Hello everyone. Here I am, back from my hiatus, trying my hand at a pre-series case fic from when the boys were teens (Dean is eighteen, Sam is fourteen). As usual, posting will be done every Sunday, unless something comes up. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

"I can't believe it! You got us lost, didn't you?"

Benny looked at his fiancée who was rolling her eyes in the passenger seat. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that the road had been long, and Elizabeth had not been feeling well since that morning, and that, in the end, she was right – he shouldn't have taken that shortcut. Admitting it was another thing altogether, though.

"Of course we're not lost," he snapped.

"Of course," Elizabeth snarked. "You meant to drag me in the middle of the desert where we haven't seen a car for an hour."

Benny's lips thinned.

"It hasn't been that long."

Elizabeth ran a hand over her wet forehead.

"I suppose it could be worse."

She was either a psychic or one of those people who jinxed a situation by saying the wrong thing. No sooner had she said that, than the car spluttered and went still.

"Oh crap," Benny muttered.

Elizabeth looked at him disbelievingly.

"We haven't run out of gas, have we?"

Benny gulped. They can't have. It was impossible.

"I just filled her up this morning. You were there."

Elizabeth said nothing. Benny shook his head. He was regretting his idea of a road trip with his new fiancée. He had thought it would bring them closer. Instead, he had been starting to realize that he had not really known Elizabeth at all. She was shallow, insipid and complained about everything under the sun – including Benny. Especially Benny.

"Well, aren't you going to get out and see what's wrong with the car?" Elizabeth asked.

Benny rolled his eyes. Another thing that he had discovered was that, even though Elizabeth liked to tell everyone she was not like her father, she enjoyed giving orders just as much as he did.

Still, she was right. He had to go out and check. He was barely out of the car when Elizabeth screamed.

"What is it?" he asked.

Elizabeth pointed outside to the sweltering desert.

"Did you see that thing?"

Benny frowned.

"What thing?"

Elizabeth was shaking all over.

"It looked like a man but…but it wasn't….it had this face…"

Elizabeth's eyes took on a faraway, glazed look. Benny swore, recognizing the signs. Shock. She was in shock. But why? What had she seen out there?

Benny turned to stare at the empty desert. He could not see anything except tumbleweed here and there. But from the distance, he could hear bells. Church bells, although he was sure there was no town around for miles.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam got back from school feeling unexpectedly cheerful. It had been a good day. He had aced two tests and had managed to ask Lorna out. He had done exactly as Dean had advised him and had approached her with confidence – well, he had tried to, but he had tripped over his feet at the last minute. Lorna, apparently, had a sense of humor, so she was more amused than annoyed. Life was good for once.

As he approached the motel, he noticed his father's new truck. Sam frowned. His father had been on a solo hunt (he had been doing that a lot lately, now that Dean had turned eighteen, leaving them alone with only a short moment's notice). He was not due back until the next week. His early arrival could mean many things, and some of them were not good.

Sam drew a deep breath. He was glad his father was home early, he really was. Whenever John left, Sam felt a tightening in his chest that did not really go away until his dad was finally back. At the same time, there was another nervousness in him. Because he had no idea what he was going to find out when he opened that door.

Maybe his dad had come home hurt. Sam still remembered vividly the day when he had been nine and had been home alone when John had stumbled in bleeding from a shoulder wound. He had calmly explained to Sam that he needed to stitch him up and, when Sam had gone pale and protested, suggesting a hospital instead, John had just as calmly told him he was going to die before any ambulance could get there, and Sam had the option to watch him bleed out or actually use the training his father had given him and save his life.

Sam had done it. He still could not remember much of the following moments, except his Dad slurring "Good job" at him, and even though praise had been so rare from John, Sam had been unable to enjoy it this time. He had barely made it to the bathroom before he had been sick all over the place, and that had been how Dean had found him an hour later.

Dean had been chagrined that he had not been there to take care of John, but Sam had tried to point out that, as a twelve-year-old, Dean shouldn't have been stitching up his adult father either. Dean had snapped at Sam, advising to save the afterschool special speeches for the old broads in pastor Jim's parish, since they loved this kind of thing. He had still been nice, in his way, to Sam after that, getting Sam his favorite food and even bringing him a brand new book. Sam had never had the heart to ask if Dean had stolen it.

For a moment, Sam wavered in front of the door. He was fourteen now, and had patched his father and brother up more times than he could count. He had even patched himself up one time when all three of them had been injured and Sam had been the only one conscious enough to be able to administer first aid (Dean had been guilty for ages after that one, and even John's jaw had clenched when he had caught sight of Sam's handiwork on himself). Perhaps he should have gotten used to how they lived their lives. He hadn't, though, and after the good start of his day, he did not think he had it in him to be thrust back into the reality of his life, the one he could not mention to anyone, the one that kept him isolated from his peers.

Then Sam shook himself out of his dark thoughts. If this was true, his father needed help. And Dean was probably still at work. So he was the only one who could offer assistance.

He pushed open the door, his heart pounding. To his relief, no one seemed to be dying. John was sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and going over a map. He glanced up as Sam walked in.

"Hey, Sammy," he greeted. "Just in time."

Sam had long started to bristled whenever John was calling him Sammy. He was fourteen. He went by Sam now. He still allowed Dean to call him Sammy because, well, he was Dean. With John it was different. With John, he was never sure if it was a sign of affection or proof that John still considered Sam a kid who could not be completely useful on the hunt, not until he was full grown and fully matured. Still, he allowed John the slip.

"In time for what?" he asked.

He checked his father out , satisfied that, apart from a small cut on his face which could have been only from shaving, he looked fine.

"I thought you were on a hunt."

John shrugged.

"I was nearly done. I handed it over to Caleb. Something came up."

Sam did not say anything but sat down at the other end of the counter, allowing his backpack to drop form nerveless fingers. Something came up could mean anything. Someone they knew in trouble. Dad being chased by the police. Child services wising up that Sam and Dean were alone in the motel (although that one had stopped being a threat, he reminded himself, Dean was eighteen now and had custody over Sam). Dad finding a lead on the thing that had killed Mom – the supposed end of their quest and life as Hunters that Sam secretly believed would never happen.

"What came up?" he finally asked.

John glanced sharply at him, and Sam wondered if he could guess what Sam was thinking.

"Nothing to worry about," he said. "A hunt. An old friend of mine needs a favor."

Sam tilted his head, waiting to hear more. He thought he knew all of Dad's hunting friends, if one could call them that. John Winchester was good at forming alliances, less good at making friends.

John cleared his throat.

"Actually, maybe old friend does not really describe him," he said. "He…was my commanding officer in Nam."

Sam stiffened. John never talked about that part of his life, and, as far as he knew, he had not kept in touch with the people he knew before he became a hunter.

"He knows what you are?"

John shrugged.

"Let's just say he's run into me before – discovered what I do, more or less."

As usual, his dad was not very forthcoming.

"So, what does he need?" Sam asked. "I hope he doesn't have a haunted barracks and want us to go undercover to get the ghost. I'm not cutting my hair."

The corners of John's mouth curled up slightly.

"So I've noticed," he said dryly, then became serious once more. "His daughter's missing. Possibly dead. She went on a road trip with a boyfriend or fiancé, and only he returned."

Sam raised his eyebrows. Boyfriend or fiancé. If this was the intel John got from his commanding officer, Sam could tell the guy did not approve of his daughter's life choices. Maybe that was what fathers were usually like, Sam thought. Or maybe John had learned a lot more from his officer pal than how to discipline his troops.

"What's he saying happened? The fiancé, I mean?"

John shook his head.

"Apparently, he's rambling about some creature in the desert and an abandoned town."

Sam looked up, interested in spite of himself.

"A ghost town?"

John shrugged.

"Probably."

Sam smiled.

"Cool."

He noticed the look his father gave him. Sam was not often enthusiastic about the hunt.

"There are a lot of legends about ghost towns. I've always wanted to see one of those."

Sam felt rather sheepish confessing it, but his Dad was looking at him as if he actually enjoyed his company – and Sam knew how rare such moments were.

"Well, you might just have the chance to see one now," John said. "We're just waiting for Dean to get back. I assume you'll be riding with him?"

Sam nodded without hesitation and tried not to feel guilty at the rather subdued look on John's face. He couldn't help it. He loved his father, maybe even got on well with him when John wasn't trying to show how much of a hardass he could be. But Dean was…well, Dean was Dean.

xxxXXXXxxx

Dean was slightly surprised to see Sam was not putting up his usual resistance at having to leave town. Instead, he packed quietly and loaded the Impala and even said good-bye to John quite cheerfully. Dean waited until the two of them were alone in the car to ask if he needed to reach for the salt and silver.

"What?" Sam glared at him. "I'm in a good mood and you immediately assume I'm possessed?"

Dean shrugged, feigning innocence.

"Hey, it's not my fault you usually walk around like you've got a stick up your butt."

Sam shook his head.

"I do not!"

Dean snickered.

"Trust me, Sammy, you do too."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"I mean, I'm not happy that I asked Lorna out and…"

"And of course she took one look at you and said no," Dean interrupted snickering.

He snickered even harder when Sam glared at him.

"She said yes, Dean," he declared loftily.

Dean grinned.

"That's my boy, Sammy. But this doesn't answer my question, it just makes me even more suspicious. If you were that close to finally scoring…"

He noticed Sam blush and duck his head.

"I wasn't going to score, Dean, it wasn't going to be that kind of a date…"

Really, Dean thought, if Sam continued to splutter like that, he was going to lose it completely.

"Then what kind of date would it have been? Ice cream on the library steps?"

Sam was staring at the dashboard.

"The library has a tea shop inside."

Dean laughed outright.

"Romantic as well as a nerd," he commented. "So, why aren't you pissed?"

Sam shrugged. Dean tensed when he noticed the previous fluster was gone. Sam now looked…wary.

"When I saw dad's truck," Sam mumbled, "I thought…well, I thought it would be worse than him telling us to go on a hunt. He was early, so I thought…"

Sam bit his lips. Dean regretted the persistent questioning.

"Sammy…" he began.

He had no idea what he was wanted to say. The things that were in his mind were not things the three of them ever said to each other. He reached out and clutched his brother's shoulder instead. Sam seemed to relax under his touch, so maybe it had been able to convey more than Dean's clumsy attempts at putting his thoughts into words would have.

"We'll stop somewhere for dinner," Dean decided. "Where we can sit down and you can get something you like."

It was Sam's turn to look at him with suspicion.

"Won't Dad be mad if we're late?"

Dean shrugged.

"We'll be only fashionably late," he said. "Never mind. Let me take care of Dad."

And you. But, as usual, that went unsaid.

xxxXXXXxxxx

When Sam and Dean arrived at the house of General Arthur Croydon (retired), John's truck was already there. Dean parked the car next to it and got out. Sam seemed to hesitate briefly, then shrugged and got out of the car. Dean watched him with raised eyebrows.

"Anything the matter, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged.

"Dad's commanding officer. I'm not sure I want to meet him."

Dean's mouth quirked in the beginnings of a smile.

"What, afraid he's going to tell you to cut your hair and make your bed military style?"

Sam scowled.

"The hair's off limits," he said firmly. "And I'm already making my bed better than you."

Dean put an arm around him to steer him towards the house.

"Well, he'll love you for your OCD at least. Now come on. We're late as it is."

Sam sighed. He already predicted there was going to be tension with the General and their father. The peace between the three Winchesters could not last too long.

xxxXXXXxxx

Arthur Croydon was pacing his study. John Winchester had changed. He'd become a soldier in the true sense of the world, in a war that seemed completely his own. It had been different when Croydon had met him. John had been young then. Hesitant to take part in a war. Hesitant to kill just because his commanding officer pointed at someone and declared him the Enemy. John had found his own enemies now. And Croydon was sure he did not hesitate anymore.

"Your sons are late," he said.

John grimaced.

"I'm sure they have a good reason."

He did not sound so sure. Croydon allowed himself to feel sympathetic for once.

"Elizabeth is also unruly at times…was unruly, I should say. She's probably dead, isn't she?"

John was avoiding his look.

"I don't know, Sir. It's possible, yes."

Croydon frowned. He would have thought John of all people would know he did not like being managed like a weak civilian.

"Likely, you mean."

Reluctantly, John nodded.

"We won't know for sure until we find out what we're dealing with. But…you're right. It's likely. I'm sorry."

Croydon turned away and headed to the window.

"I haven't called you here to hold my hand, Winchester."

"Of course not," John accepted.

"I called you to solve this," Croydon went on. "However it needs to be solved. And I want the truth – however painful."

He turned to face Winchester again. This man had to know, he thought. Not only because he was a hunter and saw loss every day. But he was a father, too. He had to understand.

"After all," Croydon added. "You'd want to know the truth, too. If you were in my place - wouldn't you?"

He saw something in John then. A deadly glint, a stiffening of his shoulders, something hard on his face.

"Don't say that to me again," John said. "You have no idea what's been happening with us all those years on the road. Don't take my mind to such places."

Croydon nodded, slightly shaken. John had been respectful until then. Now, however, he was clearly showing Croydon he could not play the commanding officer with him anymore. John Winchester knew more than Croydon would ever know. And he was willing to do things for his sons that would have made even Croydon hesitate.

The rumble of a car distracted his attention. He turned back to the window and saw the black Impala that pulled to a stop next to John's truck. Like it belonged there.

"I think your boys are finally here," he said.

"Good," John replied. "About time."

The dangerous glint was gone. But now that Croydon had seen it, he could not put it out of his mind.

"Well, let's go meet them, shall we?" Croydon said in a pleasant voice.

Now that he had seen what John Winchester had become after thirteen years of hunting, he wanted to see what sort of sons he had raised.

xxxXXXXxxxx

As soon as Croydon opened the door, Sam knew he was assessing the two of them as if trying to figure out what strategic uses they could have. Sam was also certain that the general was quite taken in by Dean – the stiff posture Dean adopted when he was around his dad, the way he moved, so sure of himself and ready to attack at the smallest hint of something wrong, ever the soldier. Just as Sam knew that, when it came to himself, Arthur Croydon found him wanting.

Dean had teased him about the hair, saying the General was bound to hate it. And true, the longer-than-acceptable hair did not help, but it was more than that. Sam was fourteen and going through an unexpected growth spurt. He was still getting used to his longer limbs, and there was a clumsiness in his movements that was painfully obvious. Sam was aware that, when he was put next to Dean and his father, all people saw was just how different Sam was from them. Like he did not really belong in their family.

"Well, you certainly do look like John's boys," Croydon said and, sure enough, the statement was said more to Dean than to him.

"What took you so long?" John asked. "You should have been here at four."

Sam braced himself for disapproval, because stopping to enjoy lunch when someone's daughter was missing and presumed dead was not the done thing in their family.

"Road accident," Dean said smoothly. "Couldn't really escape that one, as the cops would have been suspicious if we sped by and they'd have pulled us over, and we'd have been even later."

Sam tried not to gape at Dean. Lying to John was also not the done thing in their family, either.

If John thought Dean was hiding something, he did not let it show, simply nodding.

"Well, you're here now. You can get to work."

Just like that, Sam thought. No time to rest or shower or even set aside their things. His good mood was souring fast, and he knew he was being unnecessarily petulant, deep down. But it had been a long drive, and he was tired. Although, maybe the tiredness had more to do with their lifestyle in general than with this particular drive. Well, if it had, there was nothing Sam could do about it.

Shrugging and dismissing his thoughts, Sam followed the others into the General's study.

xxxXXXXxxxx

"We'll need to talk to Benny," Dean announced, after Croydon offered them a report of what had happened that sounded much like what their father had said.

"I told you everything Benny told me," Croydon pointed out.

"Well, yes," Dean conceded. "But there might be something Benny didn't tell you. Something he might feel comfortable sharing with someone younger."

Croydon frowned.

"I do not like where you're going, young man."

Dean looked slightly abashed, but held his ground.

"Sorry, Sir. The truth is, I'm getting the idea that you did not like Benny very much."

"Dean…"

Dean ignored John's warning.

"Maybe you thought he wasn't good enough for your daughter?" he pressed.

John cleared his throat. Croydon looked like he was about to explode. Still, he did not bother denying it.

"He wasn't. He was this bum with no ambition. Elizabeth deserved better."

Dean kept his face blank of judgment.

"Well, if you don't mind me saying, General, if he knew this is what you thought of him, he probably would not want to confide in you."

Dean knew how to make himself pleasant to get something. He tried to appear sympathetic to the general's cause, even though he thought that maybe he had been far too hard on his daughter and her fiancé.

Croydon's shoulders sagged.

"He also talked to the police."

"The police wouldn't know what questions to ask," John pointed out, unexpectedly intervening on Dean's behalf. "Any mention of something unusual and they'll dismiss it as shock or drugs or Benny lying."

Croydon looked at him thoughtfully.

"So, you'll talk to Benny," he said. "And then? What's the plan afterwards?"

"We go find this town Benny mentioned," Sam said.

Croydon shook his head.

"There's no town. I checked on the map. There never was."

Dean smirked.

"I wouldn't worry about that," he said. "If there are any obscure mentions of a town there, Sammy will find them in no time."

Sam shuffled next to him, uncomfortable to be put on the spot like that. Croydon was eyeing him with skepticism, making Dean bristle. He never liked it when people underestimated his little brother.

"Trust me, General," he added. "They haven't made lore references that Sam can't dig up."

Croydon looked at John, whose face remained neutral, something which annoyed Dean even more. He knew John sung Sam's praises when Sam wasn't there, but was hesitant to mention Sam's positive qualities when Sam was present. Something about not motivating him enough. Maybe Dad knew best, but Dean wondered if it would have killed him from time to time to let Sam know he was actually proud of him.

Croydon shrugged.

"As you wish. I'm in your hands."

John nodded.

"I need to talk to you, Dean," he said. "Alone."

Dean noticed Sam tense. He could not afford to refuse Dad's order, not in front of General Croydon.

"Sure," he said lightly.

He patted Sam on the shoulder as he followed John out the room.

Dean tried not to think of the way Sam looked at him as he walked away – as if Dean had committed some kind of betrayal by not insisting that Sam come with them. The truth was, Dean actually believed Sam was right. He should have spoken out.

xxxXXXXxxxx

John led Dean down the corridor to a small kitchen. He pointed to the coffee machine.

"Want one?" he asked.

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"You didn't call me here just to offer me coffee," he pointed out.

John shrugged.

"I want you and Sam to go look for that town alone."

Dean gaped at him.

"You want what?"

John could not blame him. Sam and Dean had never hunted alone. Even when John had not been there, he had teamed the boys up with a trusted adult. Like Bobby. Or Caleb. He had sometimes thought of introducing his sons to Ellen Harvelle, but Ellen did not hunt and, with how things had gone down with her husband, John was not sure he wanted to trust her with his sons. He knew what grief could do to someone, especially someone who had been taught that revenge was the best way to cure sadness.

"You're eighteen, Dean," he told his son. "You're an adult by law."

Dean smirked.

"That's not what you said last week," he pointed out cheekily.

John rolled his eyes.

"Well, you weren't acting like an adult last week. The truth is, Dean, that I might not always be around. And I need to know my sons can carry out my legacy."

He watched Dean's face become closed-off. If there was something that Dean did not like to talk about, that was the possibility of the people around him leaving – or dying.

"Listen," Jon said, clearing his throat. "There's another reason why I want you to do this alone. Well, just you and Sam."

"Spill."

"Croydon knows someone. A…sort of witch I suppose."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"You want to gank her?"

John grimaced.

"Well, him actually. And no. At least, not unless he double-crosses me."

Dean looked uncomfortable.

"Double crosses you about what? What's going on, Dad?"

John sighed heavily. He could tell Dean that it wasn't for him to ask questions. Dean would have accepted it. he usually did. He wasn't Sam, after all. But this was big. And while he never wanted Dean to know the entire truth, it was still better that he knew something.

"He might have information. About the…about the thing that took your mother."

Dean stiffened.

"Really?"

John nodded. He knew how this affected Dean. He had often told the boys that once they got the creature that killed their mother, that would be it. they would stop hunting. At times, John even believed it.

Dean released a shaky breath.

"I should…I should be here."

John shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. "No, Dean, Croydon needs our help after all. And you have your orders."

This isn't how you talk to your kids Dad. Sam would have said it without hesitation. But Dean – Dean was different. He only nodded curtly.

"Yes, Sir," he said. "I'll go tell Sam, then."

"You do that," John said.

Dean turned around and walked out of the room. John's shoulders slumped. He had not told Dean, he could never tell him, that the information he was about to receive was not about the thing that had killed his mother. It was about Sam and what the thing was doing in his room in the first place.

So? How's this for a first chapter? Ghost towns make for fascinating research and I can't wait to share it all with you. And playing with teen Sam and Dean is a lot of fun.