A/N: Here's the first chapter of a story that has ruled my life for the past few weeks. I seriously couldn't even sleep at times! I'm taking a lot of creative liberties with this one and it's bound to have more holes than Swiss cheese. Please bear with me and just enjoy. This one is AU and ignores most of the end of Season 2 and all of S3. There was no deal, no missing Colt, no stabbed Sam. Also ignores the point that Lilith apparently got out of the gate. It hops around in time during a six month period. Warnings for language, torture and violence. Psychic Sam lovers beware, this one makes him dark!

BETA WORK BY THE MOST AWESOME MERISHA! Thanks girl for keeping me from ripping my hair out with serious issues. Also mentioning that my two best friends around here, Blue peanut and Sammygirl63 have been so much in my corner on this and waiting so patiently. Thanks girls! I do hope you enjoy!

One more note and you can start the story. I now have a complex about the color of Sam's eyes but have it on good authority that Jared's eyes are blue-green. So Sammy's eyes are blue-green and to die for! Enjoy the story and please review!

War Zone

Chapter 1

Pain. Fire. Cold. So cold.

Why do I hurt like this? My head is splitting to pieces, crumbling to dust. I'm almost sure if I touch a hand to it, it will blow away like ashes on the breeze. My lungs hurt, God, they burn. I can't breathe without fire searing through every cell, every nerve. I'm curling in on myself, trying to block the pain as it cleaves through me. It's like turning my back against a raging bear that's ripping through me. It just slows a little, taking that much longer for the claws of pain to do their lethal damage.

Cold. I'm so cold. Feels like I'm drownin' in solid ice.

Chill bumps skitter across my flesh, my arms feeling like a pebbled surface lurking under my shirt. The harsh feel of my clothing rasps over my sensitive flesh, taking the raised bumps off like coarse sand paper to soft wood. I groan. I think I groan anyway. It's more like a scream of pain in my head. One that builds in my seared lungs and wrenches through my body, tearing holes and echoing through damaged tissue before exploding from my mouth.

Someone please help me. I think I'm dying.

I feel something, hear something. A gentle, warm touch against skin that's still too cold, even though it's engulfed in flame. I hear a soft rumble, a fluctuating resonance that brings some comfort, pulls my ripped apart body together and holds me close. It works the pain to the outer edges of my being, before wiping it away altogether. The voice, yeah I know it's a voice now, pulls me up and out of the pain that I'm drowning in, the pain that's tearing at me with claws to rival any Wendigo. The feeling of being slowly shredded finally ebbs away.

"Hey. Come on man. It's about time you open those eyes of yours. I'm here."

I hear the need in that voice. It pulls at me. Not in the tearing, wrenching way that the pain and cold and fire does, but in a way that draws me in, encompasses me, makes everything bad that's ever happened fade to a distant memory. That voice, those words, they've done just that, ever since I can remember, made me safe. Dried tears, they helped me to remain silent as broken bones were set, stitch wounds that would fade from my memory if not completely from my body. Mended a heart shattered to slivers so sharp they ripped their way out of my chest with my sobs.

"Come on damnit. Fight. You gotta wake up now man. It's kinda important. I gotta get us outta here and I can't do it with ya like this man." I feel it now, that firm grasp of a hand again. Maybe my brother's? It's against my cheek, all calloused and caring at the same time. That touch brings me closer to the surface. Further away from the fire and ice fighting a war with my body at the front lines. I manage another groan, this time the screaming inside me has died to a whimper.


"Hey! Yeah, that's it. C'mon." The hand taps my cheek now. Still gentle, still calloused, still my brother. I feel him shift my legs slightly, pain raining another volley of blows down upon my body.


"I've got ya, shh, you're alright. You're alright." My legs are shifted again, more gently this time and I feel the hands probing for injury, brushing dust away from my clothing and skin. Is it dust? Maybe it's ash from the fire searing through me, an outward sign that I'm burning to nothing?


"Shh, I know. I know. But I still gotta get us outta here. We're outnumbered an' you're hurt."

"Escape an' evade?" I ask in a whispered voice, time winding back for me. Orders given were always obeyed. I hear that voice now. I shake my head, trying to wipe that tone from my head, forcing my eyes open to slits. Fear rockets through me. Control. I can't give up control. I draw a breath through clenched teeth and force my eyes to snap open, facing the brother who's always had my back.

"Time … to move." I say, forcing myself upright despite the pain that wants to claim my consciousness yet again. I look at my brother, seeing the life I didn't want us to have reflecting back at me. I see his combat gear, black fatigues and boots, the black hat that covers his head, the gun that is never far from his hand, despite both of them being tangled in my matching fatigues. I don't have the hat, instead opting for the black bandana holding my hair out of my face.I should have cut it a long time ago, but I WILL NOT give up all of my life for this war. No matter how bad it helps me stand, one hand now released and pulling his full automatic rifle up and at the ready, even as he steadies me while I try to breathe. I take in the smells now. Two simple words summing up the chaos of smells ricocheting through my sinuses. WAR ZONE. Home has smelled like this for three months now. I stand tall over the burned out shell of what was once a family sedan, seeing a melted heap that once resembled a child's booster seat in the back through the broken out windows.

"Ya need time." It isn't a question. No, my brother would never question me. It is a statement. He's worried. That too is something that the war will not take. My big brother will ALWAYS worry about me.

"No. I need to shield us from their 'radar', evade them. 's what I do." I raise a hand to the side of my head, feeling the stickiness of blood clinging valiantly to the black bandana tied tightly around my head. Dust stings my nose and the smell of sulfur makes my eyes burn. The air shimmers around us as I feel the change come over me. My sight darkens just slightly. I've been caught off guard by my diminished senses enough, instinctively scanning my surroundings now, even though it makes it harder to do what I'm trained do. I feel the blood leak from my nose. Not as bad as it used to be, just a drop really, as the stress sends spikes of pain through my skull. Still, I sense him move in closer and grip my arm with his free hand, ready to pull us off of the front line once again, when it's done. A wave of energy bursts from me with such intensity, that it has me staggering into him. White light blasts across the sky, pulsing like bright lightening through my coal black eyes, burning a path straight to and through my soul once more.

When they took me and turned me I bet they NEVER thought that their General would escape them. They never thought I'd fight for the good guys after what they put me through. But I've got news for them though… they'll never take me from my brother. Never again.

I hear shrieks as the enemy ranks are cut down. I manage to clear a three mile radius in what used to be Lawrence, Kansas. Burning demons out of their hosts, just like they taught me to do. Except they wanted me to burn the world to dust … so much for their grand scheme.

My actions get us out, even though in the end it's my brother carrying me to the base camp, laying me down on the cot, Julie patching up my wounds, but it's Dean who holds me together until I manage to open my eyes four days later, just in time for the next demon attack.

Six Months Earlier…

Sam crouched down behind the Impala with Dean, swallowing hard as he peered over the trunk of the big black car at the demons that were standing in the alleyway silently. "You don't think that they know we're here do ya?"

"Course they do, they're demons." Dean said, pulling the Colt from the back of his waistband. He shifted on his feet, remaining in a crouch, and pulled Sam lower behind the Impala. "Dude, I'm point." Dean said, lifting the Colt so that Sam could see the inscriptions that adorned the gun. "You just start spouting Latin as soon as I take out a couple of kneecaps."

"Dean, seriously, we don't have enough bullets on us to take out more than those two over there. So what if there are more?"

"What's with you and all the doubt, Mister Thomas? Jeez Sam, it's like you've forgotten how to take out a couple of mangy demons."

"I haven't forgotten anything Dean. I told you before I just have a bad feeling about this." Sam wiped his hands over the worn knees of his jeans.

"You have a vision?"

"No but…"

"Then there's nothin' to worry about."

Sam cast a glare in Dean's direction before he looked over the trunk lid of the Impala again. He pulled in breath through clenched teeth when both demons turned their way, black eyes shining in the moonlight.

"We know you're here, Sam. We can sense you. You and Dean might as well stand up and face us to die." The demon inhabiting the man said. The female snickered, her eyes shifting from black to blue and black again, the moon catching her blond hair with the wine colored highlights.


"I thought you said you knew they knew we were here?" Sam hissed.

Dean glared daggers at Sam before hissing in return. "I did, but I was hopin' for more time." He stood with the Colt leveled on the male demon. The man was big, muscular and only an inch or two shorter that Sam. His close cropped hair sported longer bangs, spiked with colored gel in a bloody red. Dean smirked and gestured with the old gun. "You two really nailed the punk rock look, but I gotta say that the black eyed skank routine does nothin' for your style."

"Ever the wise ass huh, Dean?" The female said as she stepped forward fearlessly.

"Hold it right there sister." Dean said as the gun swung her direction.

"Now, now Dean. Come on sweetheart, don't be like that." The female said, adopting a pout. "It's always been a dream of mine to meet the famous Winchester Brothers. Y'know, swap autographs? Where's Sammy, Dean?"

"'M right here bitch. And it's Sam." Sam said as he stood tall beside his brother, his own 9mm clutched in his hand.

"Well, well. The boy-who-would-be-king. It's a pleasure to meet you." The male demon said with a smirk and a stilted bow. Sam swallowed hard and looked at Dean who glanced his way for a split second, his aim never wavering. The male demon took a step forward. Dean slid the gun in his direction and fired in a smooth motion. The man grunted, his body lurching with the bullet's impact. He smirked, winking at Sam just before shocks like lightening arced through his body. The man dropped to the ground with a sigh, lying motionless after the last jolts passed through him. The female demon looked down at her fallen counterpart with disgust.

"I should thank you Dean. He never could take orders." The female demon stayed where she was, looking at the man's empty body sprawled on the dirty asphalt. She raised her eyes and her hand. Dean fired again, the bullet going wild as the gun was ripped from his hand by an unseen force. Sam fired his pistol at the demon, lodging a bullet between her breasts. She looked down at her chest before raising her eyes again.

"No." Sam said, looking at the demon's white eyes. She pushed out at the air with a hand and Dean was thrown backwards several feet. He hit the brick wall of the alleyway hard, his head slumping to his chest as he cried out hoarsely. Dean grunted and struggled to lift his gaze, held immobile by the demon's touchless grasp. Sam fired his gun again and again, the demon holding her position.

"Ya know Sam; you're not off to the best of starts in becoming my friend." She said as she held out a hand towards him, pushing him steadily, almost gently back into the wall to stand nearly shoulder to shoulder with Dean. She walked up to Sam, standing an easy foot shorter than him. The gun he had managed to hold on to was ripped from his hand with a popping sound.

"GAAHH!" Sam screamed out as he felt his finger break.

"You BITCH!" Dean said, struggling to turn his head against the wall, finally being able to see his brother's pain filled face and the demon sneering at him. "If I ever get my hands on you, you skank, so help me I'll…"

"You'll what Dean?" She turned to face him, sneering as she got right in his face. "You'll shoot me with that fancy little six-gun you think can kill anything?" She had her full attention on Dean now; Sam dropped his chin to his chest in an effort to breathe through the pain of his broken trigger finger. He forced himself to raise his head and focus on what was going on around him through the black spots that danced across his vision.

"Lilith." Sam said, swallowing down bile and facing the demon. She turned, walking back up to him, her small frame exerting the force that held him fast. The closer she got, the more pressure he felt. I can't breathe. Sam drew in as deep a breath as the pressure would allow. "What do you want with us?" He wheezed.

"Not 'us' sweet Sammy. You." She jerked her head in the direction of Dean where he looked on with horror filled eyes. "Macho man there? He's expendable." She reached a hand out to Dean and slowly made a fist, her small hand hovering just level with Dean's chest.

"GAAAAHHHHH!" Dean cried out. "AAUUHhhhh!" He screamed again, panting now through the pain that shot through his body. His chin dropped to his chest as it heaved before she closed her fist by another incremental movement and his back arched away from the wall, his head slamming into it as he screamed again.

"NO!" Sam cried out, watching helplessly, pinned to the wall and feeling like a rare specimen in a collector's scrap book. "LET HIM GO!" Sam's chest heaved as Dean screamed again, tears of agony coursing down his cheeks. Dean's cry faded out and his chin dropped to his chest again, this time not rising as Dean silently slumped in her grasp.

"I said LET. HIM. GO!" Sam screamed to rival his brother's cries as he felt himself fall free of the wall. Lilith stared at him for a second, a smile twisting her features, putting out the hand that had tortured Dean and grasping the Colt as it flew into her fingers.

"That's my boy!" She said as she stepped up to him and swung the fist holding the gun.

"Nnhh!" Sam grunted before he slid motionless to the dirty asphalt. Shadows swarmed behind Lilith as more demons emerged from the depths of the alley. They waited silently behind her for her to speak. Lilith crouched and ran her fingers over Sam's forehead and down his cheek, after catching his blood on her fingertips from the cut at his hairline.

"Take him back to the compound."

One of the demons, a man dressed in black from head to toe, stepped up to her right side. She glared at him and he stepped back, dropping his black gaze to his boot clad feet. "What do we do with the brother?"

"Leave him."


Dean felt the rising sun burning through his eyelids, seeing the red glow as pain engulfed him. "Nnuuhh." He groaned, feeling pressure on his chest. He turned his head and felt grit beneath his cheek, the rough surface abrading his stubbled cheek. He opened his eyes, seeing the blurry forms of what looked like leaves and gum wrappers just inches from his face. He focused for a moment on the silver foil and getting his pain to recede to manageable levels. Memory slammed into him and made his bruised body jump into action. He pushed himself upright, panting through the pain.

"Sammy?!" Dean turned to the wall that he now remembered being pinned against and crushed from the inside out. "SAM!" Dean screamed, not caring about anyone who may be on the street. Another silver glint caught Dean's eye and he walked the ten feet to where the object lay. Sam's chromed 9mm winked up at him as the new sun sparkled off of the bright surface. "Sam." Dean said as he stooped to retrieve the gun. He stood and the world spun. Dean lurched upright and stumbled forward, catching himself against the brick wall. "Oh god." He whispered as he held the side of the pistol up to his forehead. The smell of stale burnt gunpowder reached his nose. "I swear Sam. I'm going to make the bitch pay when I find her. I'm gonna find you Sammy." Dean pushed off the wall and stood straight, breathing as deeply as his sore ribs would allow.

"Hey? Are you okay?"

"Huh? What?" Dean asked as he startled at the sound of the woman's voice. She was standing in shadow at the end of the alley. Dean quickly shoved the empty pistol into his waistband, realizing now that the Colt was gone with his brother. Dean prayed that Sam had somehow gotten it and gotten away. A sick feeling letting him know, though, that that wasn't the case.

"I asked if you were okay." The woman repeated, coming into the light from the still shadowed end of the alleyway. The woman wore a deep blue jacket and pants and a lighter blue shirt. A badge in a leather holder hung from a brass chain around her neck. A .40 caliber pistol rested in a holster at her hip. Her shoulder length dark hair was pulled back into a French braid, wispy strands framing her face and ears. Her hand rested on the butt of the black pistol in its holster as she eased closer to Dean.

"I'm alright Officer." Dean said, forcing a smile to his lips. She had stepped up to him and he realized how small she really was, standing no more that five foot seven. She looked him over, taking in his worn, alley dirt encrusted jeans and the dirt smudged leather coat. A smudge of dirt drew her dark eyes to his face.

"Sure you are." She gestured to her own face on the opposite side and Dean reached up and wiped the alley dirt from his cheek. "I can take you down to the station and let you get cleaned up." She reached around him and gestured to something Dean hadn't seen after waking. His eyes followed her hand and came to rest on something that had him swallowing down bile. A small pool of blood rested on a tattered scrap of newspaper not six feet behind him. "Or you can tell me what the hell happened here."

"My brother and I were here last night." Dean said carefully, running a hand through his hair, dislodging grime from the spikes. "I was drunk and we got into it. I decked him and he decked me back. I guess he decided my worthless ass wasn't worth hauling home."

"So he left your car here and what? Walked home?" She asked, smirking as she gestured to the Impala sitting further down the alley. "Care to try again? Dean."

"Come again?" Dean asked, a bewildered look crossing his features as his heart jumped painfully at the sound of his name being dropped from her lips. He clasped an arm around his ribs, stifling the grimace that accompanied the movement.

"Dean Winchester, right?"

"How the hell…?"

"I've worked with your dad."

"You? You're no older than me."

"Actually I'm six months younger. I'm a detective, and a hunter. Name's Julie Martz. I met your dad on a hunt a little over three years ago. I was sorry to hear about him. Good man. Now, Dean. Do you wanna tell me what really happened to Sam?"

Something in him, a feeling he knows he can rely on, tells him he can trust her. "We ran across a couple demons. Turns out one of them has wanted Sammy on her terms for a while now. I think she took him."

"Let's go back to my place. I'll call in a couple favors and…"

"Look Lady, I can find my brother. I've got a score to settle once and for all with a certain white eyed bitch."

"You pig headed sonofabitch." Julie growled. "Too damn stupid to know when to ask for help. If your father would have been smart enough to open his mouth, you'd know a hell of a lot more about that bitch than you do."

"What the hell?"

"You don't know. Do you?"

"Know what?"

"Lilith. She killed my father. I have all of his research. He spent twelve years tailing her."

So in all honesty, Is this one worth continuing? Should I finish it? Hit that beautiful little button and let me know!