Ellen, we're gonna try and save 'em, but it ain't the end-all goal. If some sacrifices need to be made, so be it."

Bill wrapped an arm around his wife in comfort, whispering in her ear and patting her large belly. He directed her to the boy's room while the men prepared for the battle to come.

-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-

Dean sat in the unclean room, cuddling his sleepy little brother in his bed while Mrs. Ellen told them stories. Sammy enjoyed them, giggling when the lady made the appropriate animal noises. She was nice. She was going to have a baby; Dean knew with the wisdom of a six-year-old. Mrs. Ellen was really big – as big as mommy was before she had Sammy.

Dean didn't really want to talk to her, even though she was nice. He was sacred and a question flew from his lips, interrupting her mid-story. "Mrs. Ellen? Are Stevie and Miss Dennison going to be okay?" Tears reemerged, wetting his cheeks again. Sammy followed his lead and started crying too.

"Yes, darling. They'll be okay. There's no need to cry." The lady wiped at his tears, giving him a smile. "Your daddy is a hero, Dean."

Dean nodded, trying to stifle his sobs and calm down. Mrs. Ellen asked if they wanted to watch some cartoons and turned on the television to a kid's channel. She patted her big belly and told them that her baby girl needed a bathroom break. Dean was confused as to why the baby wanted to go to the bathroom instead of in a diaper, but nodded as she excused herself to the bathroom.

Sammy was sleeping and he didn't want to bother him so went outside to find Daddy. He heard noises that sounded like screaming and as he approached the forest, he saw his daddy's friend, Mr. Elkins holding a gun. The sound of the gunshot made him jump and he covered his eyes. When he pried them open again, he saw an old man lying in a pool of blood. Pastor Jim was reading from the Bible, Dean recognized the book and he saw Stevie screaming in a plastic chair that he was tied to. Miss Dennison was tied up beside him. She was crying. Everything was loud and his Daddy was angry at whatever they were saying. Daddy took the gun from Mr. Elkins and shot 'em both in the head.

Dean stood silent, shaking. He felt rather than saw the warmth of liquid run down the length of his jeans. 'It was an accident', he thought. 'Daddy wouldn't hurt anyone.' It was only when everyone smiled, slapping each other on the backs and laughing that he knew it wasn't an accident. They were happy.

He ran back to their room to get Sammy. 'Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now, Dean, Go!' the memory of the night mommy died still echoed inside Dean's mind. It wasn't safe. Sammy wasn't safe. He wasn't safe. That man wasn't his real daddy… Daddy wouldn't kill his friend. He didn't understand what was happening; confusion and horror melding together to where only protecting his brother made sense. He picked up his little brother and ran as fast as he could. He heard Mrs. Ellen calling out for him, but by the time she came out of the bathroom, he was gone.

-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-

It was dark and he was scared. Sammy was getting heavy and so he shook him awake to toddle beside him. He held Sammy's hand as they walked down the road and they didn't stop until a car with bright lights pulled up beside them. It was blue and white – a police car.

A police officer came out of the car and kneeled beside them. Sammy was pushed behind, in case the man was mean. Dean would protect him.

"Hi. My name is Officer Owen Allen. What's yours?"

Dean knew better than to speak to a stranger, but Miss Angela at school said that police officers were good guys. They help kids in trouble. "Dean."

"That your little brother?" The police officer was gentle.

"Sammy." Dean could feel Sammy's arms wrapping around his waist.

"Are you cold? I have a blanket in my car if you want to sit and warm up." Officer Allen offered; he didn't move as if he knew that the kids were a breath away from bolting. "My little girl, Jody made me a thermos full of hot cocoa that I can share with you. My daughter has a bit of a sweet tooth. How about the both of you? Do you like hot cocoa?"

Sammy poked out behind his shoulder to bob his head 'yes'. Dean followed the police officer to the car and let the man cover both in a thick orange blanket. As he promised, Owen poured them both a little hot cocoa and he blew on it for Sammy. Dean watched warily while the man spoke on the walkie-talkie in the car. Gave the lady on the other end some numbers.

"You both warming up, I hope? Feel a little better?" Officer Allen asked them, waiting until they nodded to ask another question. "How old are you, Dean?"

"Six," Dean softly replied, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"Is your brother three-years-old?"

"No, he's almost two. Daddy says he's gonna grow up to be really smart because he's ahead of the curve." Dean shrugged because he didn't understand why but his Daddy was always proud of Sammy. There was a sense of shame behind the comment because Daddy never said that Dean was going to grow up smart, only Sammy.

"Wow. He must be really special then. And you must be really brave to be walking around in the dark. Weren't you scared?"

Dean's lip quivered, and he couldn't help but cry again. "I was …really scared. But… I took Sammy… outside… as fast… I could and I didn't look back… like Daddy told me."

Sammy whimpered beside him, practically crawling inside his skin. "Do you know where Daddy is right now?"

Nodding, Dean keened in reply, "Storybook … motelll". He was crying so much he couldn't catch his breath. Officer Allen crawled inside the car beside them and picked him up so that he was cradled in his arms. Dean's head was resting against the man's shoulder. His back was rubbed softly in comfort.

"How about your mommy?"

"She …died… in the… fire." Dean said between sobs.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart. Try and take a couple of deep breaths. I'm going to help you and Sammy, Dean." Officer Allen was trying to figure out what was going on and why there were two very young children unattended. The area was safe, for the most part, but even in his small town, drugs ran rampant. He hoped this wasn't another drug lab gone wrong story. The man waited until the child could catch his breath before moving forward with his questioning, "What happened tonight? Why did your Daddy tell you to run?" He hated to further upset the distraught child, but he had to know what he was getting himself into and if he needed backup.

"Daddy killed Stevie… eeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhh… Daddy killed miss-d-sonnnn…. Ol' man. They were happy – dancin'." Dean was completely terrified, shaking like a leaf in his arms. Allen wasn't shocked when he felt wetness dripping down his shirt and pants. He wrapped the child tightly in the blanket to soak up the mess.

If what the kid was crying about was true, this would be the biggest event this town had seen since Mr. Clarren went into a drunken rage and killed his wife. That had been his first homicide on the job. He'd gone five years without another. He held the child against his shoulder for another few seconds, then shifted him so that he was lying down on the bench seat. The two-year-old didn't wait before throwing himself over his little brother, hugging him with a fierceness that Allen hadn't seen before. He gave the two children a pat, before getting up, closing the door behind them, and sitting in the driver seat. He quickly reached for his walkie, reporting "multiple 187s, I repeat suspected multiple 187s at the Storybook Motel near the Reserve. Unit 52 on route; cannot engage, repeat Unit 52 cannot engage. I've got two children in my cab."

"Dean, Sammy – we're going to see if we can find your Daddy. Now, we're going to the motel, but we're going to stay in the car. Okay?"

Poor kids couldn't reply, but he drove smoothly to the edge of town. Once he got there, he pulled out his floodlight and flashed it towards the forest. The motel was aging, and old Mrs. Mary Brant was stubborn; refusing to retire and leave it to her children. Allen worried for her. There was no sign of movement from the lobby.

The parking lot was empty, save for Mrs. Brant's old station wagon. A quick 2-second signal siren behind him alerted him to back up arriving. Lights flashing blue lit up the dark space. The car pulled up beside his and Allen rolled his window down.

"Jack," Allen nodded to the closest of the two officers in the car, "I've got two little kids in the back seat – six and two. They reported at least three 187s. He said his Daddy did it…" He whispered the last part. "Matt, I think you need to check on Mrs. Brant. I haven't seen any movement from the office, and you know that ol' lady would've brought us coffee by now." It was practically tradition, if they drove far out here, they'd get a free refill and a long-winded chat.

A third car came up behind them and the conversation was repeated. Allen stepped out as soon as Officer Edwards had arrived. The gray-haired lady was the toughest officer that he'd had the pleasure of working with, but she was also one of the kindest. Allen pointed to the backseat of his car, "Dean and Sammy. Dean's the eldest. Both of them are terrified – I think Dean witnessed his father commit murder; he says their mother died in a fire. Not sure if it's related – I don't smell any fires. You don't have any of those bears in the trunk of your car, do you?"

Edwards looked him up and down, pointing at the stain on his navy-blue pants. "Yeah, that happened."

She went to her car and pulled out a couple of stuffed toys that she stored 'in cases of emergency' she said. She handed the bears over to Allen. "Take care of the kids, we'll scope the place out."

A shout from the front office startled them and Allen was half way over there before remembering that he couldn't leave the kids alone in the car with a bunch of possible murderers running around. He went back and let his coworkers handle it.

He sat in the car, anxiously squeezing his steering wheel, and keeping his eyes peeled for any movement. The boys had quieted down, sleeping on the bench seat like a couple of babies. Sammy was protected in Dean's arms, barely visible under the orange blanket. Dean's closed eyes were wet and puffy, as if the child were silently crying in his sleep. It made him want to go home to his own baby – well, she'd fight him and argue that nine years old wasn't a baby anymore. To him, Jody would always be his baby.

It didn't take long for the officers to walk back to their cars. Allen was shocked when Jack leaned over and threw up beside his car followed by his partner, Matt. Both men were long-time officers; they had more tenure than he did and if it was bad enough that they were sick, Allen couldn't imagine what they had seen.

Jack wiped at his face, then approached his window. Heart in throat, Allen stepped out of the car wanting to protect innocent ears, as he'd failed to protect their eyes.

"What'd you find?"

Edwards and Jack were there, pale-faced and as shocked as he'd ever seen them. Jack started, "Three people are dead. A little boy about his age, a teenaged girl, and an old man. They were all shot in the head, but it looks like the boy and girl had been – tortured first. It's… some kind of satanic ritual. All these symbols – like pentagrams all over the place. Carved on their foreheads."

Allen shook his head, unable to understand. Satanic rituals – that was something done in cults or big cities, not his town! "What about Mrs. Brant?"

Edwards swallowed, "she's alive but looks like they drugged her. An ambulance is on route and Sims is with her."

Allen looked through the passenger windows at the two small children. "I think Dean saw it… he's only six years old."

The officers didn't speak again, the gravity of the situation they were in was massive. They knew this would take their town and destroy it in satanic hysteria. Soon, the FBI and the ATF and all the other alphabet government law enforcement services were going to be crawling up their asses.

The only two witnesses were small children. Allen stared down at their pale faces and prayed hard. A movement caught his eye and he looked towards the edge of the forest. He blinked and the shadow disappeared. Shaking it off, now his imagination was working against him – why would a man just be standing there wearing a trench coat watching him, then disappear?

Edwards was biting her lip hard enough that it bled. "Owen, this place is about to turn into a circus; it's not a place for toddlers. Why don't you take them home? I know Maggie and Jody would be good for 'em. Doc Mills is next door to you, right? I bet he wouldn't mind checkin' them over."

Allen blinked heavily, "What?"

"You told me that their mama's dead and their father's a Satanist who committed those murders. We both know that those babies aren't going back to him. He's going to get the death penalty for sure if they catch him – this is a Christian nation! All intents and purposes, they're orphans now…"

Shaking his head, Allen was shaken. He hadn't put it together, Edwards was right. Dean and Sammy had no one. They'd be taken to an orphanage and most likely split up. The two-year-old would be adopted in less than a day. A white baby boy with hazel eyes and light brown hair? He'd be snatched up quicker than you'd blink. Dean on the other hand – a six-year-old witness to a satanic ritual that ended in three murders? That's a tougher sell even if the little boy hadn't been so traumatized. He'd require therapy for sure to get him through it. But seeing the two of them huddled together, he couldn't bring himself to pull them apart tonight.

Praying was good and all. Right now, it was all that he could do, right?

There was a flash, the ambulance pulling up to the motel where the EMTs would take Mrs. Brant to the hospital. The light reflected, bouncing off the rearview mirror and towards Dean. The child blinked, waking when the light hit his eyes. He looked frightened and tightened his hold on his little brother until he caught Officer Allen's eyes. As soon as their eyes met, Dean calmed. He could see the fear fade away as his shoulders dropped, and his wide eyes twinkled.

Allen opened the door, and let Dean climb out. Sammy shifted in his sleep, extending his arms and legs the width of the bench. Immediately, the boy reached to be picked up. He could tell it was an unusual request and that Dean was readying himself for rejection, but Allen brought him close to his chest.

He hated the idea of telling the boy, but it couldn't be worse than seeing it for himself. "I'm so very sorry, Dean. We found them but we weren't able to save them. Did you know them?"

"Stevie was my friend from school and Miss Dennison was our babysitter. I don't know who the man was…" Dean spoke softly, whispering it in his ear. Allen felt the tears dripping down his neck and rubbed his back. "Did you find Daddy?"

"We didn't find him."

Small arms tightened around his neck, "I'm scared Officer Allen."

"Don't be scared, Dean. Angels are watching over you." Owen comforted the child.

Dean pulled his head back to look at the officer, his eyes and nose were puffy red. "My mommy used to tell me that too before she tucked me into bed."

"I bet you've had a really long day. I imagine that you'd like to get washed up and tucked into bed. What do you think about coming home with me tonight? I'll introduce you to my daughter Jody and my wife Maggie. They're really nice. We have an extra room that you and Sammy can share." Allen offered it to him, wanting to make sure the child felt like he had a choice, even if it wasn't much of one.

Dean nodded tiredly, then lay his head back against his shoulder. Owen wasn't sure how his wife would react to his fleeting thoughts of permanently taking them in, nor his daughter – but knew them well enough to know that they'd welcome two babies into their home for the night, especially knowing what they'd gone through. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to get statements, fingerprints, and the rest.

For now, he was going to take Dean and Sammy home with him. He'd figure out what the future held another day.