I own nothing. No Sam, Dean, Impala or Supernatural. Sniff, sniff!


I hope I managed to tame any errors.


The Special Two.


John glanced down at the cell phone in his hand. The number was that of his elder son.

He was tempted to answer, his finger hovering undecidedly over the keyboard, the phone tiny in his large callused hand.

Dean had just brought him up to date on his and Sam's arrival in Lawrence and asked him to meet with them there.

He knew Dean had always repeated that he would never set foot in the town again, his dulled memories of a four-year old

still actual enough to prevent him from wanting anything to do with his birth-place, and he reckoned that Sam's presence had

had much to do with changing Dean's mind.


The part of John that was a loving father wanted to down tools and make a bee-line for his boys,

but the part that had now become pre-dominant in him, the obsessive need for vengeance now so much apart of his essence,

pulled at him like the most ecstatic of mind-blowing drugs, pushing everything else into second place, even his sons.


However he was intrigued by the fact that his old home, now re-built after the fire,

had become a place of haunting; according to Dean's message, anyway.

He was in a moment of stasis as far as his search for the yellow-eyed demon was concerned;

maybe he would take a little detour into Lawrence, but strictly in incognito.

No, that was not completely true; he would show himself to one person.



She felt the buzz in the air when they arrived in town. The two special ones.

When they were younger their full potential hadn't yet been mature; then one had gone off

on an escape mission to Stanford. Poor boy didn't know that there was no escape.

His destiny was written way too long ago for him to be able to avoid it, as was the elder's.


One's Ying, to the other's Yang. Two sides of the same coin, separated in body but one in soul

Now however they were together, and in the fullness of their essence; they just didn't know it yet.

She felt privileged that she had been the first to understand their potential, in those tragic days that had come after the death of Mary,

when John seemed a madman, tempered only by the fact that he had two small children to rear.


John had brought them with him that day.

Dean was barely five and little Sammy was the cutest nine-month old bundle of joy that you could wish to see.

Little Dean must have thought so too, for during the whole time his Daddy and me were talking, he never left the smaller child's side,

hovering over him like the most concerned of mothers.

Little Sammy smiled and cooed and drooled his way into Dean's heart, never again to leave it, no matter what the future might bring;

Dean would always love and take care of his little brother, even when stumbling around on crutches.


Fat chance of that, she had thought to herself; she'd be surprised if those two adorable little innocents

ever reached the ripe old age of forty and she was estimating with a big lee-way.


She often regretted having told John about the world behind the ordinary veil of our existence,

but he had so insisted and he had threatened to camp out on her doorstep

until she opened up about what had happened to Mary.

She had unwillingly told him that the details surrounding her death all pointed to demonic intervention.

As she explained she saw his scepticism gradually flower into belief, and in that moment

she realised she had sealed the fate of the two beautiful, innocent little boys, laughing and gurgling

in their private little world, back through in her sitting room.


Now the wheel had come full circle.

The boys were here. They would come to her. They would ask questions. They would ask for her help.

She would do what she could.

She felt John's arrival too.

"Well, she thought to herself. "What will be will be!"


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