Dean Winchester was 12 years old the first time he sees the shadow.

It's his fourth night in his new home with his mom, dad, and baby brother, Sam. Their dad had abruptly uprooted them to move out into the middle of No-wheres-ville, Kansas. If his parents had a reason, they weren't telling their son about it. Apparently, Dean was just expected to shrug off childhood friends, the only school he'd ever gone to and the home he grew up in.. all to end up at Auntie 'Ems. He spitefully wished for a tornado to come blow them away.

Dean throws down a box of comics, which just knocks over another heavier box that was balanced precariously on a table. A wail starts from below and he rolls his eyes.

"Dean! You woke Sam! Knock off your pouting and come down to dinner!" his dad barks up the stairs at him.

His mother had said he could pick out his room, probably out of guilt. Feeling withdrawn and sulky, he immediately chose the 3rd floor bedroom. It left him by himself with his parents on the second floor with Sam. Kitchen, Dining Room, and Living Room on the bottom floor.

Petulantly, Dean decides to take his time getting to dinner. He evaluates the walls, mentally planning out what posters he wants to hang. He figured he'd move the dresser, with the Sega and TV on top, so it was facing the end of his bed. The door would be to the right of his bed and the huge almost floor to ceiling window to his left. Dean walks across the room to the simple wooden window bench seat. He tugs at the lip and opens it to reveal an empty compartment. Closing it, he steps up on it to reach the latch. Feet back on the floor, he pulls at the two panes of glass divided into squares by a thick oak frame. They swing inward and he can't help being a little impressed by the view.

Their backyard at the moment is just a large expanse of uncut grass that hits a line of trees. From here, it seems to be the edge of woods that go on for as far as he can see. The tops of trees were quiet and oddly soothing out in the black night. Without the light pollution from city lights he'd become accustomed to, the stars pop out everywhere. More than he'd ever seen. He idly watched a breeze ruffle and shake leaves on trembling branches, for a moment forgetting all his self-righteous anger.

"Dean! Now!"

"Yeah! Alright!" He yelled back and there went the calm.

Turning away, he briskly walked towards the door, knowing despite his anger that he didn't want his dad to come get him.

He reached for the handle, but paused when a shadow darkens the door in front of him, covering where his hand is held out. Gasping, he quickly turns back to the open window.

But there was nothing but moonlight flooding in. He cautiously takes a few steps back towards it.

"Dean!"

Dammit. He hesitates only a second longer, before finally shaking his head and yanking open the door to run down the stairs.

Time passes and the Winchesters settle in. Dean has a birthday that feels a little empty without his friends but they sing the song and he blows out candles on a cake anyway. Sam starts teething and he's very glad he chose to be a whole floor away from the constant melt-downs. And though she never said anything, he could tell his mom had taken the move hard at first as well.. but she starts to perk up after a while too. He can hear her singing downstairs and it makes him smile. She bakes pies in the afternoons every once and a while, half-humming a Beatles song when he comes in from school. He even makes a few tentative friendships with kids from his new school.

One day after school, while he's trying to make his math homework penetrate his brain, his father comes in from work with an unfamiliar man in tow.

"Dean, come here. I want you to meet someone."

He gets up from the kitchen table and walks over to them.

"This is your Uncle Bobby." He gestures to an older guy with a brown beard and mustache combo that creeps up the sides of his jaw. He's wearing an old trucker hat, open flannel over a grey shirt, jeans and maybe an extra twenty pounds around his middle.

Dean frowns, knowing he didn't have an Uncle Bobby but stuck out his hand like he knows his dad was waiting for him to do.

"You got your mama's looks, boy. Thank the Lord." Bobby smiles, shaking his hand firmly.

When he just stares his dad says, "Dean, what do you say?"

"Uh, nice to meet 'cha."

Feeling uncomfortable and not knowing what else he was supposed to say to this guy he asks, "Um, may I be excused?"

"Dean!"

"Aw, let the boy go." Bobby waves him off, smacking his dad's arm with the back of his hand.

His dad gives him a look but just says, "Alright, go. I'll get you a beer, Bobby."

"I wouldn't turn one down."

Dean turns to run up the stairs but awkwardly waves to Bobby on his way who returns it with an upturning of his mustache.

As the two men move towards the kitchen, Dean remembers he forgot his math book. He hesitates, and when he hears them begin talking, sits down to wait on the stairs. Also, Deans a little curious how the hell his dad knows this guy.

"How's Ellen holdin' up?" He hears the clink of a beer bottle cap hitting the sink.

"Well she's, ya know John.. it'll take time."

His dad sighs deeply.

"It hit her hard but she's a tough woman. And she has Jo."

"They settling in okay?"

Their voices descend as they walk out into the backyard. "Yeah, they're up at a place in my neck of the.."

When the coast is clear, Dean walks out to grab his book as quickly as possible and doesn't look back.

That night, he's sitting at the edge of his bed, engrossed in mashing buttons on his Sega controller and gritting his teeth as Sonic navigates a loop de loop.. when he abruptly falls of a cliff and dies.

"Dammit!"

He throws the control across the room and closes his eyes to calm down but doesn't miss a small noise that sounds like a laugh. Dean turns just quick enough to see the long shadow of a figure disappear from the outside the window.

He yells out, frozen to the spot.

Seconds later, his dad storms into the room, searching the corners.

"What?! What is it?"

Dean points at the window. "Somebody was out there!"

He gets up and follows his dad who looks determined and a little scary. Poking his head out the window, he turns his head up, to the sides, then finally down.

Standing behind him, Dean sees a wicked-looking blade in his hand before he slips it out of sight.

"There's nothing out there. Jesus, Dean, you scared the hell outta me."

"No I saw.. something. Freaking someone!"

"Alright, that's enough. Turn off the videogame and got to bed."

"Dad! I know-"

"Now, Dean! Don't you think you're a little old for this kinda stuff?"

The injustice of not being believed is immediately covered with the sting of his dad's censure. He clenches his jaw and swallows the rest of whatever he was going to say.

Sighing, his dad ruffles his hair but Dean just shakes it off, jerking his head to the side.

"Night, Son. Get some sleep."

His dad waits.

"Yes, sir." He bites out coldly.

Frowning, his dad finally leaves him. Dean stands there balling his fists for a whole minute before stomping to the open window. He closes it tight and gets up on the windowseat to latch it. Flopping down on his bed, he's too embarrassed and angry over his dad's implication that he had a little kid freakout to worry about whatever made him cry out earlier.

It's several months before the memory fades enough for him to be comfortable leaving the window open again.

One September day, when the stifling heat is descending into sweet breezes of Autumn, Dean cracks the window. A few days later and he's sleeping with moonlight flooding in once more.

It's a Friday and he's pretty sure there's some of his mom's apple pie left in the fridge. He tosses his Batman comic at the end of the bed and goes in search. He's almost to the bottom when he grips the banister to stop his momentum on the third to last step.

His dad has his mom close and they're swaying back and forth in the kitchen. It's rare to get a glimpse of this softer side of John Winchester. He always seemed so unapproachable. Hard and strict to his mother's softness. John was ex-military and you could see it from his rigid posture to how he uniformly cuts his eggs to the no nonsense way he demands Dean keep his room. Dean's made his own bed since he was 5, every morning.

Seeing his parents like this.. it's nice. There's no music but his dad is humming low. Smiling, despite the loss of his chance for pie, Dean quietly goes back up to his room.

Just as he opens his bedroom door, something moves across his vision before he can look up. He freezes. Staring at the window, he squeezes the doorknob until his hand is numb. Glancing at the stairs, he sucks in a breath and decides to man up.

Dean strides to the window without hesitation until his shins stop at the wooden bench. Nothing moves. He makes himself climb up onto the wide frame edge and holding tight, ducks his head out to peer outside into the night. Same as always. Still trees. Insects chirping. Plastic baby toys and his bike left on its side abandoned in the backyard. There's a noise to his right that draws his attention. Shifting his foot and tightening his deathgrip, he leans forward to try and see past the darkness along the wall of his house. He stares.. and stares.. almost seeing something at the corner over where the wall turns to the next side of the house. He focuses, squinting his eyes… is that… can't be… an arm?

Then it moves.

Dean jerks his head back so fast; he knocks it hard on the window frame behind him.

Then with an awful drop in his stomach like you get when you miss a step.. he's falling.

Author's Note: Hello darlings! This is my first attempt at a slower burn. It's inspired by Peter Pan. In no way will this be a shot for shot version of that story but aspects of it will be popping up from time to time. Let me know you love me and are reading! Explicit for later chapters because doesn't it always lead to gay love? The best things do. (o:`,