Supernatural 1. Chapter 1

**Title: **And There You Were

**Author: **ArianaKnightly

**Rating: **T

**Characters:** Sam, Dean, Mary, John, Bobby, YED, Lisa, etc.

**Summary: **Pre-series AU; Mary isn't killed in a nursery fire, but when Sam is five years old, the YED returns to collect his soldier. Twelve years later, just as it seems like the Winchesters are truly moving on from the tragedy that occurred that night (Dean has a serious girlfriend and John has a smoothly running garage managed by Mary), Bobby calls with disconcerting news, forcing Mary's family into the life she had tried so hard to escape from.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural.

_**Reviews are appreciated!**_

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><p><strong><span>CHAPTER ONE<span>**

Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as she dragged them open and focused on the ceiling in the dark bedroom that she shared with John. The space beside her was empty and the sheets were untouched; the sound of the television drifted up from the living room downstairs and Mary bit back a smirk as she realized her husband had once again fallen asleep while watching one of his late night shows.

Short lived, her amusement faded. It wasn't the faint sounds of the television that had pulled her from her sleep—that had never affected her in the past. She couldn't hear Sammy crying, which meant she should be sound asleep, taking advantage of the few hours of slumber that she could capture before the five year old demanded her attention once more—he rarely slept a night without some kind of nightmare waking him up.

Now wide awake and hyperaware of her surroundings, Mary slid her hand over the side of the bed frame and into the space between the bed slats and the old hand-me-down mattress, pulling out the curved, silver knife her father had given her years ago for her sixteenth birthday.

Even years after leaving the hunting life behind, Mary couldn't completely let go of her old instincts, which told her to scout the area and take precautions. But newer, more insisting instincts brought on by motherhood overrode those desires and she hid the knife in the deep pocket sewn into the side of her nightgown so as not to scare her children. Although she took each step cautiously, her feet carried her quickly down the hallway until she reached the door to Dean's bedroom, which was opened a small crack to let in some light from the hallway. The child was convinced that a monster crawled into his room and tried to steal him away in his sleep when the lights were turned off. When the boy had first made these accusations, Mary had waited until John and Dean were out of the house and had proceeded to search every inch of her son's bedroom for signs of the supernatural. Finding nothing, Mary was relieved that her old life wasn't closing in on her, and that her son was allowed to get lost in the typical dramas and fears of childhood. Mary's own father had made sure that she was well aware of the dangers held by the world, so much so that Mary had always had much more terrifying things to worry about than the dark.

Nothing appeared to be amiss in Dean's room. She opened the door a bit wider, and a small smile lit her eyes as she watched the child's small chest rise up and down rhythmically, a slight frown of concentration between his eyebrows. She'd already turned her back to Dean and was heading towards the nursery when the shattering of glass, then the startled cry of a child sounded from the bedroom and had her rushing past the door and flipping on the lights.

The glass of water Mary had set on Dean's nightstand earlier in the night was lying, shattered, on the hardwood floor at the side of the bed away from the door, and her son's back was pushed up against his headboard, his eyes wide and his spiky, fair hair disheveled. Seeing Mary, the panic in his eyes calmed. He held his arms out to her. "Mom, he was here! I dreamed of the monster again. He talked to me, said stuff about Sammy." Even as he recounted his dream, Dean knew he was safe with Mary. Nothing bad could happen with her there to protect him.

Mary sat on the edge of Dean's bed, pulling him onto her lap. She stroked his hair before resting her cheek on the soft fuzz. "Oh, honey. Don't worry about it."

"But, Mom, his eyes were scary and they glowed in the dark."

"That's just because he was wearing special contact lenses, like Daddy wore for Halloween last year… remember?"

Dean bit his lip until he decided that Mary was right. Nodding his head, Dean relaxed and let himself fall back against his mother. "But why did he say I couldn't be his?"

"Well, Deany, do you really want to know why?" Mary said into her son's ear, turning him around so that he could see her eyes. When Dean nodded again, he missed the playful glint Mary's eyes had taken on, and by the time he saw the smile crawling onto her lips, it was too late. His mother tickled him until he was gasping for air and his eyes were welling with tears.

"The monster can't have you because you're already my little boy," she finished, setting her son back onto the bed and pulling the covers up around him. Dean grinned up at her, no longer afraid of his nightmare in the slightest.

"Mom, I'm in the third grade. Sammy's the little one."

"What are you two doing up?" a deep voice asked from the hallway, causing both Mary and Dean to look towards the door. John stood there, rubbing his eyes in a way that caused Mary to remember him as he had been years ago, when she had first met the young mechanic, fresh out of the Marine Corps. Sure, now he had sprouted a beard, and parenthood had carved a few lines onto his young forehead, but he still had that mature innocence Mary could never hope to obtain. She thanked God that her husband would never need to know the true horrors that lurked in the shadows.

Dean pushed back the covers once more and slipped out of bed before Mary had time to protest. He made a mad dash towards his father and crashed into the older man's legs. "I had a bad dream about the monster with glowing eyes, but I'm okay now."

John quickly glanced at his wife, who gave him a small smile in return to show that there was nothing more to Dean's story. Scooping the youngster up, John headed over to his wife and sat down beside her. Dean snuggled into the space between his parents and drowsily laid his head in Mary's lap whilst keeping the rest of his small body curled up on his father's legs. The parents watched as the boy's eyes drooped, and they shared the quiet moment as a family. This was why Mary had found it so easy to toss away everything her father had tried to instill within her. These moments, this peace—they were irreplaceable. Mary bent over her son and ruffled his hair lightly before whispering into his ear, "Angels are watching over you, baby." Then she leaned back and breathed in a deep sigh, her own exhaustion catching up to her.

John put his hand in front of his mouth as his face contorted with a yawn. "Sammy's been pretty quiet tonight, hasn't he? Did you read to him before bed?"

"Yup," Mary sighed, "It doesn't usually help, though. I read to him every night and he wakes me up anyways, crying because of those damned nightmares. They torture him, John."

John grimaced. "Yeah. Maybe we could help if he'd tell us what happened, but our Sammy is one stubborn little kid. You know, Mary, you should take the couch for the rest of the night and I'll stay in the bedroom and help him out when he wakes up. You could use a full night's rest."

Lips pressed tightly with the yearning stirred by John's offer, Mary reluctantly shook her head. "You'll never be able to stay up all day at work tomorrow if Sammy keeps you awake. Besides, I'll be able to take a nap when Sammy takes his." Sam's kindergarten class only took place in the mornings, and the poor kid was usually so tired from his lessons and waking up halfway through each night that by the time Mary picked him up from school, he had to settle down for a few hours to catch up on his sleep. Sam's constant fatigue worried everyone in the family, even Dean, who tended to tiptoe around his younger brother for fear of interrupting his slumber.

Doubt and concern lingering in his eyes, John shook his head, consenting to his wife's logic. "Okay, fine, but this weekend, you are getting two full nights of rest." He leaned in to peck his wife on the lips before heading off to bed, but stopped when she held up a weary finger. "What?"

"John, what time is it?"

Frowning, John replies, "Almost four in the morning. Why?"

"He's never slept through the night this long. He usually wakes up before three. Have you been in to check on him?" She tried to keep her voice down, but pressed by her worry, the volume increased until Dean shifted awake on their laps.

"Mary, you worry way too much about these kids. Maybe he's finally getting over it and he'll stop waking up every night."

"No," Mary argued, carefully lifting Dean's head from her lap and shifting him onto John's. Despite her cautious ministrations, his eyes snapped open. They narrowed in confusion as he took in the anxiety in his mother's expression.

"Why are you scared, Mom?" Dean mumbled, but Mary ignored him as she headed for the door.

"Mary, will you just wait a minute?" John called as he set Dean aside onto the bed and got up to follow his wife. "If you go in there, you'll wake him up. Sammy's fine."

"No, this is different! Something woke me up, John!"

"Dean woke you up. You said it yourself that he was having a nightmare. He probably cried out in his sleep."

"Please, John," Mary pleaded, ducking out of the room.

Dean watched as his father also disappeared into the hallway. For a moment, he sat alone in his bedroom, confused from the fast-paced conversation that had transpired between his parents. "Daddy?" he called out, craning his head towards the door, expecting his parents to walk back in, laughing at some misunderstanding. "Daddy, what's wrong with Sammy?" As his baby brother's name escaped his lips, he shot into action, racing after his parents. He had barely reached the door of his room when he heard his father shouting, and a shrill sound that he'd never heard before shook through the hallways. A strange, bright light flickered from the door to Sammy's bedroom.

What he saw when he reached the door made him want to burrow behind the curtains he always used when he and his dad played hide-and-seek. The shrill sound was coming from his mother, her mouth opened wide in horror and shock. His father's face was hardened into a mask of fear and determination, something he recognized from the pictures his mother had shown Dean of the day his father had left on his Marines assignment. But what really drove the stake of fear through Dean's stomach was the shadow that lingered behind Sammy's trundle bed. It looked like his father hadn't noticed the figure, too preoccupied by the appalling phenomenon of Mary's ascent up the wall and towards the ceiling of the bedroom.

Those horrid, glowing eyes seemed to laugh at the tears now streaking down Dean's cheeks and dripping off his chin. Maybe this was just a terrible nightmare and his mom hadn't woken him up after all. He had only ever seen those animalistic yellow eyes before in his nightmares.

"Daddy!" Dean tried to scream, but his voice never amounted to more than a hoarse, petrified whisper. "Dad!" he attempted for the second time, but to no avail. So, with no other options, Dean ran into the room, heading straight for Sammy's bed, where the boy was still asleep. The yellow eyes filled with a new kind of look. One that reminded Dean of panic, but even he knew that wasn't it.

Dean couldn't know it, but the yellow-eyed demon was surprised that such a young boy would risk his life to get to his baby brother. And disappointed. This plan had already gone so wrong. There wasn't enough time to steal the boy away anymore, not with Mary butting in, serving to divide his powers and attention. It was too late. The sun was beginning to show in the distance, the boy would awaken from his induced sleep- which could prove to be dangerous- and by the time the following evening rolled around, the window of opportunity would be closed. The hunter had been warned, the child would be protected, and he would be spotted. He couldn't have anyone catching a hint of his plans yet. The time wouldn't be right until years in the future.

As the tragic scene played out in slow motion before him, the demon glared at this family who had succeeded in putting a dent in his plans. And even though there were others who would suffice, this boy, this small, repulsive human being, was supposed to be fate's gift to him, to his king. A child born of a long line of hunters and a descendent of the Men of Letters, whose nightmares always came true… none of the other children had even begun showing signs of psychic abilities as a result of his first visit all those years ago.

He could kill them all. His fury almost engulfed him, his rage unleashed could have demolished the entire rancid town of Lawrence, Kansas. But he reigned it in, knowing that if he did anything without his master's orders, there would be, to put it accurately, hell to pay. Mary he could be excused for killing, for she had tried to interfere with their deal. The husband and the other little boy… they could prove useful, and he wasn't willing to waste yet another one of his tools, especially after he'd lost the most powerful one he'd ever laid eyes on.

The idea came suddenly, placed into his head from somewhere far away. His lips curled into a sneer. He knew how he could still take the child. Then, within the space of a blink, everything was over.

The monster was gone, but not fast enough for Dean to miss that vile expression on his face. Mary dropped from the ceiling, the thin line of blood seeping from her stomach alarming, but not wide enough to be life threatening. John frantically searched for the wound, but Mary's eyes were crazed with dread from what she saw behind her husband's wide shoulders. A fire crawled up Sammy's small bed and flared, so quickly that it couldn't be natural. It engulfed the bed, so hot that Mary felt the heat searing the hairs on her arms, scorching her face. She screamed John's name as she saw Dean standing so close to Sammy's bed, still stumbling towards it despite the heat, the child realizing the danger his beloved brother was in. By some miracle, John was pulled from the daze he had fallen into, and he swiveled around, hardly pausing before he hurtled toward his eldest son, pulling him back from the flames, which were turning blue from the intense heat.

As John wrapped his hand around his wife's wrist and pulled Dean into his chest, he dragged them out from the house they had called home for so many years.

When they were safely huddled at the curb, sirens echoing in the distance but coming closer, John kept his hold on the remaining members of his family, the shock of what he had seen finally seeping in and causing his body to shiver uncontrollably. Surely, there had to be an explanation for what had happened to Mary. He even might have imagined it all. Dean was staring back and forth between his mother, the house in flames, and his father. Deciding that his mother, whose features were eerily void of all expression, was the better alternative to getting an answer, Dean directed his trembling words toward her. "M-mom… is Sammy okay? Did you get him out? Where is he?" He knew there was no way his parents would ever have let anything happen to him or his brother. Maybe Sammy was hidden somewhere to keep him safe from all of this.

Mary didn't hear her son's words. She didn't hear the neighbors shouting, didn't feel her husband's shaking arm wrapped around her shoulders, didn't care about the smoke forcing its way out through her mouth in frantic, heaving coughs.

She didn't think she could ever get close to forgetting the smell of burning flesh or the words that still bounced against her skull. The words she knew the demon had allowed only her to hear.

_ If I can't have him, then neither will you._

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><p>"Mary, you have to stop this. I know it hurts, God, I wish I didn't know how much, but you can't keep doing this."<p>

"Mary, Dean needs you. _I_ need you."

"Mary, please come with us. It might help… I know he's not really there, but people say that funerals give people closure."

"Mary, you're scaring me. Say something. Say anything. Cry, goddammit. Why can't you even cry for him?"

"I need an explanation, Mary! What happened in that bedroom? How did that damn fire start?"

"Snap out of it! Please, Mary, I'm begging you! Everything's falling apart and you just sit there, watching everybody struggle. Don't you get it? Your son thinks a monster is after him, and at this point, what can I say to prove otherwise? You're the one he needs."

"Mary, I called Bobby. You said… you said if anything strange happened to you, that I should call him and he'd know what to do. Remember? Mary, do you remember?"

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><p>Bobby didn't turn the radio on once during the six hour drive. As he pulled into the driveway of an unfamiliar house that nonetheless corresponded to the address John Winchester had given to him over the phone, a cold clutch of misery fisted in his stomach. His mind was numb as he shut off the engine and climbed out of the rusting Chevy truck. He nervously straightened his baseball cap and tried wiping the gathering of dust off of his jeans.<p>

Although Samuel had told him while helping out on a hunt years ago that his daughter had gotten engaged, Bobby hadn't ever met the girl. Samuel hadn't even told Bobby her name. From what he could gather, Samuel hadn't liked the husband and was furious that his daughter was leaving a "fulfilling" life of hunting, tossing aside her "duty" to run off with an idiot mechanic in order to lead yet another "white-picket fantasy that would only leave her disappointed when she came back to reality." Although Bobby had silently thought of how he wished for his ignorant, but happy, life with Karen, Samuel had been convinced that his daughter couldn't stay out of the life forever, that the hunt would eventually draw her back in, like it did with everyone.

Then, out of the blue, a decade after he'd heard news of the death of Samuel Campbell, he'd gotten a call on his personal line from a name he'd never heard before in his life.

"Singer," he'd answered gruffly, distracted as he flipped through an ancient, leather-bound volume on Babylonian gods, one of which a fellow hunter suspected to be terrorizing a small town where he had gone looking for a trickster.

"Are you Bobby?"

At the sound of the weary, guttural voice, Bobby had stopped reading. "Who are you? Where did ya get this number?" Bobby had growled. Very few people had the number to his personal line. Most of the hunters he knew resorted to calling his fake governmental phones when in need of assistance.

"I'm John. John Winchester. M-my wife, she…" the voice had trailed off, and he had heard the man talking to someone in the background. Straining his ears, Bobby could have sworn he heard the soft voice of a small child. "I'm sorry. I had to…" the man stopped talking once again and Bobby could hear papers rustling from the other line.

"My wife told me to call you if anything strange happened to her. She made me swear, and I don't know if this is what she meant, but if you can't help us, I just… I have no idea what I'll do."

"What's her name?"

"Excuse me?"

Bobby had let out an impatient huff of breath. "Your wife," he'd said slowly, "What is your wife's name?"

"Mary Winchester."

He'd searched his mind, but couldn't remember ever hearing such a name, nor meeting such a person. "Never heard of her."

There was no reply from the caller, and Bobby had almost hanged up after several minutes passed by without a response. "Wait," the man said, finally. "I don't know how she knew you, but she trusted you. I always knew there were things she wasn't telling me about how she grew up, and I never asked because I didn't really care. We just… when we met, it was so fast and it almost felt like she was running away from something, and I always thought it had to be pretty scary for her to run into the arms of a foolish mechanic like me. I guess, what I'm-"

"What did you just say?" Bobby's back had straightened as he heard the man's final sentence.

The man had cleared his throat, clearly confused. "I… what do you mean?"

"Did you say you were a mechanic?"

"Yes. Well, up until a few weeks ago. I'm taking a… leave of absence."

Campbell. That last hunt was one he could never forget. The man was a brilliant hunter, and despite all of his complaining about his daughter, Bobby knew he loved his family and everything he did was to protect them. "Was her father named Campbell?"

An intake of breath. "Yes! Samuel Campbell. The man despised me."

"What do you need?"

"Really?"

Damned idjit. Would the stupid questions ever stop? "What are you goin' on about? I haven't got all day."

"You'll really help me?"

"Yes!" A thought had occurred to Bobby. "Wait, tell me what happened to Mary."

Winchester spoke hesitantly, talking about a fire and how his young son died in the flames. How he barely got his frantic wife and nine year old son away from the house in time and how the boy, Dean, had been in the hospital for two nights because of several serious burns and smoke inhalation. He'd told of how his wife wouldn't respond to anything he said and how Mary had missed her child's funeral. They were living at the house of one of Winchester's coworkers.

Deciding he'd postponed the moment long enough, Bobby trudged up the steps to the door and rang the doorbell. The curtains on the window in the foyer moved slightly before he heard someone working the lock from the inside. When the door finally swung open, Bobby was startled to find nobody there until his gaze traveled down to a small, pale boy with blond hair that stuck out every which way. "You must be Dean," he muttered. The boy tilted his head a little.

"Yeah. I guess so. Who do you want?"

"I'm here to see Mary Winchester."

A look of sorrow, one that should never cross a child's face, settled into Dean's wide eyes, and the boy shook his head. "My mom won't talk to you." Dean glanced behind him, as if making sure nobody was listening, then leaned in closer to Bobby, almost stepping over the threshold. "Dad won't believe me, but it was the monster. I think he did something to her."

"What monster?" Maybe this wasn't just a fire.

"I saw him. I saw him standing behind Sammy and he had this mean face on him. He was in my dreams. I think he started the fire."

"What did he look like, son?"

"He had yellow eyes. They glowed. He looked like a person, but I've never seen someone who looked so mean. I think he wanted to hurt us." Dean's voice was dull, and his eyes were lifeless, reflecting none of the thoughts that had to be thundering around his skull.

"Dean," a stern voice reprimanded, and Bobby looked up to see a tall man with a dark beard standing behind the child. "I told you to stop talking about your dreams." Dean looked up almost fearfully and scurried back into the house.

"Sorry about that. John Winchester." The man, John, held out a hand and shook Bobby's with a firm grip. However, beneath John's obvious strength, Bobby could sense the slight tremble that accompanies never-ending fear and desperation. Awkwardly, Bobby drew his hand back. He felt like he'd intruded upon something he should never have been witness to.

John held the door open wider to let Bobby through. The first thing Bobby noticed about the house was that the place was spotless. He highly doubted that was due to any of the Winchesters' efforts. Then, his eyes landed on the stunning young woman, reclining against some pillows on a wicker couch covered by an old, handmade quilt. Mary. He could see her father in the girl, see it in the curve of her forehead, and the way she must have loved her family to have them so worried about her. He could imagine her being fiercely protective, willing to do anything, give anything to keep them away from the life of a hunter.

Bobby watched as John walked over to her and quietly knelt beside the couch. He kissed her on the forehead and for an instant, his eyes flickered to her face, hoping for any kind of reaction. When he got none, a familiar resigned look crossed John's face. "Nothing worked, you know," John said. "I tried comforting her. I yelled at her. I told her that Dean needed her help. She didn't go to Sammy's funeral, you know. I even tried begging. It's like she's locked herself away because she can't imagine a world without Sammy."

Hardening himself for the task at hand, Bobby sidestepped John, who stood up and backed a half step away from his wife to allow Bobby some room to work with. Hesitating only for a moment, Bobby drew back his hand and then brought it down with a hard smack to Mary's unblemished cheek. John cried out in anger, hurrying forward, but Bobby held out a hand to stop him. Reluctantly, John waited, ready to pounce if nothing came of Bobby's theory. Both men held their breaths, and John gasped when Mary blinked her eyes and seemed to focus on them for a few seconds before they glazed over again and she was gone. But those few seconds seemed to renew something in John. "My god, it worked," he breathed.

"Not really," Bobby sighed, holding back a groan as he rose from his position on the floor. Once he was back on his feet, he ran a hand through his scruffy beard, thinking through the situation thoroughly. "John, I've got a few buddies of mine crashing at my place and they said they could take care of anything that needs takin' care of 'til I can get back. How about I stay here until ya get back on your feet and I'll help you figure out what's goin' through your wife's mind?"

Dubious, John shook his head slowly. "Haven't you got work?"

Bobby snorted. "Business is always slow. Nobody would notice I was gone."

"Daddy, please."

Both men turned to look at the little boy half hidden behind the doorway. "Maybe he can help Mom."

Flexing his jaw, John headed for the doorway leading into the kitchen. Before he passed through, however, he paused. "One week."

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><p>The summer months were sad and slow. Bobby often sent Dean out of the house, encouraging the child to play with the other boys in the neighborhood, but he knew that Dean usually ended up merely observing, lamely sitting on a swing with a sullen frown upon his features. John reluctantly went back to work at the garage, knowing he needed money to build his family a new life.<p>

While everyone was out of the house, Bobby tried every spell and ritual he'd ever read about as he tried to pull Mary out of her stupor. Nothing helped, and Bobby began to doubt that there was anything other than shock and grief playing a part in her near comatose state. John hadn't said a word when Bobby hadn't left by the end of the week he'd been assigned.

When September rolled around, Dean was sent back to school, starting the fourth grade with his old friends. He used to be a troublemaker, always talking and horsing around in class, and his new teacher had been warned by Dean's previous instructors to beware of his disruptive manners. Mrs. Mongol found the boy to be the quietest child in the class, bordering on antisocial, and she personally called Dean's past teachers to make sure they hadn't confused him with another child. Eventually, she called his home while her students were having recess in the school playground, hoping to find answers to the child's odd behavior.

"Hello? This is John Winchester," a tired voice answered on the other line.

"Oh, hi. I'm Dean's teacher, Mrs. Mongol. I-"

"Oh God, tell me nothing's happened to him." The voice was immediately alert with a panicked edge to it. "Is he alright?"

Shocked, Mrs. Mongol shook her head even though she knew the man who had picked up the phone couldn't see her. "No, of course not. I was just worried about his behavior. I've received notes from his teachers of previous years and all of them describe a rambunctious, energetic child whom I haven't caught a glimpse of in Dean Winchester. I just couldn't imagine what could cause a little boy like that to become so withdrawn."

Rubbing his eyes, John sat down on the chair next to the phone of his family's new apartment. "He's had a tough year. We all have."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm just worried that your son is depressed, and, well, I wanted to make sure it wasn't because of problems at home."

"You have to understand… his younger brother died and his mother is ill. We lost our house. I'm working day and night to pay our bills. I'd be surprised if there wasn't something going on with him."

The man's words clicked in Mrs. Mongol's head and suddenly she realized why the Winchesters sounded so familiar. The fire had made front page news months ago. "I understand. If you don't mind, is it alright if I talk to him about what's going on?"

"No, go ahead. I'm sorry, I've got to head out to work." With that, John Winchester hung up, leaving the young teacher looking out of her classroom window at the young boy who kept staring at the clouds from his spot on the playground, as though hoping for something to appear. She wondered what she could possibly say to a child who had lost so much.

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><p>"Mom, there's a school play next week. I don't have to be in it because I asked not to, but Mrs. Mongol said I still have to help with the set and costumes and stuff. It's a really stupid play about the Indians and pilgrims and stuff. I wish you'd come see it anyway." Dean chattered about anything he could think of, even though he kept his eyes averted from his mother's staring figure. She always laid in that bed, even when the sun came up, and it unnerved Dean.<p>

It was late, and John had allowed Dean to say goodnight to his mother before heading up to bed. John was already asleep on the couch downstairs, where he'd taken to sleeping lately. Dean suspected it was because he had trouble sleeping beside his troubled wife, and John couldn't sleep in the third bedroom because Uncle Bobby used that room.

Knowing it was futile, Dean allowed himself to search his mother's eyes for any sign of recognition, and tried not to be disappointed when he found none. "Okay, Mom. I have to go to bed now." He waited for a minute, once again hoping for his mother to say the words she used to say every night to him before he went to bed. She hadn't said them in four months, and he didn't expect her to say them now.

He slowly trudged toward the door, when a sudden thought struck him and he made his way back to the bed. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I… Mom, you always said that angels were watching over me and Sammy, and I just thought… is Sammy an angel now?"

Mary blinked, but Dean knew she did that sometimes. It was when she blinked again a second later and a large tear rolled down her cheek that Dean realized his mother was actually reacting to something he'd said. Trying not to get his hopes up, telling himself not to expect anything more, he cautiously leaned over in the bed and hugged his mother. "It's okay, Mom, you don't have to cry."

"Sammy was always an angel, Dean." The words were quiet and said in an unfamiliar, hoarse voice Dean barely recognized. He thought he'd imagined them, but when he looked at Mary's now focused eyes, he turned his head into her stomach and began crying into her nightgown.

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><p><strong>To Be Continued<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **And There You Were

**Author: **ArianaKnightly

**Rating: **T

**Characters:** Sam, Dean, Mary, John, Bobby, YED, Lisa, etc.

**Summary: **Pre-series AU; Mary isn't killed in a nursery fire, but when Sam is five years old, the YED returns to collect his soldier. Twelve years later, just as it seems like the Winchesters are truly moving on from the tragedy that occurred that night, Bobby calls with disconcerting news, forcing Mary's family into the life she had tried so hard to escape from.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural.

_**Reviews are appreciated!**_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO<strong>

As he pulled into his parents' driveway, Dean was almost nervous. He'd never had a serious girlfriend before and girls he'd been with in the past had sure as hell never asked to meet his parents. Lisa seemed to be the epitome of calm, sitting quietly in the seat beside him, leaning her head against the Impala's window, her foot occasionally tapping to the tune of the rock music that had become merely a background noise to Dean's tumultuous thoughts.

They were both tired. Dean had just spent the past week, including Christmas, at Battle Creek with Lisa's family and now they were coming to spend the new year with Dean's. He felt almost embarrassed at his miniscule family of three—four if Bobby had found the time to travel down to Lawrence— compared to Lisa's extremely extended family, who treated the holidays as a time for a family reunion. He had been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people. Everyone had been excited to see Lisa arrive with Dean, and they kept saying how happy they were that their girl was finally settling down. _That_ had definitely not freaked Dean out and he wondered what Lisa had told them about their relationship. He couldn't see himself starting a family yet. Or ever.

He felt guilty for missing Christmas with his parents. He'd always made a point of making it back from whatever trip or job he was away on when it came to the holidays, feeling that they needed someone to dote on. It was his job to keep them from going back to what could have been.

God, he was such a hypocrite.

"Lisa," he muttered, turning off the engine. She turned her head over to him and sent him a smile so sweet and supportive that it sent his stomach lurching in a way he was uncomfortable bringing into his childhood home. Still his home when he was in between places. They both got out of the car and Dean awkwardly rang the doorbell, wondering if he should have just used his key. But he'd been gone since Thanksgiving and he didn't feel right just waltzing in like he owned the place. Not anymore, at least.

When the door opened and he saw the joy in his mother's eyes, he wondered why he'd avoided her for so long, and he knew that there were no hard feelings over him missing Christmas for the first time since he'd been hospitalized for a bad bout of pneumonia when he was fifteen. He dropped his bags and drew her into a long hug. After a thirty seconds or so, she pulled back and studied Dean from head to toe. "You've grown," she grinned. It was an old joke between the two of them after spending a long time apart.

"Nah, you've just shrunk in your old age."

Instead of replying, Mary looked pointedly from Dean to his guest. Startled into action, Dean pulled Lisa forward and introduced them. "Mom, this is Lisa."

Mary smiled at her son's girlfriend and firmly shook her hand. "You can call me Mary."

"You've got a _much_ stronger handshake than Dean," Lisa stated with a straight face.

Dean widened his eyes in faux horror. Seeing his expression, Mary and Lisa began to snicker, sending Dean's eyes rolling in annoyance. "Haha, you guys are hilarious. Hey, Mom, what's Dad up to?"

"I'm pretty sure he's taking another nap in front of the tube." Mary's eyes saddened at her words, remembering, as always, that horrible night. Recognizing his mother's sudden silence, he lightly squeezed her arm in reassurance. "Anyway," Mary continued, "I'll go wake up the old man. I can't imagine what he'd say if I let him miss his son's homecoming."

"Alright. I'll show Lisa around the place. You guys can chill in the living room."

As Mary disappeared down the hallway, Dean led Lisa through the kitchen and into the den, pointing out paintings and old dents he'd made in the walls throughout various phases of his childhood. Dean had started going towards the stairs when he realized Lisa had stopped and was studying a wall of pictures. Reluctantly, Dean headed over to stand beside her. She pointed at an old picture, curiosity causing a small frown to crinkle the space between her eyebrows. "Who's that? I thought you said you didn't have any close relatives? He's practically in every picture with you."

Dean sighed. He hadn't told her about Sammy. He realized he should have, but in the three months they had been dating, there had never really been occasion to. Besides, he hated talking about his brother. "That's Sam. He was… he was my little brother. But he died when we were kids."

Already regretting his words, Dean stole a glance at Lisa's expression. There it was. The pity. He used to understand the sympathy, but when he had entered middle school, he had stopped talking about his brother in hopes of making others forget the tragedy. He'd always been known as the kid whose brother died in a freaking house fire, and Dean had begun to almost loathe all those who gave him _the look_, because it was that look made him wish he'd never had a brother in the first place. When he was younger, he used to look at a picture of Sammy and wonder why he'd decided to be born at all if he was just going to leave him in a few years and steal from Dean a childhood that was supposed to be filled with brotherly spats and companionship. After all, you couldn't really miss something you'd never experienced. Sure, many children with no siblings wished for a brother, but once you'd had one, you couldn't easily go back to facing the world alone, which Dean had been forced to endure.

Ignoring Lisa, Dean kept his eyes centered on the picture. In it, he was hugging Sam and they were both grinning as they sat under the tree that used to tower over their old yard. As Dean's eyes scanned over the dozens of pictures framed on the wall, he was shocked to realize how many of them had Sammy in them. There he was, sitting beside his baby brother on a swing set when Sammy was two. Sammy covered in flour but sporting a wide grin as he kneeled on a kitchen chair, helping to make Dean's birthday cake when Dean was turning eight. So many pictures of Sam and he'd never before noticed how many. The grief had just been a part of his life for such a long time.

"Do you miss him?"

Lisa's question caused Dean to flinch and he carefully took his girlfriend's hand in his, slowly leading her towards the living room where he knew his parents were waiting. When Dean finally answered, Lisa had begun to wonder if she'd asked the wrong question. "Yeah. I wish I didn't." Dean said nothing more, and Lisa decided to settle for what she had been given. Never had she seen Dean look so lost, and she knew that he would do anything to have that five year old back in arm's reach.

Dinner was quiet. Everyone present was a chatterbox except for John, but the group couldn't help noticing the mood Dean was in and nobody wanted to upset him further.

"So…" John said to break the silence, clearing his throat to stall for a topic of conversation. "What kind of work are you into, Lisa?"

Lisa bit her lip, glancing at Dean before continuing. He was staring down at his plate of mashed potatoes and chicken with unmatched determination. "Um, I'm a yoga instructor. I co-own a therapy center with three of my colleagues and we specialize in teaching yoga and physical therapy exercises to paraplegics and others who require PT. We also do therapeutic massages and stuff." Listening to his girlfriend talk about her work, Dean looked up from his food at last.

"Yeah. Her patients worship her," he said proudly.

Wrinkling her nose, Lisa swatted his arm. "The only person who worships me is you, Winchester." At Lisa's words, John leaned back in his chair, chuckling, and Mary had a hand covering her mouth, eyes shining with amusement.

"Sounds like my boy hasn't lost his charm," John said affectionately.

From her right, Lisa heard Dean shift in his chair. "Okay, Mom, Dad, calm down. Ah… by the way, did Bobby end up making it down for Christmas?"

"Yeah, but only for Christmas eve and Christmas day. He headed back up to South Dakota on the twenty-sixth, said he had to help a friend out with something. He left you a gift by the tree." John nodded his head towards the dining room where they had the tree set up.

"Great," Dean said, and groaned at his fulfilled stomach as he pushed back his chair and stood. "Well, I'm going to show Lisa around town. That okay with you guys?"

"Yeah, yeah. If we're in bed when you get back, please lock up. Make sure the back door is locked, too."

Knowing that his parents were in all likelihood exhausted from the excitement of the day, and knowing that his dad had probably been at the garage for hours, Dean walked around the table to lean down and kiss his mother on the forehead. "Night, Mom."

She let her heavy eyelids close for a moment before she opened them and tenderly stroked her son's cheek. "Goodnight, Dean." Then, softly enough that only Dean could hear, she said, "Angels are watching over you, honey."

"You, too, Mom." With that, Dean swept Lisa out the door so quickly that she barely had time to slip on her coat. They cruised around Lawrence, the Impala's windows rolled all the way down, and Dean let himself forget about Sammy. After almost an hour, he pulled to a stop at the side of the road. Only the local youth knew of the hidden cove buried into the trees on the tall valley a few miles from Lawrence, and Dean led Lisa up the narrow path until they reached the ledge that overlooked the town below. Lights from homes seemed to reflect in the stars, and Lisa gripped onto Dean's arm.

Dean avoided looking straight down and kept his eyes focused on the horizon, hoping not to ruin this moment with his fear of heights. They sat down on a boulder jutting up from the ground and once settled, Dean pulled out two bottles of beer, popping the tops and handing one over to Lisa. After a few sips, she sighed contentedly and leaned back. "It's beautiful, Dean."

"Yeah, I know." He'd stopped looking at the town long ago, choosing instead to study Lisa's stunning features.

She noticed his gaze on her and looked over. "What?"

"You know, someday I'm going to marry you." As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean panicked, wondering where they'd come from. Lisa was almost as surprised, but just smiled understandingly in reply, knowing that he wasn't talking about the near future.

"In your dreams, Prince Charming." Lust settling in both pairs of eyes, the two set their bottles down on the ground and Dean pulled Lisa into a firm hold. The two of them kissed in a way Dean never had with the high school girlfriends who had dragged him up here. And although he knew that many judged the way he and Lisa handled their relationship, Dean knew that he and Lisa were committed to each other in a way they would never understand.

* * *

><p>Across town, a beaten up truck crawled down a lonely street the Winchesters had made a point of never stepping foot in again. The driver was convinced the stolen vehicle was going to die of engine failure within the next hour. He nervously kept glancing at a slip of paper he had gripped in one hand, as though certain his luck wouldn't hold out. He'd been lucky to even find the addresses, much less get as far as he had without any pursuit. At last, the car stopped abruptly in front of a blue house with a veranda framing the front. It was a place any kid would be lucky to grow up in, but the sight of it sent a pang through the driver's stomach. This wasn't the place he was looking for, it wasn't the one he had envisioned in his memories.<p>

Besides, there was no ancient, gnarly tree situated to the side of the newly built house. There were so many things that made him doubt the house before him. The addresses may have been fakes. The Winchesters might not even live where they used to live. Frustrated that his knowledge of the present were so limited, the man got out of the car and had to try his damndest not to slam the door, taking into account the small bundle curled up on the passenger seat. As long as he was already there, he might as well be absolutely positive that the family didn't live there.

He made sure not to trip on the steps leading to the front door. He rang the doorbell, then stood there shivering in the cold January weather as he waited for someone to answer the door. The foyer lights flipped on first, and he felt his muscles tense as the door unlocked and a woman with brunette hair tied back in a braid stood there, warily staring down at the young man on her porch. "Yes?" It was late, she'd just gotten the kids in bed, and now this boy stood on her steps wearing the dirtiest clothes she'd ever laid eyes on.

As she studied him, the boy's cheeks reddened. "I'm sorry for bothering you so late, but…" he trailed off and began anxiously playing with the hem of his t-shirt. "Um, Dean doesn't live here by any chance, does he?"

Suspicious, the woman shook her head. "No, he doesn't. I don't know anyone named Dean."

"Alright, I'm sorry. I guess… I guess I'd better head out, then."

"Yeah. I guess you'd better." With that, the woman rudely slammed the door shut in his face. He was stunned by her abruptness for a moment, then trudged back to his car, disappointed with the outcome of his long road trip. On the other side of the door, the woman started up the steps and felt a little guilty for how she'd treated the young man. He'd been polite enough, but she was exhausted and he looked like some homeless kid looking for a place to stay the night before stealing some food and grabbing her wallet and slipping away while the household was still asleep.

The young man started up his car and pulled away from the curb, parking it around the corner where he pulled out his road map and studied the next address. Great. He'd already known the answer to his silent question, but he still groaned internally at the thought of the six hour drive to Sioux Falls. He contemplated spending the night at one of the motels he'd driven past earlier, but knew he'd just be wasting his time since there was no way he would be able to sleep until he'd found the Winchesters.

Soon, he was speeding down I-29, doing his best to ignore the fatigue he never seemed to be able to shake loose.

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><p><strong>To Be Continued<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **And There You Were

**Author: **ArianaKnightly

**Rating: **T

**Characters:** Sam, Dean, Mary, John, Bobby, YED, Lisa, etc.

**Summary: **Pre-series AU; Mary isn't killed in a nursery fire, but when Sam is five years old, the YED returns to collect his soldier. Twelve years later, just as it seems like the Winchesters are truly moving on from the tragedy that occurred that night, Bobby calls with disconcerting news, forcing Mary's family into the life she had tried so hard to escape from.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural.

_**Reviews are appreciated!**_

* * *

><p>"Dean, come on, just let me have <em>one<em> drink."

"No."

"But _Dean_… you were fifteen when you had your first beer!"

"Yeah, I was. But I didn't have an awesome older brother to look out for me, now did I?" Dean grinned at his little brother, who was looking at him with saucer-like eyes that resembled those of Bobby's puppy, Rumsfeld. The way he was pouting reminded Dean of the way the kid had looked ten years ago when Mary had refused to let Sam have ice cream before dinner.

"An awesome older brother would let me have a drink."

"Dude, it doesn't even taste that great."

Sam raised his eyebrows and just stared at Dean with a dubious expression, his bangs falling over his eyes, as always. Sighing, Dean opened the can he was gripping and Sam held out an expectant hand. "Nope. Don't even think about it, Sammy."

"_Dean_."

"A sip. One freaking sip, you piranha. No way am I giving you a whole can. You'll get drunk and Dad will yell at me."

Rolling his eyes, Sam grabbed the can from Dean and some of the liquid sloshed onto Dean's clothes. He shot up from the ground, groaning at the spreading stain on his white, collared dress shirt. "Sam! Damn it! Shit, shit, shit, Mom's going to kill me! She literally just bought this damn shirt!" Dean tried wringing his shirt out, then gave up and desperately placed his hands behind his head to try calming himself down. He was supposed to wear the shirt again the next day for a dinner party some friends of his parents were hosting. He turned angrily to his younger brother, but paused when he saw Sam's eyes already on him.

Sam was studying him with a look that Dean didn't recognize. His eyes were a bit crinkled at the edges and his nose was scrunched up and his lips had drawn themselves into a tight line. "Sam… what's wrong?" Realizing what he was doing, Sam quickly looked away and down at the beer.

"Sorry about your shirt, Dean," he mumbled.

"What? Stop bullshitting me, Sam. What was that? Why were you staring at me like I was your long-lost girlfriend?"

"Let it go. And I was so not looking at you like you were my girlfriend."

Dean flashed him a smile. "Were, too. You know I'm irresistible like that."

"Dude, no. No. That's just gross."

"Girls? Girls are definitely not gross. Kiddo, when you're older, you'll understand."

"No! That's not—ugh, you're such a jerk, Dean."

"Ugh, you're such a bitch, Sammy," Dean said, his voice mockingly high pitched. He scrunched his face up into what he hoped resembled Sam's usual bitch face and was rewarded for his efforts with a light, half-hearted punch to his arm.

The two sat under the sprawling tree beside their aging house for a few minutes, not really looking at anything, lost in their own thoughts. Their parents were inside the house, sound asleep, and Dean could swear he heard his dad snoring from their parents' second story bedroom. John and Mary had been exhausted after the family had gotten home from Robin's graduation party, which had really been in honor of both Dean and Robin. He wouldn't say it aloud, but Dean had felt kind of guilty watching his high school girlfriend throughout the night, because he knew that by the time autumn rolled around, she would be off at whatever Ivy League college she'd been going on and on about and Dean would be under some car at his dad's garage. Sure, it would be an awesome car, but he knew Robin wouldn't see that as an equivalent to Brown. Or was it Yale?

It was so easy to get lost in his thoughts on nights like this that he was startled when Sam tapped him on the shoulder. Dean turned his head to ask his little brother if he couldn't just be quiet for half a minute when he saw how Sam's eyes were rimmed with tears.

"Sammy!" Dean reached out toward him, but Sam scooted back.

"Why, Dean?"

"What are you talking about? Sammy, stop!"

"You just watched. You watched as the fire killed me. No. _You_ killed me."

"Sammy, what fire? What are you talking about? Stop pulling away from me!"

His brother said nothing, just stared at him with those big eyes as the fifteen year old began to transform into a five year old, those eyes not moving away from Dean's during any part of the alteration. "You were supposed to be my big brother, Dean. You were supposed to be the one who gave me my first beer, taught me how to talk to girls, showed me how to ride a bike. I never even rode a bike, Dean! Why couldn't you have just listened?"

Tears were tracing Dean's cheeks. "No, Sammy, I did teach you how to ride a bike. Remember, we—" Then it hit him. The fire, crawling up the ceiling. John, pulling Dean back. Sammy, still asleep, unaware of the vile flames that were killing him. That last glimpse of Sammy's small body curled up in sleep, his undersized hand curled into a loose fist beside his messy mop of hair.

Sam crawled forward on the grass, the night growing even darker. As soon as Sam's hand gripped Dean's, Dean found himself indoors, away from the clean scent of summer grass. He was in a bed, the covers pulled up to his chin in the way Mary used to tuck him in until he said he was too old to be tucked in like a baby. The room was dark enough that he couldn't see anything, but Dean heard someone breathing deeply at his side, the small body warm under the sheets.

"Dean?" He recognized the voice immediately. Sammy.

"Yeah, kiddo?" he choked, trying to swallow the guilt that was building in his chest. He knew exactly what the kid was going to say. He'd had those words repeating in his head for years.

He heard the five year old shifting against the sheets, turning to face Dean's voice. "When I don't have to go to school anymore and it's summer, can you teach me how to ride a bike?"

Dean was about to answer when someone else replied for him with a snort, using a younger version of his voice and his mouth. "Finally ready to join the cool kids, midget? Toss that third wheel to the side?"

"Thanks, Dean," the small voice said, hearing his older brother's words for what they really were.

A few minutes later, just as Dean saw his younger self about to drift off, the kid piped up again. "Dean?"

Dean rolled over, hoping Sam would think he was asleep. He didn't think he could go through this entire conversation again. Sam sighed in acceptance that he wasn't getting anything else out of his brother until morning—or afternoon, if they were going by Dean's timeline. "Night, Dean. You're the best," he whispered. Glad the squirt had finally shut up, Dean slipped into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>Someone was shoving him so hard that he could feel a bruise forming where his arm met his shoulder. "Dean! Are you alright?"<p>

Groaning, Dean leaned over the nightstand beside the bed and pulled the cord to turn on the lamp. "Huh? Lis? What time is it?" he asked, turning to face his girlfriend. Her eyes wouldn't leave his face and Dean touched his cheeks with his fingers to confirm the uncomfortable suspicion that was creeping up his spine. Yup. Wet.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

"Kind of. It was stupid. Don't…" Dean trailed of, his sentence left unfinished as he felt a familiar tightness in his chest. Shit. He began coughing, clutching his hand against his t-shirt.

"Dean? Dean!" Lisa's voice was shrill. "Oh my God, Dean, what's the matter?"

He saw the lights turning on in the hallway and saw the door to his room open through a haze that was quickly building up in front of his eyes. Suddenly, strong arms were holding him together, wrapped around his shoulders, and smaller, gentler ones were stroking his hair. Slowly, the haze faded away and he could see his parents' anxious expressions and Lisa's completely panicked one behind them. He lamely pushed at the hands, willing them to go away.

"Dean, you haven't had one of those in years," Mary murmured, still stroking his hair. "Tell us what happened. It can't be that bad."

"I can't, Mom."

Dean watched as his father pulled away from the bed and quietly led Lisa out of the room, leaving Dean alone with Mary. "Honey, it's just me now. You know it helps when you tell me what happened. Was it the fire again? Was it a memory?"

He wasn't planning on saying a word, but his mouth opened without his permission and the words slipped out without his approval. "No. It was… he was fifteen. We were just hanging out and he was the smartass I always knew he'd become." Despite the sick feeling still lurking in his stomach, Dean's lips twisted into a sorrowful smile. "He had those puppy eyes just like when he was little and it was nice, Mom, it was so nice. It was like it had never happened."

One glance at Mary and Dean immediately saw her eyes were shining. "Mom…"

"No, I'm fine. Really. It's okay for you to tell me about your dreams. I won't break."

Reluctantly, knowing it was hopeless to try and sway his mother, Dean continued. "Then I remembered… and it was horrible. The dream changed to that night. It was exactly like that moment when Sam got scared and crawled into my bed. We had… we had the conversation again. You know… about him wanting to ride a bike."

His mother knew about that conversation. She knew how much it still hurt Dean that he'd ignored Sam's final question, that he'd never know what Sam was going to save for the morning. She knew that Dean still wondered what might have happened if Sam hadn't decided to go back to his own room after Dean had fallen asleep. She didn't say anything, just wrapped her arms around her son's trembling body and wondered if he would ever be able to go to bed at night without wondering if he would wake up to find his world shattered, everything he'd taken for granted gone without a trace.

* * *

><p>Bobby was awakened abruptly, and seconds later had his shotgun loaded with silver bullets and aimed at the door, where someone was making a racket banging on it. He <em>really<em> did not appreciate this intruder waking him up. He'd been up half the night researching a hunt for a buddy of his and had finally gotten to bed around four in the morning. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw he'd gotten about three hours of sleep.

He silently made his way to the door, where the banging had briefly stopped. Bobby figured that whoever was standing on his ragged welcome mat would have a bruised fist by the end of the day from all that pounding. Staring down the peephole, he was taken aback at the sight before him. A young man was leaning tiredly against one of the posts that were holding up the front porch. The poor kid looked about ready to pass out, but Bobby had no clue why he would show up on his remote doorstep. He reached for the doorknob to open the door, but then paused to pick up his shotgun. A good hunter always kept his suspicions alive if _he_ wanted to stay alive, and Bobby wasn't about to relinquish that motto—no matter how desperate this kid looked.

Throwing the door open, he kept the shotgun trained on his quarry, eyes narrowed. The boy lurched forward in surprise, raising his arms wide to show he was unarmed. The kid's eyes were opened wide, and his gaze never left the barrel of the gun.

"Who do ya think ya are, knockin' on my door like that at seven in the morning?" Bobby growled.

"I…" The kid shot a frightened look over his shoulder. When he turned back, there was a new, hardened tint to his eyes. "I'm not a demon. I'm not a monster. I came here for your help."

Bobby didn't know what to think. To know about the supernatural, the kid had to be either a hunter, a victim, or a liar. He was pretty sure the kid was not a hunter. A hunter doesn't walk around without a gun or knife, and there was no way anything was hidden beneath those threadbare clothes. "Fine. You know I'm going to have to test you?"

The boy nodded stoically. He didn't balk when Bobby nicked him with a silver hunting knife, he didn't seem puzzled when Bobby doused him with holy water mixed with salt, and had no reaction to Bobby's muttering of "Christo". When the boy had passed all of Bobby's tests, the two stared each other down until another voice startled Bobby out of his scrutiny. "We there already?" the tiny voice of a child squeaked, and a small blonde head popped out from behind the pole.

"Hallie," the boy growled, pushing the girl behind him, "I told you to stay in the car."

Bobby was gaping at the sudden appearance of the small child, who stared right back at Bobby with a defiant look in her young eyes. Her petite frame was thinner than he knew was healthy and she rivaled the filthiness of her older companion. Unlike the boy's, however, her eyes were inquisitive, spared of whatever evil the boy had been forced to endure.

"Uh, this is Hallie. She was… they took her, too." The boy looked guilty, his eyes shining with shame as he pulled the child close to his side.

"Yeah, but _you_ saved me," Hallie proclaimed, trying to tickle the boy in the abdomen.

The kid ruffled Hallie's hair, then looked back towards Bobby, worried at what the man's response would be to the little girl. "If you'd rather, she can stay in the truck. This won't take long. I just need a few questions answered and I'll be on my way."

Still apprehensive, Bobby slowly shook his head, stepping aside as a clear gesture for the young man and the child to pass through. It was cold outside, and he had to get a cup of coffee if these kids expected him to stay up and listen to what they had to say. They followed Bobby through the house wordlessly, Hallie looking around the entryway in awe. She'd never seen so many books in her life. Unsure of what to do next, Bobby turned to study the kids and decide what was at the top of the list in terms of importance, then made his decision based on the fact that the kids couldn't weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds put together. "Look, kid, even if you're not here to eat me, I'll bet you're starving. How 'bout I cook up some oatmeal and then you can tell me exactly what ya need help with?"

Receiving only a nod in response from the kid, Bobby shrugged and moved into the kitchen. The boy followed and practically collapsed into one of the chairs seated around Bobby's modest wooden table and Hallie plopped into the chair beside him. Neither spoke until ten minutes later, when Bobby and the boy had steaming mugs of coffee wrapped around their palms. Both kids had a bowl of oatmeal placed in front of them. Bobby watched as the two of them scarfed down the first serving. Without asking, Bobby heaped on seconds before the kids could lick their bowls clean.

"Alright. Now tell me why you're here." Bobby couldn't say he'd ever been a patient man, and he wasn't planning on becoming one anytime soon, especially since he didn't completely trust this boy.

The boy swallowed the spoonful he'd just shoveled into his mouth and stared at the table as he spoke. "We were held captive by a demon. We just escaped a month back and I've been trying to get them to lose our trail while I look for my family."

Strange.

"How did you two get away?"

"A… the demon called a man. When he came, he tried to… I fought him and then I stole his car. Grabbed Hallie on my way out of that hellhole. I've been driving around the country looking for clues ever since." He still wouldn't look at Bobby. Suddenly, the kid did look up, and Bobby was stunned to see tears welling in the boy's eyes. He didn't take this kid to be the type to cry often. "Look, I've lived with that demon almost my whole life. The things I remember about my family are so distant that sometimes I wonder if I just made them up to keep me company during the worst of it. I just need to know if they really existed. And I want, more than anything, to see that demon dead."

Almost afraid to ask, Bobby rubbed his beard before voicing his question. "How long did he keep you?"

"Almost twelve years."

Dear God. Bobby didn't even want to think about what that kid had been through. The things a demon could do to a person in mere _hours_ and this kid had been in a demon's care for over a decade. The kid was watching Bobby's face, probably gauging his reaction. "Wow," was all Bobby could choke out. Hallie kept her solemn gaze leveled on her savior.

Once he'd gotten over the fact that this kid was sitting in front of him with his sanity still seemingly intact, Bobby gathered his thoughts together and proceeded with his investigation of the strange boy seated in his kitchen. "Do you know where your family is?"

The boy hung his head. "No. I bought some addresses from a guy who knows how to get information, but none of them worked. I tried finding the house I saw in my dreams, but I'm pretty sure it was destroyed somehow, if it ever existed at all. For all I know, my family is dead."

"Well… do you know their names?"

A dubious look creeped onto the kid's face and he shook his head. "I do remember my brother's name. Or I think I do. I mean, it won't help with anything, but maybe…"

"What's your brother's name? Any information can help us find them."

The kid sighed. "All I remember is my brother's name was Dean. Our mom had blond hair, and blue eyes. She was beautiful."

Bobby's heart stopped for what felt like a minute, but was in reality only about ten seconds. He knew he was making the kid uneasy, staring into space the way he was. Coincidences this big couldn't exist. Or maybe they could… What the hell did he know? "Kid," he said in a voice that was nearly a whisper, suddenly afraid of whatever came next. "Do you know your name?"

Guarded, the boy nodded his head, looking at Bobby as though he'd just asked the stupidest question in the world. "Yeah. It's Sam."

"Well, hell."

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **And There You Were

**Author: **ArianaKnightly

**Rating: **T

**Characters:** Sam, Dean, Mary, John, Bobby, YED, Lisa, etc.

**Summary: **Pre-series AU; Mary isn't killed in a nursery fire, but when Sam is five years old, the YED returns to collect his soldier. Twelve years later, just as it seems like the Winchesters are truly moving on from the tragedy that occurred that night, Bobby calls with disconcerting news, forcing Mary's family into the life she had tried so hard to escape from.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural.

_**Reviews are appreciated!**_

**Note:**_ I'm not sure how this chapter will go over, and it was a bit harder to write than the previous three chapters. Let me know if there's anything you find interesting or if there's something that doesn't quite fit. I hope you like it!_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER FOUR<strong>

Bobby had never met Sam Winchester, but he felt as though he knew the kid better than any supernatural creature he'd researched during his hunting career. In the three years he had spent with the Winchesters, he had heard countless stories of the child, seen hundreds of pictures of him, and had felt the humid grief that had soaked into the walls of the Winchester home.

And now, there was some kid sitting in front of him, claiming to be someone named Sam who had a brother named Dean. Almost choking on his words, Bobby voiced his first reasonable thought. "Why am I on this list you've got? Who else is on it?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "The majority of the names on my list are of families who lost a young son about twelve years ago. It's a pretty long list, considering I don't know the exact date, season, or region I was taken from. Hell, I don't even know my own age. I could have been taken anywhere from three to six years old."

"Kid, I can tell ya here and now that I never had a son."

"Uh, yeah… I've also got several hunters listed on there. Researchers. People who know the supernatural."

"How do you know about hunters?" Mary was a hunter of sorts, back before she had met John. But Bobby knew for a fact that she had never revealed her past life to anyone in her family. Not to her children, not to John. If this was Sam, he'd been forced to trade a childhood of love and safety for whatever hell he'd grown up in—one where he couldn't ignore the beings that slinked around in the dark. The depression in Bobby's chest sunk a bit deeper; he wished he had some whiskey on the table. There was plenty of the good stuff in the basement, but he had this feeling that if he went down there, Sam would follow him, find his exorcism equipment and safe room, then grab Hallie and run from the freaky psycho who looked to have a torture chamber in his basement. Plus, he wasn't sure it was a good idea to show off his bad habits in front of two very impressionable young children.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Hallie was the one who piped up in reply to Bobby's question. She pushed her finished oatmeal away and looked Bobby in the eyes, unabashed. "We lived with demons for twelve years, dumb butt. Of course we know about the supernatural. And they were always complaining about hunters. Sayin' how useless you all were."

Snorting, Bobby pushed back his chair and turned around to get some coffee prepared. "Sure sounds like demons to me."

"Have you heard of them?" Sam asked out of nowhere, causing Bobby to put the coffee pot back down and turn around to see the reluctant hope scattered across the boy's face.

"What?"

"Those people I described. My brother. My mother."

Bobby's mind urged him to say that he had. That, by pure chance, Sam had run into his long lost family's closest friend. That his family was alive, that his brother Dean was happy and with the girl of his dreams, that he hadn't been forgotten. But Bobby couldn't do that, because if he was wrong, he could snap five lives in half, including his own. "Sorry, son."

Sam visibly stiffened, as did Hallie, who gripped Sam's hand in support. "Please don't call me that," the boy mumbled.

"You don't like being called 'son'?"

"The demons called us their sons and daughters. For a while, they had me convinced that I was actually the son of some damned demon."

With no idea as to how he should reply to such a statement, Bobby turned back to his task of fixing up a new batch of coffee. "Alright, boy. I guess I'll just call ya… Sam."

* * *

><p>Hallie was curled up on Bobby's couch, eyes at half-mast as she tried not to fall asleep. Every time Bobby or Sam ventured near her and gently asked if she would like to go sleep in Bobby's guest room, she would halfheartedly sit up a bit straighter and yawn as she claimed to be wide awake. Bobby had offered to just scoop her up and carry her upstairs, but Sam had advised against it, explaining that the little girl could throw a screaming fit rivaling those of demons during an exorcism. Bobby had acquiesced to the girl and was now showing Sam around his extensive library.<p>

It was only nine in the morning, but Bobby could tell the boy, who was currently trailing his fingers along the spines of the books in awe, was holding back a gaping yawn.

Bobby caught himself zoning out and surreptitiously balanced himself against the shelves. He almost sighed as he acknowledged to himself that if he didn't get some sleep soon, he'd end up sleeping on a pile of books. "Hey, kid, I only got a few hours of sleep last night. What do ya say about turnin' in? You don't look too rosy yourself."

For a moment, it seemed as though Sam hadn't heard Bobby's proposal. The boy pulled out a book and began to flip through it. As he stopped at a particular chapter, he looked up and spoke, snapping the book shut and keeping it close to his side. "Yes, sir. Is it alright if I get Hallie's and my stuff from our truck first?"

"Sure, Sam. Here, I'll come and help ya."

Sam's face darkened as he shook his head. "It's really not much stuff. We share a duffel."

"_One_ duffel?"

"Yeah… we went to this place that gave people free stuff. Got some clothes. A couple of toys and a brush for Hal. Plus, the duffel."

Bobby hadn't realized that these two kids didn't have anything they could claim for themselves that hadn't come from the goodness—or ignorance—of other people. The truck was stolen, all their clothes and necessities donated. It reminded him of the Winchesters when they'd first bought their second house after the fire. They hadn't had any furniture or pictures or toys and only a few pairs of clothes some friends had given them. It had been months before they had bought new furniture. Probably the worst part of losing Sam for the Winchesters had been that fact that the fire didn't just take their son—it took everything that Sam had ever touched, owned, or loved. If John hadn't sent his mother copies of Sam and Dean's pictures, they wouldn't even have had that comfort.

"Uh… Bobby? I'm going to go get the bag now."

Absent-mindedly nodding, Bobby waved the boy away. After hearing the door swing shut behind the boy, Bobby's gaze landed on the phone topping his desk. He could call Mary right now. No, not Mary. She would drop everything and fly out to South Dakota, which would mean John was coming, too. As a fully qualified hunter, Bobby didn't want to admit that he feared John's retribution if this Sam turned out to not be _their_ Sam.

He did feel as though he needed another hunter nearby, though. Something wasn't right about what was going on with this kid. And if Sam was telling the truth, the demon coming after the kid wasn't going to give up easily. Chances were that Sam wouldn't be safe for very long.

He could always call Pastor Jim, who had run Mary and John's wedding, and had watched Mary grow up. Before Sam's death, the Winchester family had gone to visit the pastor a few times a year, but Bobby doubted that the pastor had heard much from the Winchesters since Sam's funeral. Plus, Jim lived all the way in Minnesota. Caleb was the only other hunter he could think of who knew about Sam. He had also been like a younger brother to Mary. However, the man had gone off the grid when Dean had been about twelve years old. Bobby no longer had his cell number and had only seen him twice in the nine years Caleb been on the road.

No. For now, Bobby was on his own. If he got substantial proof, he'd contact Dean. Dean would be sensible. He would be cautious about telling his parents and wouldn't get his hopes up too high.

* * *

><p>Although he had put on a brave face to appease his brother, David would much rather have spent the evening at home with his girlfriend Ivy, watching <em>Pearl Harbor<em> for the millionth time. Instead, here he was, the only sober member of their small group. He was pissed that Joseph had gotten Ivy drunk, and even more pissed that Joseph had given him the wrong directions to get home and they were now making their way down unfamiliar streets—unfamiliar to David, at least.

"Man, straighten up for a minute, will you?" David growled into his older brother's ear. "I'm not carrying your stupid ass all the way to my apartment."

From his right, Ivy giggled. "Daaavid, don't be such a mom," she said, slurring her words, and reached up in a clumsy effort to stroke his cheek. She missed and accidentally poked his eye.

"Agh, goddammit, Ivy!" he yelped, letting go of his brother, who promptly staggered to the left and bumped into the brick building they had been walking alongside.

As David held a hand over his stinging eye, Joseph felt along the wall and headed towards the alleyway between the dainty Italian restaurant they were standing by and a barbecue place next door with motorcycles line up in front of it.

Joseph just wanted to sit down for a moment. His head was spinning and he was beginning to feel somewhat nauseous. Before he submerged into the darkness offered by the narrow path, he looked back at where his brother was nursing his injured eye. Ivy was smiling at him with that soft way of hers and his breath faltered for a moment before he reminded himself that there was no way in hell he would go after his brother's girl. His brother already held so many things against him- for good reason- and Joseph had seen how happy Ivy made David. He and David hadn't had an easy time of it growing up, and it was good to see his little brother genuinely happy around another human being, to have him love someone so deeply.

However, he also knew that with his brother being such a prick, there was no way Ivy wasn't looking for some excitement. He sent her an inviting wink and nodded his head toward the alley, then turned and disappeared from Ivy's line of vision. At least the girl knew how to have fun, Joseph thought as he made his way deeper into the alley, out of the light.

Mumbling something unintelligible, Ivy tugged away from David's hold around her waist. Still covering his eye, David turned to face her, but she was already heading for the alley. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me! Ivy, where the hell are you going?" Swiftly glancing around the empty street, he groaned as he realized his brother had taken off.

Storming after his girlfriend, who had already entered the space between the two buildings, David was seething with anger at his brother. After this, he was going to make it clear that he and Ivy were never spending a night on the town with Joseph again. Who was stupid enough to just go off into a random alley? Everyone knew that nothing good ever happened in alleyways.

"Wait, Ivy! Come back here! It's not safe to go in there!"

"Don't worry, Daaavy... Joseph can protect us…" Ivy trailed off, and David heard a crashing sound from the direction her voice had been coming from.

"Ivy! Are you alright?"

"'m fine… Daaavid, where is he?"

"Joseph!" David called out, irritation lining his words. Listening for a moment, and getting more anxious with each second that crawled by, David finally heard a low moan. "Joseph? Is that you? Let's just go home… look, I'm tired of your shit and I want to go to bed. Some of us have school and work tomorrow."

"Dave? I... can't see worth... jackshit… Why's it so dark?" his brother slurred.

David huffed. "Because you, being the idiot that you are, de-"

He was cut off by the sound of scuffling coming from his brother's direction, accompanied by petrified words spoken in a higher pitched voice than David had ever heard uttered from his brother's mouth. "Something's in here, Dave! Oh, G-" The scream that followed was brief, but no less effective at tying David's stomach in knots.

David rushed forward to help his brother, to fight whatever evil had confronted him, and immediately bumped into someone. He had opened his mouth to scream when he heard the familiar sound of Ivy's yelp. She scared easily under normal circumstances, but he wasn't about to tease her for getting spooked now. "It's just me," he whispered, grabbing her hand and leading her towards the street, his heartbeat drumming in his ears. He'd nearly reached what he considered to be safety, but before he could get Ivy away from danger, her hand was jerked away from his hold.

Her scream was more drawn out than Joseph's had been, and David felt as though he was experiencing this nightmare from afar. His body leapt after her, only to grasp at thin air. His foot caught on a low object, and he went crashing down, head bashing into the edge of one of those giant dumpsters.

Before he passed out, he could swear that he saw a dark, billowing mass descending towards Ivy, a cloud even darker than the night around them.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued<strong>


End file.

Supernatural, Family, Tragedy