Disclaimer: We also live in a happy world where everything is perfect... (I WISH!)

Now, this story TOTALLY came to me on a whim. I first intended it to be a oneshot. But then my fingers kinda ran their own show and wrote this. Well I thought, I guess I'm starting another story.

This is kinda an interesting story my fingers came up with. I actually surprised myself. I just hope my fingers can write the rest, 'cause I have no idea where they intended to go :P (I know this explanation is strange and sounds made up, but this is really what happened. I truly have a strange mentality, so sometimes I talk about stuff like this :P I sound like I'm bragging now, don't I?)

Sam is 16, Dean is 21. NOT A DEATHFIC, despite how this first chapter seems. Beginning's kinda lame, but I think it gets better as the chapter progresses... you'll have to review and let me know *hint hint*

Enjoy the first chapter!

Sam was in the middle of a history test when an administrator came in and spoke with the teacher. Sam, along with a few other peers, looked up in curiosity. Mr. Hazard nodded and said, "Sam Winchester. They need you in the office."

"Ooooohhhh...." The class droned.

"Cut it out," Mr. Hazard chided. "He's not in trouble."

"What about my test?" Sam asked.

"You can finish it later."

Sam nodded and packed up his stuff. Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, he walked to the front of class and handed Mr. Hazard his half finished test. He then followed the administrator out of room and towards the office.

"So if I'm not in trouble..." Sam asked, "What do you need me for?"

"You'll see," the administrator said solemnly.

They went to the principal's office, where Mrs. Kelly sat. "Mr. Winchester. Please sit."

Sam warily sat down in front of desk. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Winchester, your father and brother left to do a mechanical job a few towns away correct?"

"Yes..." Sam said slowly. That was their excuse. There was actually signs of a werewolf over there and the previous night was the last night they could kill it. Dean had called him, letting him know about the successful hunt, the previous night. "I thought I got permission to stay on my own until they got back? They're getting back tonight anyway."

Mrs. Kelly shook her head. "That's not the problem, Sam."

Sam frowned. "What's going on? What haven't you told me?"

Mrs. Kelly blew out a long sigh. "Sam. Your father drove a '67 Chevy Impala, correct?"

A pit started to form in Sam's stomach. "Yes..."

Mrs. Kelly took a deep breath. "It was found this morning on the highway. You're family's been in a car accident."

Sam's stomach clenched. "Are you sure?!"

"A hundred percent."

"Well, what condition are they in?! Are they alright?!"

Mrs. Kelly closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, Sam. They're not alright. They were pronounced dead on arrival. We're pretty sure they died instantly, so they didn't feel any pain..."

Sam didn't hear anything she had to say. They were pronounced dead on arrival. As soon as she said that, the rest of the world just fell out of reality. Tears prickled at Sam's eyes as he tried to comprehend the statement. Dead. His family was dead. His father, his brother...

He was all alone now.


Sam was curled in the hospital bed. After receiving news of his family's demise, Sam went into shock and fell unconscious. He was immediately brought to the hospital for treatment. They tried to keep him relaxed and they administered antidepressants for him to take.

He couldn't care less. Sam let them pump all the drugs they wanted into him. Nothing helped the sharp pain of loneliness constantly shooting through his body. He would give anything to hear his father give him an order or his brother tease him about his hair. Sam grabbed his head as harsh sobs took him again. His family was gone. He'd never see them again. There was no one else.


They put Sam in the foster care system. He slept in a small bed in a large room with dozens of other beds and boys his age. They all socialized and read and played games. Sam just stayed curled in the corner of his bed, staring at the white wall. Every once and a while, another kid would come up and try to get Sam to come talk or play with them, or get him to even talk or acknowledge them. But Sam completely ignored them.

One boy came up, a year or two older than him. "You're Sam, right?"

As expected, Sam didn't answer.

"Well, I just wanna tell you... get over yourself. None of us have families. That's why we're here. Hey!" The boy shoved on Sam's shoulder. "I'm talking to ya, punk! HEY!" He grabbed the hem of Sam's shirt and flung him to the floor.

The rest of the room noticed the fight and made a circle around the two opponents. Sam got himself up and for the first time, actually paid attention to his surroundings. Sam was mildly surprised at first at where he was but soon shoved that thought back as the boy in front of him swung. Sam ducked and automatically swung out and hit him on the nose. Blood started to spurt from the kid's nose, but Sam didn't stop. Sam knocked him to the ground, his face a mask of fury. Sam sat on top of him and pounded his fists into the kid's face. Even when the kid went limp under him, Sam continued to pound.

The boys around him started to shout. Telling Sam to stop. Telling Sam that he was killing him. But Sam didn't hear him. All the emotions he's been hiding away since his family's death burst out of him in a blinding sea of pure, instinctual action.

"SAM!" a shrill voice screamed. Suddenly, two men grabbed Sam by the arms and pulled him off the bloody boy. A woman, Sam's social worker, walked up to him with an appalled expression. "Just what do you think you're doing?!"

As Sam's rage started to subside, his raw emotions came out as he started to sob. He fell limp in the men's arms, crying his heart out. "I want my brother!" Sam practically wailed. "I want my dad! I wanna see them so badly...!" The harsh sobs took control and silenced his voice and dominated the suddenly silent room.

The social worker huffed. "They're dead, Sam. And that's no excuse for you to beat Simon!" She sighed and looked at the men. "Take them both to the infirmary and make sure Sam's under constant surveillance."


The constant surveillance didn't stop after the nurse washed the blood off of Sam's hands and wrapped up the bruises. They put him in a locked room separate from the rest of kids. A camera constantly watched the room, making Sam feel scrutinized all the time. Though in truth, Sam liked the new isolation, despite the constant surveillance. No one bugged him here. Sam could be alone with his despair. He could grieve without an audience, and more importantly, no one could scold him for showing any weakness. Before that last boy that Sam beat into unconsciousness, there were others, teasing and laughing at Sam for showing tears in public. They called him weak for missing his family. They called him stupid for wanting them back, telling him there's no use asking for what you can't have.

The door was unlocked, and his social worker was walked in.

"We have a potential family for you, Sam."


Sam was sitting on a chair in an empty room. A large man with a baton, tazer, and handcuffs on his belt stood beside him, a large hand on his shoulder to make sure Sam didn't go into a rage or anything. Sam didn't really understand why they were all so cautious with him. Sam only had that one outburst with that boy, and that was just because he wouldn't leave him alone. If he had just left Sam alone, Sam wouldn't have started to act, and remember...

If he had just left him alone...

Sam continued to stare at his hands, even when a young woman entered the room. She wasn't the social worker, so Sam assumed it was the lady who was considering fostering him.

She knelt down in front of Sam looking at his face. Sam purposefully avoided eye contact.

"Careful," the large man said. "This one has a tendency to attack people."

No, I don't. But Sam didn't voice his thought. What was the point?

The woman continued to stare at Sam to the point where Sam started to get uncomfortable. She seemed to notice Sam's unease and asked the man if she could be with Sam alone. He was hesitant but then nodded. "Just scream or something if he tries to hurt you."

When the man left, the woman looked at Sam again. "My name's Lori," she said.

Sam just turned his head away from the woman and her piercing gaze.

"I hear you're a problem child."

Sam scoffed at that.

"You don't agree?"

Sam just shook his head. Then he shook his head harder when he realized he was communicating with the woman. No! This isn't right...

"I heard about your family," she went on to say. "Must be awful to lose your loved ones so suddenly."

Sam didn't say anything, but silent tears started to fall down his face. Who was this woman? Why was she doing this? He didn't like her. He didn't like what she was doing to him...

The door opened again and another man, larger than then one that was standing over Sam before, walked in with the social worker. The woman, Lori, stood and walked over to the large man.

The social worker cleared her throat and said, "Sam needs to have his antidepressants everyday. He also needs to come in for therapy sessions every week." Both Lori and the man nodded. "You understand the circumstances and terms come with fostering Samuel Winchester?"

"Yes, yes," the man said. "We've been over it a million times already."

The social worker nodded and said, "I just need you to sign a few papers and you can take Sam home after that." She left the room without acknowledging Sam.

Lori grabbed the man's hand and led him to Sam. "Sam, this is my husband, Ted."

Sam avoided looking at Ted, as well. Sam crouched down in his chair a little, shutting his mind off. He didn't want to socialize with these people. Sam knew he was going to this couple's home, that's all his brain was willing to process. So for now, he just left, the need to be with his father and brother overwhelming him.


A few hours later, Sam was loaded up with his few possessions into the back of a Sedan. Everything was uneventful. It took about an hour and a half to reach this couple's house. When they got there, Sam grabbed the garbage bag with his belongings and followed them inside. They quickly showed him around the small house then led him to his new room. They led him in and shut the door behind him so he got a chance to settle in.

Sam sat on the bed and opened the garbage bag. There wasn't much in there. A few sets of clothes, a couple books...

And what he had left of his brother.

Dean's leather jacket and necklace. For some reason, those where the only things that made it out of the accident unharmed. The leather jacket had bloodstains on it. However, Sam refused to let go of it once they showed it to him.

Sam buried his face in the soft leather. Sam breathed deep, trying to imagine his brother's warmth, the smell of gun powder and shaving cream, the simple protective presence that was Dean.

But Sam couldn't muster up the image. The memory. All there was was coldness, the smell of blood and sweat, and a complete emptiness that filled Sam from the core out. Sam's shoulders started to shake as he sobbed. It had been over two months now. Only two months! And Sam couldn't quite remember what his brother looked like. Nevermind his father. His father barely entered his mind anymore. John was barely a part of the family to begin with. When Sam thought of his father and brother, that was only because they came together, in a unit. In reality, it was all just Dean. Dean was his family, his parent, his friend, his everything. And now he was gone.

Sam was struck by fear when he realized he couldn't really remember what his brother looked liked. He remembered scruffiness, short brown hair, bright green eyes... but he couldn't remember Dean. Sam started to wail in despair and fright, tears running down his face in torrents. What if he forgot he brother altogether? What would be left of Sam? What else would he have to live for? All photos of them in various parts of their lives were either soaked in his father's blood, blurred beyond recognition, or burned from the crash. If Sam completely forgot Dean's face, there would be no reminder. As soon as Sam forgot, it was lost.

Sam curled up on the bed, holding the leather jacket tightly to his chest, hoping to fall asleep and never wake up again.

Should I continue?