Disclaimer: Neither Charmed nor Supernatural belongs to me.

C-SPN-C-SPN-C-SPN

A patrol had just returned from their nightly sweep, and everyone was exhausted. The night had a slight warm breeze that flowed through the air. A rarity of such times, unlike the common notion of hellish dimensions, the world that they lived in was uncommonly cool. All of the time, the warmth was longed for. This change in weather had inspired the group to have this impromptu 'relaxation' time. Upon leaving the jeep, most of the crew had fallen to the ground with the exception of Dean and a young quiet man, who reminded him of his late brother Sam. Those two had unintentional walked a hundred metres from the men; a distance that provided their own space yet at the same time close enough that they could get to the others in case of an emergency.

"What are looking at?" Dean asked, the hunched figure of the boy sitting across from him after sitting down on a nearby log.

"Nothing!" the young man snapped, quickly pocketing the piece of paper he had been holding in a pocket.

"For nothing, you're sure acting like it's something" he stated suspiciously, trying to recall any key information about this person.

Not surprisingly he recalled absolutely nothing about this young man. The people around him he saved, but it was an automatic reaction unlike before he cared nothing for them. He was drained. The possession of Sam by Lucifer, something that he had fought so hard for had left him a mere shell as he failed. As was foretold and witnessed by a younger version of him.

Standing up, he walked over to the boy giving him a quick punch that floored the brunette to the ground. Wiping the small amount of blood that appeared on his knuckles, he knelt down and retrieved the paper from the pocket. In this age, there were always reasons to be weary. This wouldn't be the first time that something of a devious nature had found its way into the compound; last week a prayer to the demon wearing his brother's face had been found on someone. Looking down quickly he found that he had been mistaken instead of staring at a piece of paper; he found the faded surface of a photo.

"What's this?" he asked, needing to know more about the photo. If any of these people had been infected then this man would need to be put under careful surveillance.

"It's my family. My mother, father, brother and two aunties. Only my brothers around, in the Francisco camp" he supplied hesitantly. "The others died at the beginning of the war," he added, watching Dean's look.

Looking at the hesitant figure put a smile on Dean's face. This initiative of this boy could prove to be useful. It was tiring having to ask question after question of unnecessary questions when people weren't forth coming with information. Though the extent of his organization and ability to adjust was a slight bit unnerving. Either he was a cool character, or he was use to the supernatural before the apocalypse had started. Looking at him under hooded eyes he bet it was the latter.

Shaking his head, he gazed down at the photo in his hand. Four smiling adults with two mischievously grinning toddlers greeted him. There was only one man in the photo, a blonde around his age, non-threatening in appearance standing at the back over one of the women. The other adults were three brunette women; all were stunning looking in their own individual way sitting down. Coughing, he tried to dispel the unease that he was checking out three women who were dead, and going by the sad look in the boys face, it had been some time. Flaked on the sides slightly in front of one of the women, were the two younger boys, both holding her hand. A younger version of the one he was questioning and what appeared to be an older brother. A happy family!

Sudden anger filled his veins as he stared at the photo. He had only had six-months of opportunity to have a photo taken with all of his family before everything was taken away. Grinding his teeth, he pushed the photo back into startled hands, knowing that if he kept it a minute longer he would tear it to shreds.

"So kid, what's your name?" Dean asked, hoping to defuse his anger by focusing on a safe topic.

"Chris" was the mumbled answer he received.

"So, you fancy yourself something of a pope or a musician? Like Cher, Madonna!" he quipped humorlessly. "Have a last name with that Chris?"

"Halliwell. Chris Halliwell".

Nodding at the answer. The named suited him, Dean thought reflectively.

"See you 'round" he promised before walking off going to find a quiet area, leaving a confused Chris in his wake.