The world was changing. Every year brought a new change, a new age of people and personalities. The world divided it's children; the eager who went far thanks to a little curiosity and adventure. Rambunctious folks. And then the lazy who went farther only to be disappointed when they fell harder than the others did. But there was neutral people. The people who went places and did things. Sometimes important things and other times, stressful things. The ones destined to go places? They remained in hiding. They did things nobody's ever dreamed of before and when and if they came out of hiding, they were foolishly dragged down to fail with the lazy or recognized and held up by the eager. Some would just stay in hiding though. What they did was much too advanced for any lazy or eager person to comprehend.
The Winchesters knew that better than anyone, especially their two newest editions to the family. Those boys never knew just what the world had in store for them.
We could start where it all started, as every story tends to begin. The death of Mary Winchester. It was the night of November 2nd, 1999. The mother had just finished cleaning up after dinner, her little four year old boy running around the dining area with his father in a close pursuit and donning a Stormtrooper helmet on. "The dark side beckons you, Dean!" John playfully growled in his best Darth Vader voice. Dean screeched happily, laughing once his dad caught him by the little belt loop of his tiny jeans and lifted him up. The child pulled the helmet off his Dad's head with a giggle and put it over his own. As Mary walked in, a faint cry could be heard from the second floor. "Looks like our little man is awake," the blonde mother patted her husband's shoulder gently before proceeding to climb the stairs to check on her newborn baby boy, Samuel. John had set Dean down, deciding it best to calm things down now. It was almost time for Dean to head to bed soon. That and toddlers took a lot out of you, he could vouch for that. Dean threw the helmet down from his head, and lifted himself onto the couch to slouch next to his tired father only to mimic his lounge. John glanced over at the mini-him and shook his head but as he went to laugh, a scream sounded from upstairs. Mary's scream. The father rushed up the stairs, yelling for his wife frantically. By the time Dean had made it to the top of the staircase ( no thanks to his small legs ), John bolted out of the nursery with his whining baby brother in his arms. He knelt and held the baby out to his four year old, panting, "Go! Take Sam and go hide." Dean glanced down at the baby unsure before looking back up to his dad. His bright green eyes curiously caught sight of the crackling light coming from the nursery room upon the wall of the hallway, the boy peeking into the glowing room only to get a second lasting glance of his mother engulfed in flames on the ceiling. John pushed his son back but not before he caught a glimpse of a yellow eyed man peering dangerously from a corner of the room. "Dean, go. Now!" His father's voice boomed, scaring the boy into grabbing his little brother before sliding down the stairs quickly on his rear. He held the crying baby tightly in his own small arms as he crawled into the bottom half of the pantry to hide. The brothers stayed there for what seemed like an eternity before sirens were heard along with John's call for his sons. "Dean? Sam?" Dean didn't move, only hugging Sam closer with a cry. Tears streamed down his face in fear, the baby in his little lap cooing like nothing was wrong. Once John heard the crying, he followed and opened the pantry up and crouched to find them. Dean crawled out and nuzzled himself into his father's embrace along with his younger brother. From then on, it was just those three Winchester boys.
John became more closed off and distant from his two sons due to the death of his wife. Dean was most effected by the change in his father, in his family. They lived in a motel room, the maid ladies being the only real company Dean had when his dad was off to drink or sulking in a chair. He played and took care of his little brother most days, incorrectly putting diapers on for the next two years. It was rough. John would mumble on about the night Mary died every night when he returned, scribbling things down into a black, leather-bound journal. Dean would watch him from afar, wondering just what his dad was doing. Soon, the toddler became a fine young six year old and the newborn, a little toddling two year old. The boys would almost never be apart, except for when John dragged Dean away to show him how to shoot a gun or how to disarm someone with a weapon. And when Sam grew to the ripe age of six, John included him in such training. They never knew what for until their father sat them down to talk. "Dean, Sam," he began, looking at his sons as they stood in front of him. "—your mother was killed, the night she died." Hearing just this beginning part, Sam's eyes welled up with tears. He never got to spend any time with their mother, or hear her laugh, see her smile. He never got to play and be raised by her. He just had Dean,. . .and their dad that liked to disappear days at a time. Sometimes, Dean felt like he was raising his brother. Walking him to school along with him, making sure he was fed and well but he knew he was helping his dad out and that was the best they could be. Dean glanced down at his brother and noticed the tears, the ten year old patting Sam's shoulder as John sighed and continued, "She was murdered by a demon. Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Demons aren't real' but they are. So are vampires and werewolves and things of all horror and gore. . . . And it's my job to fix what they destroy by destroying them. By hunting them like your mother did. Now, it's time for you two to help step in. Just. . . think of it as a family business of sorts." And that was that. They didn't get a say in the matter, they were just trained. And soon, their father became their drill sergeant and everyday was a hunt. The brothers juggled school when they could, they juggled moving from town to town and they lived two lives. And still, it was just the three of them. Just where the eldest liked it. Dean became accustomed to the life, falling behind John's orders and training like a solider while Sam's head was in the clouds with a craving for normality. Pretty soon, they got that normalization.
