Spy Guy: Okays. I whipped this up today, and I'm not sure how fit it is for posting, but I thought that people would like to read it. :D Have faith in me. I get good ideas sometimes.

I'm more used to the DP universe, and this was kind of an experiment for me. It's AU, and will be in three parts that skip around a little. This is, of course, the beginning. The next part will be four years later, and then the final will be four years after that. Kind of an experiment in story-telling, you might say.

There are some terms that are exclusive to this AU-niverse, but, they're pretty easy to figure out. I'm just saying if something seems a little off, it;s probably the AU. (Or it could be a mistake. :()

Anyways, please enjoy. I hope you give me a chance. I would love advice for improvement. :D

Reviews are always welcome! (I luv reviews!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

November, 1996.

Dean rolled over on the hard mattress, trying to ignore the metal spring digging unmercifully into his side. The run-down hotel room was freezing in the late autumn air, and his blankets were nowhere near thick enough to keep him warm. He had surrounded himself in a mound of clothes, wearing his thick, woolen jacket to help stave off the cold.

In the background, a late-night rerun of "The Munsters" played on the television, the quiet thrum of the voices filling the lonely room with familiarity.

He couldn't sleep.

Visions of the latest demon bust ran through his mind...the cries of the hosts as the monsters fled their bodies, the blood...the pleading. The sight of carnage, and the halfbloods who were crammed into a small room, their demonic heritage making them wild and feral.

There was nothing Dean hated more than demon busts.

He knew that he was being weak, and that the son of one of the greatest freelance hunters shouldn't be afraid of demons...but he couldn't stand how they looked so...human. He had known people who had been taken by demons. Close friends had died because it was his duty to purge their bodies of the monster within. Despite his good intentions, Dean knew that inside, he was a murderer, and no amount of justification could change that...

The boy sighed as he heard tires against the gravel parking lot outside. There was the tell-tale squeak of old hinges, and the loud slam of a car door.

Dad was home.

Dean sat up, now wide awake, pulling his warm jacket tighter around his body. He heard the man's footsteps, the key in the lock, the shifting of the deadbolt. Soon, John Winchester appeared, shouldering the door open and holding what looked like a suitcase in his arms. Dean watched as the middle-aged man crossed the room, throwing the suitcase carelessly onto the vacant bed. The boy frowned, his green eyes following his father as he walked outside again, leaving the door wide open.

There was the sound of creaking hinges. Dad was getting something from the back seat. The door slammed. More footsteps. Dean felt his muscles tense as he heard two sets of shoes crunching on the gravel.

Dad appeared, ushering a young, timid boy before him. The newcomer looked as if he was in his early teens, with shaggy brown hair, and striking hazel eyes. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, bundled up in a coat that went down to his knees. Dean noted that the boy looked sickly, with an ashen face and dark bruises beneath his eyes.

"This is Sam." Dad said, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "He'll be with us from now on." The tone in the man's voice indicated that his word was final, but Dean felt a stab of anger and rage. Why would his father take a strange kid under his wing, to hunt of all things? What kind of life would Sam be able to lead? Hunting was the only thing that Dean had ever known, and he hated having to grow up wounded, battered and bruised... having seen death, and having killed...

"Why?" Dean asked, his green eyes narrowing. Why the hell would you bring a kid here?

"Don't ask questions, Dean." John Winchester growled. "Just get off your ass and let him have the bed. You can sleep on the couch tonight."

Dean obediently crawled out from inside his cocoon of clothing, giving a mumbled "yessir" in reply. He moved to take the comforter with him, but an angered glare from his father loosened his grip on the fabric. He sulked over to the lumpy couch, all the while conscious of Sam's eyes following him.

Dean lay down on his side, wrapped in his woolen coat, opening and shutting his eyes. He heard his dad climb into bed, his snoring quickly filling the room. There was a rustle of blankets as the strange boy snuggled into Dean's clothes, getting comfortable and warm, while Dean himself shivered on the cold sofa.

Dean sluggishly blinked his eyes, the hairs on the back of his neck telling him that he was being watched. His vision was blurry from sleep, but the boy wiped the fog away, and found himself suddenly face-to-face with Sam, who was standing before him, his face lined with silver trails of tears.

"What the hell?" Dean hissed, pushing himself into a sitting position. Wordlessly, the boy clambered onto the cushions beside him, his skeletal fingers clinging to Dean's jacket as he whimpered slightly.

And then he burst out crying.

The boy's loud sobs filled the hotel room, out of place in the dark night. Dean didn't know what to do, suddenly faced with the crying ten-year-old his dad had brought home. He had never been a very good shoulder to cry on... hunters were a tough breed. He was more of a cold, silent type, taking orders, and killing monsters...Having to console a troubled child was way out of his league.

"Hey, you need to calm down." Dean said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. Sam sniffed, his hazel eyes glistening with tears.

"Papa's going to kill him." Sam whispered, his body trembling violently. "Papa's going to kill him, because he needs to die."

Dean's eyes widened, a chill running up his spine.

"What are you--"

"Sam, what does the man look like?"

John's commanding voice cut through the young boy's cries. Dean's father was by Sam's side in an instant, his brown eyes wide and eager, just like they were whenever he got wind of a hunt. Sam mumbled a few things, his throat clogged with sobs.

"Come on, Sam." John growled, his hands gripping the younger boy's shoulders. "Tell me what he looks like."

"Police...jacket. A-and a...bridge." The boy managed to choke out, flinching away from the man's touch. John shot to his feet, grabbing the keys to the Impala and reaching for his coat.

"Watch him, Dean." The man ordered, sloppily slipping his arms through the sleeves. "I'll be back soon."

"What the hell--

"Dean!" John snapped. "You do what you're told and guard that kid."

"Yes sir." Dean murmured as his father ran out the door, slamming it sharply behind him.

For a few minutes, Dean, stunned by the night's sudden events, sat numbly on the couch, listening to Sam's quieting whimpers. Soon, the boy was only sniffing, but his eyes were still red and bloodshot.

What just happened? Dean asked himself, looking down at the boy who weakly clutched his jacket in his thin hands. Sam was covered in sweat, his brown hair damp in the cold room.

He had to be freezing.

"You need a blanket, kid." The older boy said, moving to get up.

"No..." Sam whispered, refusing to relinquish his grip on Dean's jacket. "Please don't go."

"I'm just getting you a blanket." The boy replied, his patience waning. "You've got to be cold."

"I'm not." Sam insisted. "Don't leave me."

Dean sighed, and settled down on the cushions, allowing the strange boy to snuggle into his side. Dean didn't push him away. His dad had told him to guard the newcomer, so he would. He would guard the kid who had interrupted their lives, and woken him in the middle of the night. He would guard the kid who said strange things, and sent his father off on some late-night chase. Because it was his duty as his father's son. He would do it because he had to.

"Will you protect me from Papa?" Sam asked softly, turning his weary eyes towards his guardian. Dean flinched, his attention snapping to the boy beside him. He kept his mouth shut, unsure of what to say in reply. He had heard Sam mention his Papa earlier when he was having his episode. From what he had said, his Papa sounded like a murderer...A crazed psychopath.

"I'll do my best." Dean replied grimly, his lips drawn into a thin line. Sam smiled slightly, whispering a strain of foreign syllables beneath his breath, snuggling deeper into the older boy's arm. For a moment, Dean felt a strange stab of affection for the child, and held him closer to his side. Sam was like a helpless infant; so innocent and scared. Dean kept his vigil beside him through the night, his eyes wide and watchful as he waited for his father to return.

John did not reappear until the sun had peeked over the horizon, and the inky sky had faded to deep blue. The man crept inside, and Dean greeted him by pressing a finger to his lips, indicating the sleeping Sam resting beside him. John nodded, quietly closing the hotel door behind him, before taking a seat on the end of the couch next to his son.

"I hate the feeling of failure." The man groaned softly, holding his head in his hands. He solemnly turned to his son, his expression pained. "Sheriff Wards is dead...and I should have been able to stop it."

Dean sat for a moment in silence, trying to piece together what he father was telling him. He knew that the sheriff had been a freelance hunter...like them...and that he had been tracking a demon and his familiars through the county...Dean also remembered Sam talking about a police jacket, and his Papa. How had Sam known what was going to happen?...and why had John believed him?

"How did you know?" Dean demanded, turning to his father. "I...I don't get it Dad."

The man smiled weakly, pointing to Sam, who still clung to Dean's jacket.

"That kid." He replied. "He sees things, Dean. Deaths, future events."

"He said his Papa was going to kill Sheriff Wards." The older boy snapped. "That's what he said."

"His Papa is a demon, Dean." John growled softly, his brown eyes narrowed. "The kid is a halfblood that Sheriff Wards found locked in a warehouse. Sam wanted protection from the demon, and I wanted to use his abilities to save people." He leaned back against the cushions, sighing deeply. "A helluva lot of good its done me so far."

Dean felt a shiver run down his spine again as he turned to the boy sleeping beside him.

How could Sam be a halfblood?

He looked nothing like the crazed creatures Dean had encountered, who ate human flesh, and obsessively followed their demon masters. He had seemed...like a helpless infant; so innocent and scared...

Dean smiled as the same strain of words floated through his mind. His previous suspicion melted away as Sam opened his eyes, slowly stirring in his arms. Looking down at the boy, Dean knew that he had no reason to be afraid. Sam was just a kid...

And Dean knew then that he would protect him from his demonic Papa...no matter what.

"Are all the pieces in place?" A slithering voice asked, twin yellow eyes blinking lazily in the darkness. In a pool of light, an aging man kneeled amongst the dust of a long forgotten warehouse. He was dressed in a tattered police jacket that was stained dark in places from a deep wound right above his heart.

The man's eyes were pitch black.

"Yes. Of course, sir." The man replied, running a hand nervously through his silver hair. "I believe that we fooled John Winchester."

"Excellent." The demon purred as it slowly emerged from the shadows, wearing the meat suit of a young man with deep black hair and a ragged school uniform. "Little Sammy thinks that he's managed to escape me...but..." The demon laughed cruelly, his inhuman eyes flaring in the dim light. "He'll worm his way into the Winchester's hearts...and weaken their foundations. The boy always did have a golden tongue. He'll never know he aided me until it's too late."

"Master, do you wish for me to follow?" The other demon asked. His superior nodded, a smirk rolling across his features.

"Yes," He replied, chuckling slightly. "But ditch that meat suit. The sheriff look doesn't suit you at all..."

The demon's familiar nodded, erupting from his host's mouth, gliding quickly through the air. The body of Sheriff Wards collapsed, a cloud of dust flying all around him as he hit the ground with a sickening thud...