There was one day that stood out in Dean's mind. Well there were several, he doesn't think he can ever forget how hot the flames were as they licked at the walls ("Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now Dean, Go!"). No, there was another day that stood out in his mind. When he was seven and Sammy was three and they were in yet another forgettable motel room, Dean was cooking dinner as usual, Sammy was on the couch watching his cartoons that he loved so much, and their father was no where to be found. He had been missing for days now, but in the past three years Dean had grown accustomed to it.

"Sammy, dinner is ready!" Dean had called out, standing on his tippy-toes to give the pot one final stir before removing it from the stove top, making sure to turn the flames off (he always made sure to put out the flames) before carefully moving the pot to the table and placing it on a hot pad. What was in the pot again? Dean couldn't remember. He does remember seeing Sammy pad over to the table, his pajamas about two sizes too big, the sleeves coming well past his hands, he remembers watching his little brother climb onto the chair across from him as Dean filled his bowl for him and slid it across the table.

"Be careful Sammy," How many times has Dean said that sentence in his whole life, "It's hot."

"Tanks De," Sam beamed at his brother from across the table as he made a show of blowing onto the contents of the bowl.

Dean smiled back at him, because it was the little things like this moment that convinced Dean that his family was going to be okay. Thankfully Sam was too young to remember what had happened to their mother, he was still too young at that point to really grasp how messed up and wrong their whole situation really was. Dead mother, absent father, older brother trying to replace both parents while feeling the loss of both still fresh in his mind. Dean picked up a spoonful of the concoction and blew on it as well before raising it to his mouth. The door slammed open. Maybe that's why Dean couldn't remember what he had actually made that night, because he had never actually gotten to eat it.

The older brother turned to watch as his father stumbled into the room, kicking the door shut hard before stumbling to regain his footing. Before letting this play out too much Dean had scooped up Sammy, "Lets go eat this in the other room, okay?", he placed the bowl into the smaller boys hands before ushering him quickly into the seperate bedroom. He remembers the fear in Sam's eyes, it sure wasn't the last time he saw it. He gave him a reassuring, if not fake, smile, and closed the door with the younger boy inside, hopefully shielding him from whatever horrors were to come. And Dean knew they were coming. Dean turned back to his father, trying to assess the situation. He was drunk, obviously, but not anymore drunk then all the other times the man had stumbled back.

"I made dinner," Dean states very quietly, as if trying to lull a wild animal into a sense of calm.

John muttered something that Dean hadn't caught, moving (Stumbling) towards the table. The older man had plopped down in the chair so hard that the wood had creaked violently. He leaned forward and placed his head on the table, going quiet. After a few moments Dean released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Maybe dad actually fell asleep, maybe tonight would be a quiet night, maybe everything would be okay. Dean crept forward silently to grab his bowl before freezing. He met dark lifeless eyes. Maybe Dean wouldn't be that lucky tonight.

A hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist, bruisingly tight. "You look so much like her." John growled. And Dean did everything in his power not to make a sound, not to make him angrier. "Are you doing this on purpose? Just to fuck with me? Is that what this is?"

"Dad please you're hurting me..." Whatever else he was going to say was knocked out of his head as he was thrown to the floor, the sting in his cheek growing quickly. His ears were ringing as he fought to pick his head up off the floor and meet his father's eyes.

John stood over him, towering over him. He scoffed as he took a step forward. The smaller boy curled in on himself, waiting. The only thing that Dean could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat slamming in his ears.

"How pathetic," The voice was cold, hollow, dead. Dean chanced a glance up at the man, just in time to see him step over the younger boy. Another sigh of relief, another breath, another spark of relization. That's not his father's room he's heading towards.

Dean was up like a shot, grabbing the back of John's shirt. And he took the blows that came with it. And he grit his teeth and bit his tongue so not to alert the other boy in the other room. Because he wanted to keep Sammy in the dark. Because as long as Sammy was in the dark about what really happened when dad came home he was safe. So Dean would take the beating, Dean would keep quiet, Dean would spend all his effort on getting his father to focus on him. Because if it meant protecting Sam he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.

And it was that night, as Dean was lying in the living room, in the wake of destruction, as he stood gaurd outside Sammy's door; that was when the seed of rage had been first planted.

Line Break

The rain finally seemed to stop. It was finally quiet. Quiet besides the two sets of lungs breathing, and the creaking of weight on bone, and the ground shaking growling coming from his muzzle, and the squelching of mud as he shuffled his rear paws on the ground. Quiet. And it would be so easy to lean down and end it, way too easy.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't put you down right here." Who's voice was that coming out of him? It was deep, far too deep.

Bite him

"Dean, listen to me," John sounded nervous. His arm was pinned down with one giant paw, the rest of his body was framed by the six hundred pound beast above him, and mere inches from his face were teeth longer than his fingers.

"No I think I'm done listening!" The wolf snapped his jaws with a hollow click. How he longed to be full.

Bite him

"After everything you've done to me, after everything you've done to him, why shouldn't I kill you?"

It was getting harder to hear John over the steady rumble of growling. He was almost drowning in the sound. and those eyes. Blood red with black specks in them. For the years, seemed like a lifetime, that John had been hunting he had never encountered a wolf with eyes like that.

"I wasn't the best father, I know that," John whispered, almost to himself. The wolf snapped again, jowls getting closer. "But I lost more than you could ever understand that day!"

The wolf threw his head back and howled, seemingly in mock laughter, "I lost my mother that day! I lost my father that day! I lost my home and my childhood! Dont tell me about loss!"

BITE HIM

John blinked slowly, and then closed his eyes, body going limp. The adrenaline and fear taking a toll on his body finally. He was so tired. He was tired of the hatred and the lying and the fear and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, I don't even forgive myself," And somehow it was easier to talk with his eyes close, to throw his words into the abyss rather than at the man he had watched grown up. Watched grown up because John knows he didnt raise him. "But I am sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I'm sorry I turned my back on you, and I am sorry for what happened to Sam."

At the mention of the name Dean's breath had caught in his throat, cutting off the growl that had been coming out. and it was finally, well and truely quiet.

"It seems that I lost both my sons," John raised a hand, the other one digging into the pocket it could reach while still being pinned down. He placed his free hand onto the monster... No, onto Dean's face. His fingers carting through the rough fur it found there, their eyes meeting once more. "I'm going to make this right."

And that distraction was all he needed to grab the needle in his pocket and thrust it forward.

Line Break

It had taken him a while to get everything he needed, with the past few weeks being on a constant hunt and all. No that wasn't the right word for it, it was at the time but not now. It didn't matter. What mattered was that this moment, what was about to happen, was everything that these past few years has been building up to. Was everything that his life has been building up to. And as he dropped the match into the bowl before him, the contents catching fire quickly, John felt like he couldn't breathe.

"John Winchester."

That voice was smoother than it had any right to be. John turned around quickly, his eyes meeting the eyes of a stanger. Well the body of a stranger, rather. Because John will never forget those eyes as long as he lived.

"You've got a lot of nerve summoning me, don't you Johnny," The man cackled, "especially with how busy I am these days. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure."

"I want to make a deal." John struggled to spit out, struggled to stand still, struggled not to launch himself at the other man and choke the life out of him with his bare hands.

The man threw his head back and laughed sending a shiver down the hunter's spine. "Let me guess! You want to make a deal for poor little Sammy right? I have no use for him anymore. He was too weak too... Disappointing."

"His soul for mine." John blinked and the man was gone, suddenly feeling an arm wrap around his throat from behind and a hand grabbing the bottom of his chin.

"How about I kill you and take your soul anyway." The man breathed into the other's ear. It took everything in John to stand perfectly still at the threat.

"I'd like to see you try." John growled out, looking straight ahead.

The warehouse they were in fell silent, the only light being the few candles on the floor and the moonlight coming through the broken windows. And suddenly John was being released, and another laugh sliced through the silence.

"That's what I love about you Winchesters," The man circled back around John to stand infront of him, a grin plastered on his face, "You're all so interesting."

"Do we have a deal?" John held his hand out.

And the strangers eyes seemed to glow an even brighter yellow.