Chapter Two

At dinner that night, Emily's chatter filled the deafening silence as Jessica and Sam stared at each other, seeing who would break first. Jessica, having witnessed most of what happened outside, had demanded an explanation on John's presence, and Sam, unwilling to discuss his past, had refused to say a word on it. And so began the silent treatment, with Jess only speaking to Emily and acting as if Sam didn't exist until she decided to stare at him.

Sam slowly chewed his salad, the croutons crunching loudly in his head, his eyes never leaving Jessica's. Her nose wrinkled, showing her clear distatste, and she angrily sipped from her glass of water. Emily paused in her speech to look between her parents. Although she was just three years old, she had inherited her parents' keen eye for details, even if she had yet to understand what those details meant.

"Why aren't you two talking to each other?" she asked.

Jessica gave her a tight lipped smile. "Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, "she said, gently bopping Emily on the noise. Emily giggled and pulled away from her mother's extended hand. "Why don't you go play with your toys?"

Emily, eager to get away from her uneaten green beans, darted away from the table without complaint and disappeared into the living room. The quiet air was soon filled with her faint laughter and clatter of plastic toys.

Sam took a deep breath and set down his fork, running his hands roughly over his face. His hands were pricked by the light stubble on his face. He raised his head to look as his wife, who stared unblinkingly back.

"Jess," Sam whispered. "Please. Can we please just forget today ever happened?"

"Forget?" Jess hissed. "You want us to forget? How am I supposed to forget you nearly breaking your father's jaw?!"

"It's nothing less than what he deserves," he hissed back. "He's not important."

"Not important?" she said incredulously. "Your brother is missing!"

"How did you know that? Was the window open?" He hadn't wanted her to know what John was here for. If he had it his way, this entire day would be erased from history and he'd be able to go back to his normal life, a life away from hunting.

Jess leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "When he knocked on the door, he told me why he was here. I didn't tell you when I called because I thought you should hear it from him. It's clear now, though, that you don't even care!"

"That's not true!"

"Isn't it?" she demanded.

Sam clenched his jaw and looked away from her intense gaze. It wasn't that he didn't care about his brother. It was just...he got out. Dean wanted to be a hunter, and so whatever happened to him was what came with that job. It may be difficult for John to accept that he was down not just one, but two soldiers, but he'd have to deal with it. Sam wasn't going back, and fate probably caught up with Dean, the way it always did with hunters. Sam thought it was unreasonable for John to be surprised that Dean might be dead. After all, it's not like hunters lived to be eighty and died peacefully in their sleep.

"Jess," Sam said. "Dean made his choice to follow in my Dad's footsteps. He had multiple chances to leave that life behind, and he never took them, but maybe this time he did!"

"When's the last time you talked to your brother?"

Her eyes were accusing like John's had been, and it immediately put Sam on the defensive as he said, "Why does that even matter? Where is all this coming from, Jess?"

"This," she snapped, "is coming from me getting tired of the secrets, Sam!" Her eyes began to water. Sam reached across the table to grab her hand but she snatched it away. "I didn't even know you had a brother, and now I find out that he's missing and you don't even care! This is my first time seeing your father, and you're trying to make me forget that he was even here! I know next to nothing about your childhood, about your life before Stanford, and you're not willing to share anything too personal about yourself. I'm your wife, Sam. You can't keep shutting me out."

Before Sam gets a chance to respond, Jess shoves away from the table and leaves the kitchen. Sam slumps in his chair, feeling drained. He looks over the mess on the table and knows without a doubt that Jess wasn't coming back to help clean up. Hell, he'd be lucky if she let him sleep in the bed tonight.

With a groan, he rose to his feet and began to clear the table.

Jess sat up in bed, flipping through a magazine. Sam had just tucked Emily in and had managed to successfully deflect her questions on the subject of her grandfather. Sam wasn't letting John anywhere near Emily; she'd end up being an alcoholic that knew how to shoot a gun. He was hoping that eventually Emily would lose interest and soon John would fade from her mind. While she had on occasion asked him about his side of the family, he had given her the impression that they were no longer around.

Sam stood in the doorway, twisting his fingers together. "Jess-"

"I'm not in the mood for excuses, Sam," she said, surprisingly calm. Her eyes never left the magazine, and the way she sat on the bed showed a clear divide. Sam wasn't getting cuddled tonight.

Her husband heaved a sigh and moved towards tech lost, shrugging out of his button down shirt and slacks, and pulling out exercise clothes. Sitting on the edge of the bed to lace up his sneakers, he told Jess, "I'm going for a run."

She did not respond. When he looked back at her, he saw that she was staring at him with a blank expression on her face. Her eyes were filled with a torrent of emotion, as if she couldn't decide how to process John's visit and the trouble he brought with him. Sam tore his eyes away from hers and without another word, he left, clomping down the stairs and out the front door, locking it behind him.

Hopping down the steps and jogging to the end of the driveway, Sam paused. His stomach clenched, as if sensing a bad omen. He looked up and down the street. Nothing was out of place. Neighbors taking an evening stroll, people sitting quietly on their porches. What was he so worried about? As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, it felt as if the house was trying to pull him back, like it was telling him that he shouldn't leave. But Jess needed space, and maybe he did, too.

Forcing the thoughts out of his head, he began to run. Soon, the house disappeared behind him, and he was traveling through the winding streets and streetlights. The farther he got from the house, the worse the nausea became until he finally had to give into it and allow himself to rest. It was hard to tell if the sweat on his body was from his workout or from his stomach rolling. Hopefully it wasn't the stomach flu. And Sam knew it couldn't be food poisoning. He rarely ate mean, consuming mostly salads and fruit, determined to not revert back to his pre-Stanford days when he and Dean would inhale pizza and burgers.

Dean.

God, where was Dean? Sam thought as he sank onto a bench and looked up at the night sky. When John had asked how long ago it was since he had spoken with Dean, he had lied. It wasn't six years ago that he had last heard from Dean, because just laster year, a week or two before Brady was killed, Dean had called him. Sam remembered that day like it was yesterday.

Sam had just finished the last of his case work. He should be exhausted, but he had just consumed five cups of coffee and his veins were buzzing with the caffeine. What to do with himself now? Well, he could always get started on the other pile of paperwork, put himself ahead of the game. There was never any harm in being prepared. Just as he reopened his binder, there was a knock on the front door. He knew it wasn't Jess, since she and Emily had just left half an hour ago to go shopping; an activity prompted by Sam, as he'd been unable to concentrate with Emily running in and out of his study, shrieking as she played with her toys and imaginary friend. He grinned at the thought. He, too, had had an imagine friend when he was younger, and he knew that Emily would grow out of it soon. Jess was worried though that Emily's imaginary friend was keeping her from making new friends at daycare.

When Sam stood, he arched his back to stretch, letting out a moan as his muscles extended and his bones popped. Rolling his shoulders, he left his study and entered the main hall. Bending his knees a bit to see through the peephole, he opened the door with a grin. Brady leaned against the threshold, a smirk on his lips. The sun nearly blinded him, and Sam quickly raised a hand to block the bright rays.

"Long night?" he asked as Sam stepped to the side to let him in.

"Ugh," Sam groaned. "The longest. It might be another long night, too. I'm gonna get started on next week's work."

"Dude," Brady protested. "You cannot keep sitting here doing work. The last time you went out and had a good time was when you married Jess!"

"I'm just busy," Sam said defensively.

"No," Brady laughed. "You're a workaholic. Come on, man. Relax a little! I know being a lawyer is tough stuff, but how's Jess gonna handle that handful of yours if you work yourself into an early grave?" When Sam looked away, Brady frowned. "Hey, man, what's wrong?"

He considered saying nothing, but confessed. "I've been having nightmares lately. About Jess dying. It just seems so real, so I've been working all night to stay awake, trying to make myself too tired to dream. I haven't-"

"You haven't what?"

"The last time I had these kinds of dreams about Jess were years ago, Brady. I don't know why they're coming back now. And they're so vivid, as if I'm seeing something that hasn't happened yet."

Brady placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "You know those dreams aren't real, Sam. I get that you're worried, but you're too much of a worry wart to let Jess or Emily come to harm."

Sam gave a tired smile and leaned against the wall. "Maybe you're right," he contended.

Brady whooped and playfully punched Sam on the arm. "Go take a shower. I'll wait down here and we can go out for lunch or something. Maybe catch a movie."

"That sounds like fun," Sam admitted. Brady flopped down on the couch and watched Sam take the stairs two at a time. With Sam's back turned, Brady's eyes flashed black.

Upstairs, Sam was in the process of taking off his shirt when his eyes caught the little bag he kept hidden in the very back of the closet, under boxes of papers and old college stuff. Biting his lip, he tossed his shirt into the dirty clothes hamper and shimmied the bag out from its hiding spot. He unzipped it and his hand went inside, fingers searching for the smooth, cool surface of a flip phone.

He pulled it out and stared at it. It had been fully charged the last time he had used it, which was years ago. It had been off ever since. The rest of the bag was filled with books on lore, some ammunition, a small handgun, and an entire container of salt. Sam knew that continuing to keep this bag was him subconsciously acknowledging that dangerous life he used to life, and it made him angry that hunting still had such a hold over him, so much so that he had kept the materials and hadn't destroyed the phone.

Maybe this was the cause of the dreams! Sam thought suddenly. His nightmares featured Jess and Emily, stuck to the ceiling as blood dripped from their bodies as the room burned to ashes around them. Maybe it was a consequence of him continuing to hold onto the past. He needed closure, and the only way to do that was to destroy the past, to prevent it from coming back to get him.

Sam pressed the on button, and the phone made a small chime as it came to life. Hundreds of missed calls and voicemails, primarily from Dean, the the occasional one from John. Sam was tempted to listen to them, but was scared that listening to Dean would trick him into coming back. Would trick him into giving up the life that he made for himself, free of salt lines and shotguns.

Just as he was about to toss the phone back in the bag, it started to ring. An unfamiliar number popped up. Hesitantly, Sam accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Who is this?"

Silence. Sam rolled his eyes hard and asked, "Hello?"

"Sam?" Dean's voice came through the phone. It was deeper, more graveled, but Sam would know his brother's voice anywhere. Sam froze, heart speeding up, breath coming in short pants.

He had to do this. He had to free himself of Dean.

"Don't ever call me again, Dean," Sam growled. "We're done."

He snapped the phone shut and stared at it, daring Dean to call back. He didn't.

"Sam?" Brady called up the stairs. "What are you doing, man? I don't hear the shower going."

"Sorry," Sam said, shoving the phone back in the bag and closing it. He made a note to himself to toss the bag when he came back from lunch. He wanted nothing more to do with it. "Had to take care of something."

After that day, Sam hadn't heard from Dean again, and it had been a relief to have managed to successfully free himself of those tethers. Any guilt or remorse that he felt from that day had been shoved away. He refused to feel guilty about wanting something better for himself, for wanting a life without a shit father and a mindless clone of a brother.

Sam exhaled heavily, head beginning to twinge. He pressed cool fingertips to his eyes and willed away the pain. His stomach clenched again and he groaned, shoving himself to his feet. That was a sign that his run was over.

Something made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and Sam slowly turned towards the direction of his home.

In the distance, he could see a thick cloud of smoke and the orange blaze of a raging fire.

As soon as she heard the front door slam, Jess was out of bed. She had been hidden under the covers when Sam had come in, and so he had only see her in a baggy t-shirt, not knowing that she wore jeans underneath.

When Sam had been cleaning up downstairs in the kitchen, she had quietly made her way up the stairs and had packed a bag for her and Emily. She pulled both duffle bags out from under the bed. It had just enough clothes for a week or two, and if anything, they could always be washed. With shaky hands, she pulled off the baggy t-shirt and managed to fit a tank top over her swollen belly. She grabbed a hoodie and tossed it over her shoulder as she dragged both bags to the top of the stairs.

If Jess was being honest, her decision to leave wasn't something that she had decided that very day. It had been coming for a while. She loved Sam, she really did, but their relationship never seemed like it was real, because how could it be real when she realized that she barely knew anything about Sam? When she had told Sam that she was tired of the secrets, it wasn't just about him being tight lipped about John Winchester's visit. For years, whenever she asked him about his life before California, he always changed the subject or gave some vague story that was meant to get her off his case.

Her suspicions had only increased when she had slyly suggested they invite his side of the family to the wedding, and he had damn near lost his entire mind in his fit. She had backed off, terrified of his reaction, but a little after their wedding, when she had found out that she was pregnant, she had quietly asked if Emily would only have grandparents from her mother's side of the family. Sam had not responded.

She loved Sam, she really did, but she didn't know if she could sit in this house, waiting for Sam to trust her enough to tell her the truth. That wasn't what a healthy relationship looked like, and until Sam was ready, she would be staying with her mother. Her mom only lived about a half hour drive away, so she could still go to work, and her mom had agreed to watch Emily, eager to spend more time with her granddaughter.

Jessica entered Emily's bedroom and turned on the light, smiling sadly when her baby's face scrunched up a bit at the sudden disruption to her slumber. Her eyes opened sleepily and she blinked.

"Mommy?" Emily asked.

"Come on, sweetie," Jess whispered. "You and mommy are going on an adventure!"

"Adventure?" Emily said, voice picking up a bit. She allowed her mother to pick her up from the bed and place her on the floor, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the bedroom, turning the light off behind her. Emily noticed that her father was nowhere to be found. "What about Daddy?"

Jess crouched down and smoothed a hand over Emily's hair. "Daddy won't be coming this time. This adventure is just for girls." Jess blew a raspberry on her cheek. and Emily giggled, her little body trembling with excitement as she followed her mother down the stairs, Jess crying both duffle bas and dropped them at the entrance of the main hall. Just as she grabbed her car keys from the glass bowl she and Sam kept on a small brown table in the hallway, their was a heavy knock on the door.

Emily opened her mouth to ask who it was but Jess quickly placed a hand over her daughter's mouth. Sensing her mother's fear, Emily whimpered and reached out to grab a handful of Jess' tank top.

"Stay here and don't make a sound," Jess whispered to Emily, guiding her to hide behind the wall.

There was a box cutter in the glass bowl, too, and she quietly picked it up, creeping up to the door and looking out the peephole. A tall, broad shouldered man stood on her porch, the street light reflecting off of his black, leather jacket. As she stared at him, his head turned suddenly and stared at the door, his green eyes locking with hers. It felt as if he was staring straight at her. A slow, menacing smile spread across his face.

"Jess," the man sang. "I know you're in there."

She jerked back from the door, a hand over her mouth. Her eyes searched for Emily's, and found her daughter shaking as she peeked out from behind the wall. How did this man know her name? Although her plan was to leave Sam, she wished he was here right now. Jess looked out the peephole again. The man was gone.

A loud bang came from behind Jess, and she whipped around just as Emily ran to her. They stood, shaking against the wooden door, terrified tears sliding down Emily's cheeks. The slow, menacing steps of heavy boots on the wooden floor echoed through the house, and the man from the porch soon stood before her, a smile on his face. Jess let out a sob, eyes flicking to her cell phone that was next to the glass bowl on the table, several feet away.

"Please," Jess whispered. "Please don't hurt us."

"Oh, Jess," the man purred, fingers sliding over the dark blue paint of the walls. "It's so nice to meet you."

"Please," She cried, clutching her daughter to her chest tightly.

"I'm not surprised Sam didn't tell you about me, "he said calmly, no longer advancing on them. He cocked his head to the side, and if they had been anywhere else, in any other situation, Jess would have admired how handsome he was. "It's not like it would matter anyways, though," he admitted. "After all, this was always going to be your fate. This time, though, it's just happening a little bit later."

Jess jerked her head back and forth, maneuvering Emily so that she stood behind her mother, shielded from the view of the intruder. Blood rushes through her veins as she tried to make an escape plan. Her car keys are in hand, but could she make it to her car with Emily before this man caught them? Could she make it to the neighbors house?

"Hi, sweetheart," the man's attention was suddenly directed Emily, who had moved her head to look out from behind her mother's leg. "I'm Dean."

Cold horror swept through Jessica's body, hands shaking as se held onto the box cutter, knuckles white. Dean? Dean Winchester? The very same Dean she and Sam had been arguing about only hours before? But...Sam had said that Dean was missing. Sam hadn't spoken to Dean in years.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" Dean asked Emily.

"H-Hi," Emily whispered.

Dean grinned, white teeth sparkling. He locked eyes with Jessica again.

"Dean," Jessica said, voice shaking. Dean seemed delighted by her fear. "Sam...Sam said you were missing."

Dean's face grew dark and angry, and he growled. Jess gasped, pushing Emily behind her once more. "And how would Sam know this? It's not like he bothered to check in on me," he snapped.

"I'm sorry," Jess whispered. "I...I don't know, I swear. I didn't even know he had a brother until today."

He laughs darkly.

"Sam and Dad always had that in common. Them and their secrets. It's what brought me here, you know," he said, almost conversationally, as if he hadn't just broken into her house. "To be honest with you, you're out of my brother's league. You should have stayed away."

Jess started to cry again as she begged, "Please don't hurt us."

Dean was in front of her now, a calloused hand cupping her cheek, looking down at her swollen stomach sadly. His other hand played with a strange of Emily's blonde hair. He sighed.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he confessed. "But I'm not that one calling the shots here." Jess sobbed. Dean pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry. It'll be quick, I promise."

His hands closed around Jess and Emily's throats, eyes black. They screamed and kicked, but he dragged them both up the stairs into the master bedroom. Emily's body shook, her mind unable to process why her Uncle was hurting her and mommy. In the bedroom stood another man, this one older with yellow eyes. Jess and Emily were tossed onto the bed, Jess immediately wrapping her arms around her daughter and pressing Emily's face into her chest.

"Good job, Dean," the older man complimented. Dean preened. "You know what to do." Dean vanished from the room, and Jess could hear him downstairs, destroying her house. This man turned back to face her, a serene smile on his face.

"i've waited a long time for this," he said. "The original plan was to kill you years ago, before you and Sam ever got married, but something better came along. Dean was abandoned, you know. Even after sacrificing his happiness for Sam and John all the time, he was never appreciated. Sam left, never so much as uttering a thank you, and John, well, I'm sure you saw today that he was never that great of a parent to begin with. And Dean, well, he was practically gift wrapped for me!" The man laughed. "He was lost, lonely, desperate for love. And I gave it to him. Together, we're going to rebuild the world." He smiled down at Emily, her little shoulders shaking as she gasped for air. "It is such a shame that you won't be able to see it."

With a flick of his wrists, Jess and Emily were separated, both on opposite of the bedroom, pressed against the wall, their stomach being slowly split open. They screamed in agony. They were slowly dragged up to the ceiling by an invisible force. The man allowed Jess to take Emily's hand one last time before the flames started.

Sam's head and stomach ached as he hauled ass back to his house. The closer he got to the house, the worse the feeling got, as if it was punishing him for listening earlier. He prayed to every higher power that the fire he saw didn't belong to his house. He knew it was wrong to wish that tragedy on someone else, but he just couldn't handle it if Jess and Emily were in danger when he wasn't there to protect them. Even though he was running as fast as he could, nearly knocking over other citizens, it felt as if he wasn't making any progress, like the distance kept extending and he'd be trapped forever in this endless tunnel.

Lungs burning, he skidded to a stop outside of his house. It was ablaze, the glass windows shattering from the pressure of the heat, roof already beginning to cave in. Neighbors stood outside, frantically calling 911. Hands tried to hold him back, but he shoved them away, running inside, the door mysteriously unlocked.

"Jess!" he roared, chocking as the smoke filled his lungs. "Em!"

The kitchen, living room, and his study were filled with roaring flames, the deadly inferno having already filled the downstairs area and now destroying the stairs and everything beyond it.

The ceiling started to crack above him, and he darted up the stairs, nearly tripping over two black lumps, his mind flashing back to the dreams. Oh, god, the dreams. The master bedroom was open, and he lifted his shirt to cover his mouth. Looking up in horror, his body shut down from the shock of seeing his pregnant wife and three year old daughter stuck on the ceiling, bleeding from deep gashes in their stomachs, and staring down at him unblinkingly.

He started to scream.

Hands came from behind him and began to tug him back from the room, trying to drag him down the stairs. He fought back, trying in vain to reach his family, unable to hear anything over the sound of his own screams. No matter how hard he kicked and punched, whoever had grabbed him had managed to get him out the front door, the last thing Sam seeing before he was yanked outside being the stairs collapsing.

Sam landed on the lawn, chest heaving with rasping, smoke filled sobs. The loud screech of sirens filled the street, and firefighters rushed past him. There were hands on him, urging him to get up, voices pleading with him to talk to them, but all he could do was cry, unable to tell if the agony his body was experiencing was from the smoke he inhaled, his loss, or a painful combination of both. Rough hands jerked him upwards, and his vision filled with the sight of his father.

"Sammy," John begged. "Sammy, we gotta get you checked out with the paramedics, okay?"

Sam stared blankly back at him before his eyes shifted slightly to the left and were locked on the sight of his house falling apart, taking his life with it. He did nothing as his father and another man who he distantly recalled as his next door neighbor brought him to his feet, taking him away from the fire. Sam's body hung limply in their grasp.

He was brought to an ambulance, their questions falling on deaf ears as they examined him. John had to maneuver his body upon their request, as Sam sat stock still, as if his body was stuck between panicking and shutting down completely. John was in front of him now, talking. Sam could see his mouth moving, but was unable to take in and process whatever he was saying. It felt like his senses were slowly fading, like his body was trying to distance itself from the horrific scene he had just witnessed.

The paramedics gently pushed Sam back onto the gurney and began to lift him inside the truck. That's when he began to panic. They couldn't take him away, he wouldn't let them. He lashed out, fist breaking the nose of the women who was trying to strap him in. She cried out as blood spurted from her face and her back collided with the wall of medical supplies. John and another man grabbed his arms and legs, forcing him down.

John's eyes filled with pain as Sam began to scream again.

The woman used her clean hand to give a sedative to the other paramedic. With Sam being held down, he wrapped a piece of cloth around his right arm. Locating a vein, he pressed the needle inside. The fight began to leave Sam immediately. His movement became sluggish, and his vision was now distorted.

In his last moment of clarity, he looked over his father's shoulder, and down the street, he could have sworn he saw a man standing next to a gleaming black impala.