Summary: When the Winchesters arrive to investigate some mysterious disappearances in New Mexico, John loses Dean (15), Sammy (11) loses his hunting cherry, and a cult loses their beliefs.

AN: This is part of my Shadows series. The Shadows stories follow the boys throughout their childhoods leading up to the Pilot of the show. For the most part they try to stay canon compliant (or at least not entirely canon contradictory). This story is not reliant on others in the series to make sense and can be read independently.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the related characters (😞). The Supernatural series is created by Eric Kripke and owned by The CW Network. I'm just playing with Kripke's toys 😊. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment only. I am not making a profit of any kind from this story. The title of this story refers to the song: Losing My Religion by REM. There are some references to lyrics from this song throughout the story.

As always, thank you to the wonderful Meilean who patiently puts up with me and always gives me such thoughtful feedback. If you haven't read her stories you should definitely check them out, they are amazing. A special thank you also to churchlady63 for providing fresh eyes and sense reading after I chopped and changed it to within an inch of its life.

Losing My Religion

BOBBY SINGER: "... [Sam's] been running into burning buildings since he was, what, 12?"

DEAN: "Pretty much."

(5.21 Two Minutes to Midnight)

Chapter 1: Life is Bigger than You

Eleven-year-old Sam Winchester felt the first drop of fat rain strike his face and picked up his speed. He wasn't in any rush to get back now the school day had ended but he didn't want to get soaked. He might be one of the only kids in the world who jogged enthusiastically to school and dawdled despondently home.

Sam liked school. Well, he liked learning. School could be hit or miss depending on the particular school he was at and how long he could be there. His current school was ok. Not the best but far from the worst he'd attended. He liked his teachers and though he didn't have friends exactly, the other kids mostly left him alone and didn't give him a hard time.

The same could not be said of his big brother who was being even more insufferable than usual.

Dean, who had never had much interest in school, seemed ready to give the whole thing up, even though he was only fifteen. As far as Sam could tell in fact, his brother only had two interests: killing things and making Sam's life as miserable as possible.

Letting himself into the short-term apartment their dad had rented, Sam shook his head wryly. He could hear his brother talking and since Sam had come straight home from school, and his school was a lot closer than Dean's, it meant his brother had been skipping classes again. He entered the main space, ready to scold, but paused as he watched Dean pulling something from a pile of their dad's clothes that was bundled on the floor.

"It's okay," Dean was saying in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "I've got you."

Something was off. His brother only used that tone when Sam had a particularly nasty nightmare or their dad was really badly hurt. Even then he'd stringently deny it afterwards.

"Dean?" Sam queried with a frown.

Dean's head jerked up, the 'caught' look, almost comical. He was holding something in his hands. "Erm …"

Sam approached with suspicious, narrowed eyes and saw a small nose poke out from between Dean's fingers. He looked from his brother's closed-cupped palms to the pile of their dad's clothes, back again, and finally to his brother's face.

Helping with the family business the last few years had taught Sam that weird and crazy stuff happened, but this was … was …

"Dean, what did you do?"

Dean, who had followed Sam's gaze from hands, to clothes, to face, arranged his features into a would-be-reassuring expression.

"Relax Sammy. It's nothing I can't handle."

"What?" Sam's eyes did the circuit again. "Dad?" he queried towards the nose that was once again trying to push its way out of Dean's gentle grasp.

"Hey, don't worry. I mean, mice are hunters too, right?" Dean grinned.

"How … what … I mean … WHAT THE HELL, DEAN!" Sam felt panic in his stomach. He searched his brother's face for some sort of explanation.

Dean lifted his hands closer to his face.

"It's okay, we'll look after you," he said gently to the mouse.

Sam gaped, his mouth working but no sound escaping. Before he could come up with anything, he heard a familiar rumble outside. Frowning, he glanced towards the door, then back to his brother. Dean was still whispering quietly to his hands.

A moment later John marched into the room, a large bucket of chicken in one hand.

Noticing the look of shock on his youngest son's face and the mirth on the older boy's lips, his smile dropped.

"Dean, what did you do?"

"I found a mouse," the teen said innocently. "I was just putting it out."

"You're such a jerk!" Sam said to his brother, hitting him in the arm before heading over to the couch and dumping his school bag.

John raised an eyebrow at Dean. Dean was trying not to laugh.

"Sammy wanted to keep it as a pet."

"I did not, assface. You said –"

"I didn't say anything," Dean corrected. "It's not my fault you jumped to conclusions." He grinned delightedly.

"Sammy, watch the mouth. Dean, stop winding your brother up, get rid of that thing and make sure you wash your hands."

Dean moved to do as he was told. His dad would have little compulsion in just killing it rather than putting it out.

Sam felt even more irritated. He was the only one who got told off for his language. Dad and Dean both said far worse things than he ever did and apparently that was fine. He wanted to tell on his brother, but that would mean admitting what he'd fallen for. It was unlikely Dad would be impressed Sam had actually believed, even for a moment, that the burly hunter had become a small squeaking mouse.

Sam started unpacking his schoolbooks as John put the bucket of chicken on the table and Dean returned from outside, moving to the sink to wash his hands.

"Get it while it's hot," John said to his youngest, though they all knew he meant 'before Dean eats it all' given the older boy had grabbed three pieces of chicken with his wet hands before even sitting down!

They ate in silence. Sam wasn't speaking to his brother but one look at their stubborn faces was enough for John to know neither of them would tell him what the dispute was about.

"Caleb called," John said to break the silence as he pulled a beer from the fridge.

"Did he get the ammunition we need?" Dean mumbled through a full mouth.

"Better."

"A job?"

"Looks like. We're heading out tonight."

Dean grinned.

"How long will you be gone?" Sam frowned.

"You're coming with us."

John took a long swig of beer as both his sons said, "what?" in unison.

He gave Dean a sharp look that told the boy to shut up, then looked back at Sam.

"It's in New Mexico. We'll set you up somewhere nearby."

"What about school?"

"I don't know how long the job will take yet. When we know more, we can get you registered somewhere if need be."

"If need be? I need to go to school Dad!"

"This is bigger than you, Sam! It's the job, people are dying." Seeing the brightness in his son's eyes John softened. "Missing a few days won't hurt."

Sam opened his mouth. Dean shot him a 'shut-it' look and Sam scowled at his brother instead.

When they were done with dinner, John got to his feet and tossed his beer bottle in the bin.

"Time to pack up, boys."

Sam frowned. "But –"

John fixed his gaze and Sam fell silent, heading off to start packing his stuff. He had never been shy about speaking up but lately he'd been pushing that line between question and dispute.

Dean followed after his brother. A sound from the TV distracted him and he turned to watch Chuck Norris kicking some ass until a sharp tap upside the head brought him back to the room.

"We've got work to do," his father said, shoving a bag into his hands.

ℼℼℼ

The following day, the sleek black Chevy pulled up next to a motel in New Mexico. Sam's shaggy hair appeared first, followed by his small frame in ill-fitting clothes as he climbed out of the backseat. Once on his feet, he leaned back in to grab a duffle and a backpack.

"We'll wait until you're checked in," called a deep voice from the front seat.

Sam didn't respond, or even glance in that direction. Instead, he hefted his bags up and headed into the office.

By the time he came out, key in hand, Dean had climbed out of the front seat and was leaning against the passenger door.

"All sorted Sammy?"

"It's Sam."

The teen smirked and reached forward to ruffle the flop of hair, knowing his younger brother's full hands would prevent the usual knock-away. "Whatever you say, Sammy."

Sam dodged back and glared.

Dean's face softened. "You gonna be ok?"

Sam's scowl deepened. "Why can't I come with you?"

"You know why."

"You go all the time."

"I'm older."

"You were younger than me when you started. Why can't I go too?"

"Because you are not me."

"How would you feel if I was going hunting and you were stuck here with not even school to focus on?"

"Fantastic," Dean grinned, hiding the stab of panic the thought induced. "Sole control of the tv and no homework. What are you bitching about, bitch?"

Sam didn't return the grin. There were many things he grumbled about regarding their lifestyle. The constantly changing schools, punctuated by periods where they didn't go at all, was a regular one.

"I still don't see why I couldn't have stayed at Pine View, if I'm not coming with you."

Dean did not share his brother's enthusiasm for school and while he tried to be supportive, he struggled to be empathetic.

"Because it's over a hundred miles and a state border away. What if something happened?"

"Like what? A monster of an essay? A killer equation on a math test?" Sam snarked. "Like you said, I am not you."

"Damn straight, nerd-boy. But you do have that Sammy face. Some granny-dress wearing teacher might try to adopt you and who would I torment then?"

Sam rolled his eyes. For all his huffing and puffing, Dean knew his brother was lingering. Sammy hated being left behind.

But the impatient hum of the engine was vibrating through the door at Dean's back. "You got everything you need?" He tried to leave things on a good vibe.

"You mean, do I have the route to the library and a plan of how to get there?" Sam snarked.

Dean's hand fisted. Getting his little brother to help a little with research had seemed a brilliant idea. The kid could be involved, learning, but not on the front line. However, like all of Dean's ideas, it was fatally flawed. Both his brother and father just found it a cause to complain and gripe.

The engine revved behind him and Dean pushed away from the car so he could turn and open the door.

"Remember, warding first. I'll check in as soon as we get settled."

"Whatever."

Biting back the urge to beat that word permanently from the younger boy's vocabulary. Dean opened the passenger door and slid into the car without another word.

As the Impala left dust in its wake, Sam turned and stomped off to find his room.

ℼℼℼ

Inside the car, John pulled his eldest's attention from the wing mirror, where he was trying to get a last glimpse of his brother. "You eaten?" he asked.

"Not yet," Dean grumbled with a slight frown. His breakfast sandwich was still in the bag because he'd been busy navigating and Dad could be savage if you got grease on the maps.

"Good." John passed a file over. Dean opened it and started reading a report on a couple of young men who had gone missing within a couple of months of each other.

Curious though this fact was, Dean wondered what about it had caught his father's attention. The photos in the file answered the question. He looked at the first autopsy image then turned it face down after a second, looking out of the window as he tried to repress a gag. After a few deep breaths, he steeled his stomach and looked again, grateful that his father had neither commented nor looked his way.

"Gross, what the hell did that?"

"No idea, I've never seen anything like it before, Caleb hasn't either."

"Did you call Bobby?"

John didn't answer but his jaw hardened and Dean remembered his dad and Bobby weren't talking again. He dropped the subject and returned to looking through the other documents. They hadn't yet identified the victim but initial tests had ruled out it being either of the two missing locals.

There was a nearby 'community' up in the hills, locally recognised as a cult but considered relatively benign. The police had checked with them and had been allowed to look for the missing or any signs of them. The search hadn't turned up anything except a report from one member that a couple of their young men had vanished also.

That made potentially four missing people and a fifth unidentified corpse that had been … well Dean wasn't sure what you'd call what had happened to it.

Having run over the info in the file, Dean looked at his dad.

"What do you think is doing it?"

"I'm not sure, but the police file says the followers of this cult leader …" he clicked his fingers.

"Henry Shepherd," Dean supplied, glancing again at the notes.

"Shepherd, right. Well, they are in absolute awe of him, like he's the fucking second coming or something. Rumour has it he has shown them proof of his power over evil."

"So?"

"So, my guess is that he's less than human."

John aggressively overtook three cars causing at least one to sound their horn. "As to what he is, let's just hope your brother stops getting distracted with this school crap and pulls his finger out."

"You didn't show him the pictures, did you?" Dean glanced worriedly at the file on his lap.

"Of course not. But my gut says whatever this is, it's old, so local history is essential."

"I said I'd call and check in when we book into a room. I'll make sure he's got all the data."

"We're not taking a room," John said tightly. Dean realised this part of the plan had been withheld until now for a reason. He turned to watch his father's face, knowing he'd glean more information that way than from his father's words.

"I'm dropping you off in town. We need the 'non-official' perspective on this cult and I don't want you drawing attention. Play the drifter, speak to people, find out what you can. Do not go anywhere with anyone. Do not engage with anyone who approaches you. Do not follow up any leads alone. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

Dean waited for the rest but his father was watching the road and appeared to be done talking.

"Where are you going?" Dean finally asked.

"I'm going to visit our local friendly cult leader."

"Alone?" Dean's worry leaked out as anger and John gave him a sharp look.

"Dean, I'm going in looking for work, and we do still have child labour laws in this country. Besides, I want you outside just in case."

Dean examined his father's features. Dad didn't want him as back-up, he wanted him out of the way.

John's jaw was working. Seeing that familiar look of weight on his father's shoulders, Dean tried to lighten the load.

"Child labour laws huh? And what exactly do they say?" he teased. The work he did with, and for, his dad definitely wouldn't be 'lawful' even if the job was mainstream.

"They say that sons still need to obey their fathers," John countered, a smile twitching his lip.

"Try telling Sammy that," Dean mumbled. John shook his head. Now was not the time to get into Sam's new tendency towards insubordination.

"Just … keep your eyes open, and watch your back, okay?"

"Yeah Dad, I will. As long as you do." The tone was challenging and John knew this was no idle threat. Despite a somewhat slaphappy approach to his own wellbeing, Dean had little to no tolerance when it came to his family taking risks. It was one of a few issues on which he tended to forget who the parent was.

John glanced over and gave him a small nod, affection replacing the usual implacable command in his expression.

ℼℼℼ

John went straight past the main turning to the town, and the next two, eventually turning down a rough track that barely seemed to be a road at all. After a bumpy ride that had them both wincing on the car's behalf, a few derelict buildings came into view. A little further along, the road improved and more buildings started to appear.

"Most of these are empty, but there's a few boarding houses at the end of the road. Get as close to them as you can but make sure you don't have company. You understand?"

"Yes, Sir." It wasn't the first time they'd used an abandoned place; Dean knew the drill.

"Keep your weapons on you and don't leave anything identifying lying around." John watched Dean's face carefully, making sure he was paying attention. "I don't know what kind of reception I'll get but whatever happens, I'll make my excuses and come into town at sunset. I'll meet you back at those first buildings we passed. Where?"

"The first buildings, ivy and faded green shutters," Dean said to show he had been paying attention the whole way.

"Good man."

Dean knew there were those, even among the hunters they trusted, who questioned his dad letting him work with him. But Dean saw the worry and regret, just as clearly as when he could see pride or disappointment. What they were doing was important. They were saving people. Dean wanted to do it. Even if he sometimes hated … Well, there were no lengths he wouldn't go to, to be there for his family.

ℼℼℼ

Generally speaking, when trying to determine if someone is a flesh melting monster, exposing your own bare flesh, while they play with sharp objects, would be inadvisable. But if there was one thing John Winchester had learned over the last decade of hunting, it was that you never knew what would happen and what steps you might need to take to get the job done and get out alive.

Henry Shepherd, or Hank, as he had asked John to call him, was not at all what John had expected from a 'divine' cult leader. John's ruse of looking for work had been warmly welcomed as Hank explained he could use a hand at that very moment. Soon enough they were chopping down trees to make room for the new chicken run. The young, smaller ones were cleared easily enough between them but there was one sturdier ponderosa pine that was taking considerable work to bring down. Which was why John was stripping his shirt away while Hank checked the two-man crosscut saw they were using.

From what John had been able to discover, Henry Shepherd had been a regular Joe. A paper-pusher earning reasonable but not great money. He'd married his high school sweetheart and they'd had a daughter a few years later. Then, about eight years ago, his wife had been killed in a car accident. There had been nothing fishy in the report of the wreck that John had read. But Henry had quit his life, packed up his daughter, and set off across the country. He had eventually settled in this small community some years later.

At that time, it had been run by a man called Mathers, with his wife and brother. Then, last year, the brother and the wife had disappeared. Not long after, Mathers had shown up in town ranting drunkenly about evil and traitors. Henry had been running 'The Family' ever since. John had tracked down Mrs Mathers, she was living in Rhode Island with a new husband under a new name. He'd also tracked down her erstwhile brother-in-law, he was the new husband. Technically it wasn't bigamy. On one of his drunken rants, Mathers had picked a fight with the wrong man and ended up dead.

It was shortly after that, that the rumours of Henry's 'divinity' started to emerge.

So John had thought he had an idea of the man. But Henry Shepherd was not what he had expected. Cult leaders were usually inaccessible and had a creepy, suave thing going, this guy was more like a librarian. Obviously smart, with that weird mix of calm and passion.

John had known that posing as any form of authority was likely to put even the most benign cult on guard. And, from what he knew, cult leaders tended to be good at reading people. No one was going to read him as the soft malleable type that these people usually brainwashed, so 'just a guy looking for work' had seemed his best bet.

The work was hard, the day was warm, and Henry Shepherd had already removed his own sweat-soaked shirt. John followed suit, hanging his old fatigue-green t-shirt on an obliging branch to dry out.

"You're looking for something," Henry Shepherd stated, having run his eyes over the car and then the man.

"Yeah, work," John said.

"No, more than that, you are searching."

"You're not going to offer me a copy of the Watchtower are you?"

"You knocked on my door, remember," Henry laughed.

"Yeah, I guess I did," John paused to wipe sweat from his forehead with a bandana.

ℼℼℼ

AN: So no, I didn't turn John into a mouse – but if anyone wants to write that story I'll happily read it 😊 – Sorry, not sorry for the gratuitous shirtlessness of John and Hank 🙈 😁

Thank you for reading and if you have a mo, please do drop me a line. All feedback helps me improve and even a quick thumbs up can really make my day xx Love and hugs to all.