Prologue.

John Winchester's wife had been taken by fire and now his boys had been too. He stood in shock, the sound of loud bickering and red flashing lights in the crisp night air, both dull in his mind's eye. All the while, his swirling thoughts made him feel nauseated.

"No," the hunter whispered under his shaking breath. "Not again." He watched, petrified, as firefighters pushed their way through crowds of cranky motel guests who were gathered inconveniently in front of a charred motel building. The building was nearly unrecognizable; it resembled a majorly burnt piece of toast- a piece of toast with splintered door frames and more dimension than toast should have.

"Sir?" a voice faintly called over John's thoughts. He wondered if there was any chance he was dreaming; Sam and Dean couldn't be dead. There was just no way. "Excuse me, sir?" John's eyes were focused on the empty doorframe of the motel room he and his sons had checked into that morning. "Hello?" John felt a hand on his trembling shoulder and he jumped, looking at the firefighter who touched him with wide eyes. "Sir, I'm very sorry for your loss. As I mentioned earlier, the bodies we found were… You wouldn't be able to identify your sons if you looked at them because of how bad the fire was, so that part of the process is going to be skipped. I believe the police would like to bring you in for just a few questions about what you and your sons were doing today, then you're free to go. Is that alright?" The words coming from this man's mouth certainly were not laden with the intention of disorienting John, yet that is exactly what they did. The message delivered to the Winchester's ears, the worst message any parent could possibly imagine receiving, caused his world to spin and his breathing to hitch in the back of his throat. It finally sunk in what had happened; Sam and Dean were dead. John collapsed.

"Sir! Sir!"

"Look, someone passed out."

"I need help over here!"

"Is he alright?"

"I wish I could pass out! I want to sleep! But no, my room for the night was burnt to the freakin' ground!"

"Hey, am I getting a refund for my room or what?"

"Ma'am, please give us space."

"Mommy, I'm tired…"

"I think he's waking up!"

John slowly opened his eyes, feeling the cold, hard concrete beneath him. A few pairs of hands helped him up, yet he didn't pay much attention. All he could think about was the absence of his wife and now his sons. How was he supposed to go on? Firefighters who were trying to communicate with him and ask if he was alright didn't matter to him at the moment. He couldn't even be embarrassed by the fact that he, John Winchester, one of the toughest hunters out there, had collapsed in front of a group of people. He couldn't even be embarrassed when seemingly out of nowhere, he began to sob.

John Winchester was officially broken.

In the distance, a tall red-haired man in a white lab coat silently watched. His cold green eyes observed John, and when he broke down, the man's emotionless expression was invaded by a satisfied smirk.