A/N: Okay, were you guys thinking I was going to update every story but this one? Lol. Okay, so this is an episode tag, even though it doesn't seem like it. You know how in the second to last episode of Season Five, when Dean and Bobby are discussing Sam saying yes to Lucifer, and Bobby refers to Sam as "having been running into the fire since he was twelve"? Well, here you go.

Please take a moment to review, as it really means a a lot to me. Also, if you follow any of my other projects, they have all been updated in the last two or three days.

Enjoy!

As Always,

EverReader

Confessions Of A Boy King – Chapter 2

"Running Into the Fire"

Twelve-year old Sam Winchester walked down the side of the road, shoulders hunched against the chill of the late October evening. He frowned to himself as he walked along, dragging the toe of one sneaker sullenly as he past increasingly seedier and seedier apartment buildings.

Dean was supposed to have picked him up from the library over an hour ago. Sam had been forced to leave on foot when he noticed the annoyed librarian sending ever more meaningful glares at the clock on the wall, which showed the time as ten minutes past closing.

Shrugging his shoulders to reposition his back pack more comfortably, he shoved his cold fingers deep inside his jacket pockets, increasing his pace. This wasn't exactly the best part of town for a kid like him to be walking alone in at nearly nine o'clock at night. Sam could handle himself better than most adults, but he was small for his age, which made him look like an easy target, so unfortunately, he'd had to prove his ability to defend himself several times already.

It would be just his kind of luck, getting jumped by a couple of human thugs while walking home from the library.

Dean would never let him live it down, and John would just look at Sam with that quiet, measuring look that made Sam feel like he'd just failed an algebra test.

Sam hated failing tests.

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Dean woke slowly, like a deep sea diver emerging from the depths. He stretched, feeling the vertebrae pop and crackle in his back, and he grimaced.

The black dog he'd helped his dad take down the night before had knocked him into a tree, and when Dean had checked in the bathroom mirror shortly before laying down, he noted a rather stunning bruise across his back the shape of Texas, and right now, that's how large it felt.

He yawned again, scrubbing his hand across his face again, forcing his tired mind awake. He'd need to go pick up Sammy soon...

Glancing down at his watch, he shot straight up in the bed, cursing a blue streak.

He was supposed to have picked the kid up forty-five minutes ago. A glance out the window confirmed that darkness had fallen hours ago, and he cursed again.

He'd gotten back in the early afternoon, swinging by Sam's school to pick him up. Sam had begged off, though, insisting he had to hit the local library. Dean had agreed reluctantly, making Sam promise to wait for him. Their current apartment was in a crap part of town, and an even worse part lay between their neighborhood and the public library. If something happened to Sammy cause Dean overslept, Dean would never forgive himself.

And Dad would string him up alive.

He fumbled into his boots, grabbing his jacket and keys. He strode out the door, promising himself that next time he'd just park in the library parking lot and sleep while Sam worked.

Dean could sleep anywhere.

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The demon stood over the crib, watching the dreaming infant. The child slept peacefully, unaware that the woman standing over it's bed wasn't really her mother, but a monster wearing her skin.

The four-year old girl crying in the corner had an idea that something was wrong, knew that her mother wouldn't have just casually snapped their new puppy's neck the way this imposter-mother had, but she was too frightened to do anything but watched wide-eyed, small sobs shaking her tiny frame.

"Be quiet." The imposter-mother ordered, in a cold, bored voice. It idly ran one finger down the sleeping infant's cheek, and the baby stirred, pursing it's lips before settling back down without awakening. Walking over to look out the window, it sighed in relief when it saw it's target coming into view.

Azazel had been quite clear in his wishes. He wanted the Winchester boy tested.

The imposter-mother strode out of the bedroom, slamming the door and locking the two children inside. It walked over to the kitchen, turning on the gas stove and adjusting the flame to it's highest setting.

It took the stuffed dog it had taken from the crib in the other room and laid it directly on the burner, on top of the flames. Within less than a minute, acrid smoke began to fill the room. The imposter-mother looked up at the ceiling when the fire alarm began to wail. Casually, it ripped the alarm down, silencing it's warning.

Walking out of the front door, it made it a point to lock it also. Then it walked downstairs and out the front door.

Placing itself with care on the front walk, it again checked that the Winchester boy was coming this way, and then, in a shifting, roiling cloud of black smoke, it excited it's meat suit.

The stunned woman dropped to her knees, retching at the taste of sulfur filling her mouth. She stared around in wild eyed confusion, trying to understand what had happened, and how she had came to be outside.

Horror lit up her face when she looked up, at the windows of her building, where dancing flames could already be seen in the windows facing the street.

Confused and terrified, she began to scream.

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Sam paused at the corner, hesitating for some reason he couldn't quite identify.

Something felt...wrong.

He glanced up when the street light he was standing next to flickered once, twice, then a third time before steadying. Then suddenly it blew out and Sam reacted quickly, throwing himself over to the limited shelter of the closest building, losing his back pack in the process. Butterfly knife already in hand, he assumed a defensive stance, eyes searching, seeking his unknown assailant. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck were standing straight up, skin so tight it hurt and his mouth had gone bone dry.

He scanned the shadows again, but nothing moved, no ghosts glided into view, no monsters appeared.

Sam realized the sky was lighting up to his left, however, and he frowned. It was nowhere near sunrise.

Then he heard the screaming.

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Dean cursed once more for good measure as he left the empty parking lot of the dark library.

He'd hoped Sam would be waiting for him on the front steps, but he obviously hadn't, and Dean checked his pager once more. Three missed calls, from what he assumed was Sam, though the newest was over an hour old by now.

Making a hard right, he headed into the heart of the city, driving slowly, watching for any sign of Sammy. He was gonna wring the kid's neck for making him worry, and then Dad was probably gonna make Sam an only child when he killed Dean and buried his body out at Bobby's salvage yard.

He concern grew deeper as he drove farther into the ever worsening neighborhood. He knew Sam could take care of himself, but jeez, he was just a kid still. Dad didn't even let Sam hunt yet, though Sam had proven to be as knowledgeable of the supernatural as most grown hunters, and he was a crack shot.

He slowed when he saw the police and fire trucks barring the road sever blocks ahead, getting ready to turn and try another route.

He just happened to glance over, at the corner of the alley, the light from what appeared to be a an apartment fire casting striking shadows across the pavement, all the way to where the Impala was idling.

That's when Dean saw the back pack on the ground.

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Sam coughed, hunching over as he went up the next flight of stairs. Dark, viscous smoke filled the stairwell, stealing away the air and coating the inside of Sam's mouth and nose.

Finally reaching the third floor, he burst into the hall way, immediately dropping to a crouch in a desperate search for cleaner air.

Half-crawling as quickly as he could on fear deadened limbs, he scanned the numbers on the door of each apartment he passed. He hoped the other residents were gone, already fled, but he didn't have time to stop.

The other apartments may or may not have had people in them, but the hysterical screams of the woman collapsed on the sidewalk outside had assured Sam that 321 certainly did.

"My babies!" She had sobbed frantically, and Sam had gone in without a thought, pausing only long enough to get an apartment number from the shocked looking woman.

The smoke was growing thicker, and Sam let out a relieved sigh that ended in a cough when he came to the door he needed.

Thanking god for the hateful training John had been putting him through for more than two years now, Sam drew back his leg and kicked as hard as he could.

If it had been a better quality door, it never would have worked, training or not, but Sam's luck held, and the door was as cheap as it looked.

A wave of immense heat rolled over Sam, physically forcing him back a step, and he coughed as yet more smoke poured out.

He ducked in, weaving around the dancing flames, feeling a heat hotter than any he'd ever felt in his life. He felt like his eyebrows were singeing off, like his skin would start melting away at any second.

He edged the kitchen and what looked like the source of the worst of the flames, but they were already racing up the walls, eating the carpet and Sam doubted he'd be able to get out the way he'd come in. In the distance he thought he heard sirens, and he prayed the fire department would be there soon, because this was bad, and he was pretty sure there wasn't a fire escape on this side of the building.

Spying a closed door, he grabbed it unthinkingly, hissing as the contact burned his hand. Deciding to try his hero move one more time, he kicked out at the door.

He was short on breath and his balance was more than a little off by this point though, his oxygen starved brain struggling to judge distance and depth.

It took two tries, but finally the door opened inward, and Sam surged forward, slamming the door behind him as best as he could, trying to block as much of the smoke as possible. He stumbled forward towards the crib, hands scrambling around in desperate horror when he found nothing but blankets.

Had he gotten the wrong apartment?

A small sound startled him, and he dropped instinctively, looking frantically under the crib. A wide pair of frightened eyes met his, and Sam exhaled in relief. He wished he hadn't almost immediately, as acrid smoke coiled down his throat, making his eyes water and his chest burn.

In as commanding a voice as he could muster, he said "We have to go, right now!"

The child stayed crouching for a second, before scrambling forward in a tangle of limbs and blanket and Sam realized the little girl, no more than four or five, had her baby brother or sister in her arms, the infant's weight almost overbalancing her.

He held out his arms instinctively, and she hesitated for the barest second before giving over her precious cargo.

Sam glanced down, worried at the baby's silence, but wide blue eyes met his, and with quick movements, he gently tucked the blanket back around the baby's face to try to shield it from the smoke.

A quick back of the hand to the door knob confirmed his fears.

They weren't getting back out that way. He moved to the window, handing the baby once more to her sister, while he struggled with the window, finally forcing it up about half way.

Thankfully, the window didn't have a grill on it, but Sam noted with a sinking heart that their was only a small metal balcony and the broken top step of a missing fire escape.

They were running out of air, though, so Sam had no real choice.

Turning to the oldest child, he knelt, speaking as loudly as he could over the roaring of the flames. The smoke had nearly wrecked his voice, but somehow he managed to get the words out.

"I'm going out the window. Hand me your sister, and then you follow, right after, understand?" He was coughing by the end, and soot stained tears were running down the child's cheeks, but she nodded, and Sam thought she must be the bravest person he's ever met.

Other than Dean, of course.

He climbed out, hands stinging against the paint that was beginning to blister with the heat. They were long past being out of time. The balcony would give them more air, but they would still be trapped.

He turned around, and the girl handed the baby to him carefully. Clutching the child to him with one hand, he thrust his other hand back in, grabbing the little girl by the shoulder and hauling her out with him, tired muscles straining with effort.

Outside, he finally manged to get a deep breath, but the heat coming from the room they had just left chased after them, and Sam felt like he was trapped on the surface of the sun.

"Sammy!" The voice was strident, panicked and achingly familiar, and Sam glanced down in relief.

The fire department had finally shown up, but more than that, so had Dean.

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Dean watched in terror, heart in his throat, as Sam carefully maneuvered out of the window. Smoke was pouring out around him, making it hard for Dean to see at first, but after a second, he realized Sam was holding something. Sam reached back in a second time, up to his shoulders, and emerged this time with what looked like a little girl in his arms, and with a start Dean realized the other bundle must be an infant.

Horrified memories washed over him, of another fire, another scared child with a baby in his arms and Dean thought his legs might give out on him.

He'd tried to get in, past the fire fighters, but they'd blocked his way, and a second later, a stander-by had screamed, pointing up at the window where Sam had appeared.

Realizing his brother and the two children were trapped, he looked over to the fire fighters.

They knew their job well, however, and were already pulling what looked like an oversized blanket out. Dan realized they didn't have time to extend the ladder, and try to position it.

Sammy was gonna have to jump.

He pushed his way over, grabbing one side.

"Hey-" A uniformed man started to protest, but Dean snarled back at him-

"That's my brother!" And something in the man's eyes changed, before he nodded once tersely.

The parachute (that's what it looked like to Dean, anyway) fully extended, the men all looked upward, and Dean swallowed heavily.

It was all up to Sammy now.

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The girl wailed in fear, finally reaching the end of her admirable courage, and Sam racked his mind desperately for a way to convince her to jump. He couldn't toss the baby, she was too little, and he couldn't force the older girl and hold onto the infant at the same time.

Crouching down beside her, he forced down his panic.

"What's your name?" He asked, as calmly as he could.

"Lydia" She sniffed.

"Okay, well Lydia, I'm Sam. I need you to jump, okay Lydia? I have to hold your sister when I jump and I need you to jump first, but you have to go right now."

The balcony creaked under them just then, metal losing integrity under the onslaught of heat, lending weight to Sam's words.

'They'll drop me!" Lydia cried, and suddenly Sam knew exactly what to say.

"I'm not scared, you know why?" Sam said, words an increasing torrent as he felt the balcony shift under them once again.

She shook her head mutely.

He pointed down below. "Because that guy, there? In the leather jacket? That's my big brother Dean. And even if every fireman down there dropped the parachute, Dean would catch me with his own arms, and he'll catch you too. He's gonna save us the way you saved your baby sister, okay?"

He held his breathe, praying for time he knew they didn't have.

Slowly she nodded, and Sam nearly sagged with relief.

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Dean waited, frozen with fear, not even breathing, because what the hell was taking Sammy so long?

Finally understanding that the children were causing the hold up, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a grip on his emotions.

He wanted his damn kid off that balcony already.

Finally after what felt like forty years, but was only a moment or two, one of the firemen yelled "Hold!" and as one, all the men braced themselves as the tiny girl came hurtling down like a falling angel.

Dean hadn't realized how little she was before, seeing how high she flew back up again after rebounding, felt how lightly her weight had pulled against his hands.

She was helped off by one of the officers, and like Dean she immediately looked up, and Dean felt a striking sense of camaraderie with the small child, as they waited for their younger siblings to fall down from the sky like shooting stars.

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Sam balanced precariously on the edge of the balcony, trying to judge the best way to jump, so that he'd land on his back. Finally deciding to just fall backwards and let the others on the ground do the rest, he took a deep breath and jumped, backwards and out, trying to curl himself around the crying infant in his arms. If he landed wrong, he might very well crush her, and as Sam jumped, he prayed.

Not for himself, because he knew what he'd said to Lydia was true. Dean would catch him by himself if he had too.

Sam didn't pray for God to help Dean, because even in that moment, he never doubted Dean.

Sam prayed that he, Sam wasn't the one who failed the child depending on him in that moment.

He prayed he'd be enough.

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Later Dean judged it to be the longest seven seconds of his life.

Sam had seemed to fall in slow motion, with an almost artistic grace that was horrifying but somehow beautiful at the same time.

He landed lightly, not as lightly as the girl, but Sam had always been small for his age, and he rebounded high into the air also for a moment.

When he came down for good, there was a surge towards him, as paramedics and firemen and older siblings all pushed forward, determined to get a look at the children.

Dean was meaner than most, though and he pushed his way to the front, not even surprised to see the little girl at his elbow.

A paramedic had already taken the infant from Sam and was checking it over. Dean wrapped frantic arms around Sammy, and Sammy clutched him back instinctively, though his eyes never left the infant in the paramedics arms.

A cheer went up when the paramedic gave the thumbs up signal, and Dean caught Sam when his legs went out from under him, understanding with his big brother instincts that this was relief and not injury.

Dean just sat down beside him, rocking him a little without realizing it, growling lowly at the paramedic who tried to pry Sam from his arms.

"You're late." He heard Sam mumble into his shoulder, and Dean stared down at Sam's soot smeared face.

Throwing back his head, laughing in relief, he hugged Sam tighter.

"Bitch." He whispered affectionately, as he reluctantly allowed the paramedic to finally strap an oxygen mask over Sam's face.

"Jerk." The word was muffled, Sam's breath fogging the mask, and Dean laughed again.

He'd never think of falling stars the same way again.