Disclaimer: I do not own anything © to Eric Kripke, The.. CW or The Powers that Be. Don't sue, kay?
Summary: AU -All of his life, Sam Winchester just wanted to be normal. But it was never in his destiny. The truth of his family lies in one single notebook, a private diary kept by his mother, that was thought to have burned with her. In the hands on the Demon, Sam and Dean must come face to face with their past if they have any hope of saving their future.
Rating: Teen, for language and the possibilty of a scene or two in the future.
A/N: This story is actually based off of the song, "Truth," by Seether. Go check it out
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"There are no whole truths: all truths are half-truths. It is trying to treat them as whole truths that plays the devil." – Alfred North Whitehead
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Fire.
Pain.
Darkness.
Suspended in mid-air, she watched, eyes wide in horror as it all came back to her. Every moment, every flash; she'd seen this before in her dreams. It had haunted her, the way he'd called out her name, the way he'd lured her to the spot she was at now.
And John, however would he forgive her for the life that lay ahead of him? However would she forgive herself for not being honest, for not being truthful? If only she could turn back the hands of time. If only.
She hadn't thought of it until now, but there was something almost sacrificial about a white nightgown, one she hadn't the urge to wear until two hours previous. Something had beckoned her, called her, despite every instinct in her body fighting it. Just as something told her that her son needed her.
Those eyes, a daunting, sickly yellow gazed upon her, an equally wicked grin twisting the corners of its lips. She had been so sure it was John, but how wrong she had been and now it would cost her family their lives.
'Killer;' its lips formed the word, watching as it lingered in her mind, nervous eyes scanning the room. Killer? What could that possibly have meant? Its eyes traveled, glowing in the dark like a child's toy to the baby boy sound asleep in the bassinet. So innocent and yet, he would never fully know innocence after this night. It was robbing him, robbing her son of everything he deserved.
Her mouth opened, a high pitched wail escaping from her lungs until she could no longer hold that note and it put a wan finger to its lips.
"Shh, Marianne," It said, voice bleak, emotionless as it took a step forward. "It will be over soon." The door to the nursery flew open, as it faded into the black, replaced instead by hungry flames that licked at the walls.
"John," She whispered. It had allowed her one last look at her husband, distraught and panicked, taking from her memories of him. Stealing from her future memories with her sons.
As the fire grew steadily, she felt herself slipping and then it began, as it had in her dreams. The images were flashing, blending with one another in such a flawless motion, it was hard to pick apart one moment from another until…
- - -
The rain beat heavily against the windshield of the old car, each droplet easing its way down the side in such an effortless fashion that Sam Winchester had to stop, cock his head to the side, and watch in awe. What a life, to be free of worry, of responsibility – to just go through, day by day, and simply exist until evaporated.
He eased his way back into his seat, shuffling slightly to find the most comfortable of positions and rested his head back, waiting for Dean, eyes closed. His body thrummed with a dull ache that caressed every muscle in his body, his head still pounding to the beat of its own drum.
Last night had been a long one.
The bitter cold was seeping through into the car, enrapturing his frail body – it gave him something to focus on other than the pain, and, at the very least, offered him the comforting thought, I'm still alive. The mornings after were always tough, but it was his security, a way of knowing that he was still there, his heart was still beating.
I'm still alive.
Somehow, the words didn't bring much comfort to the youngest Winchester, who, despite himself, was beginning to curl in ward, pulling his worn out jacket tighter over his battle scars. Scars he didn't want, nor should he have. Scars of a never ending struggle, a crusade his father had waged long before he could recall and of the debt it seemed he'd owed him. It was either hunt or be kicked out.
His eyes wandered upward, jade gazed fixated through the rain to his brother, leaning against the counter and flashing a smile only he could at a woman who would only fall for him.
Women, flirting, lust – Dean thrived on it. He had come to find that it was his brother's security, what he needed to survive. Dean needed to be needed; there was no doubt about that. Just as he needed the pain, the normalcy of knowing he was human after all, Dean needed the intimacy, something their father had long ago robbed him of. And after a heavy fight like the one they had fought the previous night, he knew his brother wanted a one night stand, something to help keep him going. He wasn't expecting Dean to make it back to the motel room after he dropped him off.
Splashes of rain hit the windshield, the wind picking up even more than it had before. He hadn't noticed until the car door creaked open, in sliding his brother with the standard brown paper bag most liquor stores packed their stuff in.
"Sprite or Pepsi?" The gruff voice of his brother echoed in his mind as he reached out towards the green bottle, taking it in his hand. "Sprite it is then."
"Dean, I told you to get food." The older one cocked an eyebrow, popping open a bag of chips.
"What're you talking about? This is food, Sammy." And for a second, he could see that his brother was being completely serious because, as he'd come to realize, that was all he knew; life on the road. His heart sank for his brother, for the longing to be free from the life he'd been destined to have. But, somehow, he knew all the wishing in the world could never undo what had happened, never take back what happened to their mother. Even though he knew and accepted that anything they did would never bring her or Jessica back.
"Are you okay?" Dean's voice brought Sam back to reality as he slowly turned his head to face him.
"Yeah," He lied and as Dean started up the engine, he could tell that the older Winchester bought it.
A groan escaped Sam's lips as the pounding in his head increased, his hand instinctively going to his temple to try and ease the pain. But the more he rubbed, the more he found it to only increase with each second.
"Sam? Sam!" His brother's shouts were useless as Sam's eyes widened, staring off blankly – it was happening. Again.