Disclaimer: I only own that which I came up with. I have no claim whatsoever on Kripke's characters or his plotlines.

A/N: Ok, so here's my first attempt at a SN fic--hope you like.

Chapter 1: A Startling Revelation

John Winchester scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying vainly to rub away the weariness that had set in hours ago. He sat in a diner like any other, so nondescript as to be indistinguishable from any other he'd sat in over the years. Just another place where you pay for your food with just a little money now and a whole lot of indigestion later. The sounds of silverware clinking against dishware and the soft murmur of voices washed over him, and he sighed before reaching for his cup, the lukewarm coffee that it held having long ago lost all of its appeal.

Glancing up at Dean and Sam sitting across the table from him, it was hard to believe that Dean was seventeen and Sam was thirteen, for it seemed like just yesterday that they had both been trailing behind him, neither one higher than his waist, Sam's small hand tucked safely into his brother's as they followed him to the Impala.

"Hey, Sammy, I think that waitress is checking you out, bro," Dean said with a grin, nodding somewhere past John. Sam glanced up, only to blanch at the sight of whatever waitress Dean was pointing to. John turned to look and could only grin when he saw her. She's sixty if she's a day, he thought, but even that doesn't explain away the obvious lack of teeth or the shade of 'old-people blue' hair, John thought, even as Sam turned to confront his brother.

"Real funny, Dean," Sam said with a scowl.

"Dude, that's the best comeback you've got? Sammy, I thought I taught you better than that," Dean said mockingly.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

John watched, amused by their ever-present bickering, even as he felt a sense of contentment spread through him. The bantering between his boys was the one constant in their crazy-ass lives, and John welcomed it, enjoying anything that could constitute as normal. A bad hunt a week and half ago had resulted in a hospital stay for Dean, numerous small injuries for John, and a lot of resentment from Sam, who had once again been forced to stay home. Or whatever motel happens to constitute for home on any given day, John thought.

The arguing between John and Sam had been put on hold since Dean had been released from the hospital that morning, but John knew Sam still felt more than a little upset about being left behind, unable to help when things went wrong. And of course, Sam had hit that age where hormones were making him more than a little temperamental, leaving John sincerely missing the days when Sam had been an easy-going, compliant six-year-old. With Dean hurt bad enough to need a hospital, stress had taken its toll on the Winchesters, and to John, the return to what passed as "normal" for them was a blessed relief.

Having just left the hospital that morning, Dean was still looking a little worse for wear, John thought as he watched his oldest gingerly lean forward to finish off the last bite of his lunch. He thinks I don't notice, but I see more than he gives me credit forHe watched Dean for another second before turning his attention to Sam.

Things were still a bit dodgy with his youngest, he knew, but he wasn't sure how to fix it. He knew that his last words to Sam before Dean had been hurt hadn't exactly been loving or supportive. It's not the first time my temper and my obsession with hunting have screwed things up with Sammy, and no doubt it won't be the last. But still…I'd fix things if I could.

Sam was taking a break from his usual active hostility and was currently doing his damnedest to give his father the silent treatment. The refusal to acknowledge him and the lack of eye contact left John without an opening to apologize. And though apologizing rankled, John was willing, if it meant cutting through the cloud of tension that was continuing to descend on them. He watched Sam play with the salt shaker, sliding it back and forth from one hand to another as he slipped back into the moody listlessness that seemed to grip him more and more frequently these days. John sighed, reaching for another packet of sugar to put in his coffee as he turned to look out the window before Sam caught him watching.

"Hey, Sammy, you gonna eat that?" Dean was asking, eyeing his brother's untouched burger with longing.

"No, be my guest," Sam replied, shoving the plate towards his older brother, his expressive brown eyes, for once, not revealing his thoughts. John frowned, for though he was glad to see Dean's normal, insatiable appetite returning, he wasn't pleased to note that Sam's food had remained untouched.

"Sam, you need to eat," John said gruffly, watching as Sam's jaw clenched angrily.

"I'm fine," Sam replied tersely, still refusing to look at his father.

"Yeah? You don't think I've noticed that you've hardly eaten in two days? If you don't start taking care of yourself, I'm gonna wind up having to pick your ass up off the floor when something nasty gets the best of you."

"Yeah, if you actually let me go anywhere with you," Sam mumbled, his hands toying with the straw in his soda.

"That's enough, Sam," John said firmly, unwilling to let his son provoke him at this point.

Dean watched the two of them warily, holding Sam's burger in midair, halfway to his mouth, as he waited to see if his brother was going to argue. John couldn't blame him really, not after all the constant fighting between him and Sam that consistently resulted in Dean being put square in the middle. An uneasy peace had settled between the two of them while Dean had been recovering from the injuries inflicted upon him by the nasty poltergeist they'd run up against, but John knew that all three of them were waiting for it to come to an abrupt end.

Sam glanced over at Dean before he grudgingly subsided, and John grimaced. I guess I should be thankful that Sam tries so hard to please Dean, because I know for damn sure he didn't refrain from arguing for my benefit, John thought, watching Sam sitting back in the booth wordlessly. John could tell from the lingering defiance in his eyes that Sam was all but daring him to continue the argument they were both itching for, but John refused to get sucked into the dispute. Dean's not up for this, not now. If I can't do anything else right for my children, I can at least give my oldest some well-deserved peace. Even if it is only temporary.

That last fight had taken a lot out of all of them, John knew. For probably the first time, Sam had taken his anger out on his brother as well as his father, and though Dean didn't show it, John knew that it had hurt his oldest more than Dean would ever admit. Ever since, there had been a subtle vulnerability about Dean, and John was doing his best to keep some sense of peace and harmony.

"Hey, I can give it back, if you--," Dean said quietly, beginning to set the burger back down on the plate.

"Nah, go ahead. I'm not hungry."

"Sammy," Dean said hesitantly, "maybe Dad's right on this one. You should eat something," he told him, staring at him with worry in his eyes.

"Look, I'll get something to snack on at the next gas stop, okay?" Sam replied lightly, trying to placate his brother in a way that he never would have with his father.

"Don't bullshit me, Sammy," Dean said, pushing the plate back angrily.

"What are you talking about?"

"You never could lie worth a damn to me, Sammy—you and I both know that you have no intention of grabbing something at the next gas station we stop at. You're just hoping I'll be so doped up on those painkillers Dad keeps forcing down my throat that I won't notice," Dean said hotly.

"You're the one who just got out of the freakin' hospital, Dean, not me. Like I told Dad, I'm fine. You're always worrying about me—I don't need you to," Sam retorted, his face beginning to redden.

"Well excuse the hell out of me for caring," Dean said. "I thought I was just looking after my little brother, but hey, I'm sorry—I must have been put here just to piss you off. Looks like I'm doing a damn fine job of it!"

Sam's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and John sighed, knowing that he was going to have to step in if he wanted to avoid a scene.

"Boys, let's just finish eating in peace. Sam, if you don't want to eat, fine, but don't lie to your brother about it. And Dean, let it go."

"What, you're gonna take his side?" Dean asked incredulously. "Dad, he's not eating—you said it yourself—if Sam gets his ass kicked because he hasn't eaten, then you and I are the ones that are gonna have to go in after him!"

"I don't need anyone to come in after me!" Sam cut in. "And if you two would just let me come with you, I could prove it to you! I'm not five years old, you know!"

"Well then stop acting like it," Dean snapped, and John wondered how they'd gone from the pleasant bantering of two minutes ago to the heated arguing that was quickly escalating.

"That's enough, both of you. Save it for later, is that clear?" John asked, making sure his tone left no room for argument.

"Yes sir," they each muttered, both of them subsiding into a tense silence.

John's cell phone rang at that moment, cutting through the tension, and as John looked away to search for his phone, he could see out of the corner of his eye as Dean took advantage of the diversion to whack Sam across the back of the head.

"Hey!" Sam protested, his own anger seeming to vanish when he caught the apology in Dean's eyes. Like John himself, Dean was never one for chick-flick moments and apologies, but John knew that Dean hated to be at odds with his brother as much as Sam did. He hid a smile as he watched Dean grin and bite down into Sam's burger, his trademark smirk in place as he turned his full attention back to his food.

"Dean, grow up," Sam said playfully with a rueful shake of his head, turning to look at John as he answered the phone.

"Yeah?" John said, glancing at the boys as he spoke into the phone.

"Are you…um, are you John Winchester?"

The scared little girl's voice was the last thing John expected, and he quickly frowned, trying to figure out how a child could possibly be calling him.

"Yeah, who is this?"

"Um…it's me, Aubrey. Mama's gone, and we're scared," she said, her voice shaking as she spoke softly into the phone. Okay, that really didn't clear anything up. She can't be more than eight or nine…but then, what the hell do I know about little girls? What the hell is goin' on?

"How did you get my number?" John asked, not understanding the situation any more than he did before.

"Mama said to call you if something happened. And…she's not here anymore…she disappeared."

The boys were both looking at him now, and he could see the curiosity in their eyes, but for once, he didn't have any answers for them. Obviously, he had met the girl's mother or maybe helped her father, who had passed on John's contact information to his wife. His mind immediately went to work, pinning her thick, drawling accent down to a location somewhere in the southeastern United States.

"What's her name?" John asked, trying to gentle his voice as he questioned her, averting his eyes as he caught sight of the boys staring at him questioningly.

"Elaine."

And that quickly, John knew the connection.

"What's your father's name?" he asked her, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Mama said...she said…" the girl stammered, hesitating.

"What did she say?" he coaxed, feeling a growing sense of unease beginning to fill him.

"She said…that you didn't know 'bout us, but that you'd come…if we needed you to. And she said…if something ever happened…that we should call you. Please come and get us—we're scared," she said tearfully, her voice growing more and more upset.

Shit. This is completely unreal, wasall John could think as he was hit with the realization that when he'd said goodbye to Elaine Taylor eight years ago, he'd left her with more than a wave. I've got another kid. I've got a girl… What the hell am I supposed to do with a little girl? Wait a minute…

"Who is 'we'?" he asked, almost fearing the answer.

"Me and Braden."

"And Braden is…?"

"My brother."

"How old is he?" John asked, thinking, Please, God, don't let this one be mine, too.

"Um…we're twins—we're the same age," she told him, sniffling in an attempt to hold back tears.

John rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling a bone-deep weariness beginning to settle over him as he struggled to absorb all that she'd just told him. I've gone from having two kids to suddenly finding out I have four. Dammit, why the hell does everything in my life always seem to snowball out of my control? he thought angrily. Standing, John motioned for the boys to stay where they were as he headed outside, needing the space even as he knew he was just trying to keep the boys from overhearing anything.

"Are you gonna come and get us?" Aubrey was asking worriedly, her voice breaking as she spoke.

"Okay, first, you need to calm down and tell me what happened," he told her as the glass door of the diner swung closed behind him.

"We thought Mama was still in bed this morning, but me and Braden woke up early, so we were playing with Legos in his room so we wouldn't wake Mama up. And then, we heard Mama scream. We were really scared—she's never screamed like that before, not even that time when there was a big spider in the bathtub."

"What happened after you heard her scream?" he asked, not wanting her to get sidetracked. He needed answers, and he needed them fast.

"Braden grabbed my hand and pulled me and him into his closet and shut the door….Mama kept screaming, and then it got really quiet," she said, beginning to sob. "We stayed in there a really long time, but then Braden said he thought it was safe and we should go look for Mama, only, we couldn't find her. 'Cept, we didn't check her room, cause Braden said it might not be safe in there, cause that's where she was when we heard her last. But he said he didn't think Mama was still in there, cause she would have answered us if she was." Unless she's dead, John thought, wondering if the two eight-year-olds were actually in the house with their mother's lifeless body.

"Did you see any trace of your mother, any clue about what might have happened?" he asked, knowing even as he voiced the question that asking an eight-year-old for clues was about as pointless as shooting an angry spirit with regular bullets—pretty damn useless—especially if whatever had happened was supernatural in origin. His concern grew as he suddenly realized that being related to him may have put the two kids at serious risk. God, I'd never forgive myself if something happened to them because of me. I may not know them, but they're still my kids, and I'm responsible for keeping them safe.

"Um…I don't know," she told him brokenly, breaking into his reverie as she answered his question. He heard her repeat the question to someone on the other end as well as the murmur of a response before she spoke again. "Braden says he didn't see anything."

"Are the doors and windows all locked?"

"I don't know that either," she said tearfully.

"That's alright, but you need to check. Are you on a cordless phone?"

"No," she said softly.

"Ok, set the phone down for a second and go with your brother to make sure everything is still locked. Check the doors and the windows. Stay out of your mother's room, though," he told her, not wishing the two children to stumble upon their mother's body if she was indeed still in the house. He heard her footsteps recede as she ran to check, and John resisted the urge to grit his teeth, never fond of showing any signs of nervousness or anxiety.

He let out a sigh of relief the second Aubrey's voice came back on the line, informing him that everything was still locked.

"But Mama's room smells funny," she told him. "We can smell it through the door."

"What's it smell like?" John asked, hoping, praying, that the smell wasn't the stench of death filtering through the door.

"Umm…stinky. Like really icky eggs." Shit. Sulfur.

"Braden said to tell you that it's sulfur," she said. How the hell would an eight-year-old know that? John thought, but before he could ponder the matter further, he heard her sniffling and knew she was a step away from crying again.

"Ok. Listen, do you have a friend that you two could go stay with for just a bit?"

"No," she whimpered. "Mama just got a new job, and we moved here so she could be closer, and we don't have any friends yet," she said tearfully, and John felt a surge of helplessness, adding to the gamut of emotions he'd felt since answering the phone. He knew for a fact that Elaine didn't have any other family, and she was a private enough person that he doubted she had any friends close enough to come get her children.

"It's alright, Aubrey. Listen, can you give me your address?"

She told him, and John closed his eyes, shaking his head with angrily.

"I'm gonna come and get you, but I'm several states away right now, and it's gonna take me some time to get there, so I need you to do something for me."

John didn't waste any time giving her instructions, ordering the two of them to pack up duffel bags with as many clothes as they could manage as well as a few of their favorite toys before dragging everything by the door. With the addition of pillows and sleeping bags, he had her instruct Braden to dig around until he found the refill container of salt that their mother had stashed in a kitchen cabinet.

"Alright, now I want you or Braden to pour the salt out in lines at every window and at every door that leads outside, just a straight, unbroken line of salt. Just salt the door leading into your mother's room—don't go in. And then I want you two to salt the doors leading to and from the kitchen and stay there, where you'll have extra protection. Do you think you can do that?"

She didn't answer for a moment, obviously relaying the information to her brother before she came back on the line.

"Braden says his closet is safest. He says we'll wait for you in there."

"No, you'll do what I tell you," John told her sternly. God, if you've given me two more kids to look after, could you at least work with me here and not give me another one that talks back to me?

"But, Daddy—"

"No, Aubrey," cutting her off, even as it registered that she'd called him "Daddy" for the first time, her acceptance of him as her father immediate and without hesitation. No time to dwell on it now, John—take care of business. "You tell your brother that I want the both of you in that kitchen, do you understand me?"

"Okay," she murmured.

After he was assured that the two of them were doing what they were told, he felt himself relax a fraction, knowing that at least they had some protection until he could get there, even if it wasn't perfect.

"Now, those salt lines will keep anything from getting through, so long as you don't mess with them, ok? And you've got my number. You call me if you get scared, understand?"

"Okay," she said tremulously, and John felt his heart ache at hearing her fear. He knew he'd left Dean and Sam alone when Dean wasn't much older than Aubrey, but Dean had known what was out there, and he'd known what to do. Neither of the boys had been alone, and his oldest had been trained to look after them both. While the twins had each other, they didn't know how to protect themselves, and John felt true fear at the thought of the children he hadn't even known he had being totally alone and defenseless.

"Alright, now make sure you two are packed and ready to go, and I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy." John waited for her to hang up before he slowly cut the connection. He took a deep breath, knowing that the boys were still waiting for answers, answers that they would no doubt demand immediately.

As he slipped back into the booth, both boys looked up from the tic-tac-toe game they were playing in a pile of salt that one of them had obviously poured onto the table.

"Who poured salt all over the table?" he asked, frowning at both of them. He knew it was stupid to ask, because not only was he unlikely to get an answer, it was also obvious that he was trying to delay the inevitable questions concerning his phone call.

"Dean did it," Sam answered at the same time that Dean said, "Sam did it." The sad thing is, it really could have been either one of them…Sam would be the obvious choice, because he's the youngest, but I can never underestimate Dean's ability to make a mess for the sake of passing time. Knowing them, it was Dean's bright idea and Sam was talked into it. John shook his head but before he could interrogate them further, Sam beat him to it.

"So who was the chick on the phone, Dad?" Obviously, he's forgotten that he was trying to ignore me. Damn.

John didn't respond to the question at first, stirring more sugar into his coffee without raising his eyes.

"Dad, what's going on?" Dean asked, the stolen burger forgotten on his plate as he stared at his father expectantly. John sighed, pushing the cup away from him as he locked gazes with his oldest.

"Dean, I know I said we were going to take it easy for the next couple of weeks, but do you think you're up to taking a road trip?"

"Yes, sir."

"We need to get to South Carolina."

"Dad, that's like at least a thousand miles from here," Sam burst out.

"Don't exaggerate, Sam—it's not that far. We're looking at a little shy of 700 miles."

"Dean just got out of the hospital, and now you want to drive across the country? You said we'd stay here for awhile and let Dean take it easy! Or is this another case of something else mattering more than me and Dean?" he asked angrily.

"Shut-up, Sam," Dean said, cutting off his younger brother's tirade. "Dad, you know I've got your back—always," he said with a seriousness that was at odds with his usual carefree attitude.

John stared at him for a long moment, his eyes searching his son for signs that he was still too hurt to make the trip.

"Dean, maybe your brother's right about this one," he told Dean reluctantly. "Maybe I should leave you two here and come back for you after I take care of business."

"No way! I'm coming. I can rest on the way—Sammy can drive for awhile." Kid must be desperate if he's willing to let his thirteen-year-old brother drive his car.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone leaving no doubt that he expected an honest answer from his son.

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, then. This is what we'll do. Sam's not old enough to drive the car for long distances—we can't afford to be stopped, so we'll leave my truck here, take the Impala and I'll swing back by for the truck later. We need to load everything into the Impala though, and we need to do it fast."

"What are we hunting?" Dean asked, all business when it came to a hunt.

"We're not hunting anything. Simple retrieval. For now."

"Yeah, right," Sam mumbled, his temper—always ready to explode these days—obviously beginning to fray as his opinion was once again ignored.

"Samuel, cut it out," John said commanded, no longer willing to tolerate Sam's attitude.

"Why can't you just call whoever it was back and say you can't do it this time?" he exploded. "Just once, why couldn't you say no?!"

"Fine, Sam. Sure. I'll just call your little sister back and tell her that we're not coming," John said bitingly. A stunned silence fell over the boys, and John immediately regretted his outburst. Way to break it to them gently, Johnny boy, he thought angrily.

"Dad, what the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked quietly after a long, strained silence.

"That wasn't how I wanted to tell you," John said gruffly. "But it's like this. Eight years ago, I was working a job down in South Carolina. Old plantation house haunted by some real nasty spirits. Helped out this woman, Elaine Taylor, who was working there at the time. It took me a couple of weeks to find the bones, but I finished up and left soon after that. Never went back, so I didn't know that she had given birth to your sister and her twin brother until that phone call."

"So you didn't know you got her pregnant? Way to be responsible, Dad," Sam said sarcastically.

"First of all, you watch your tone when you talk to me," John said, his ire stirring in response to Sam's reaction. "Second of all, I take precautions when I'm with a woman, but like I've always told you boys, no protection is one hundred percent safe. Accidents happen."

Sam folded his arms across his chest and looked down at the table, silently considering his father's revelation before he shrugged one shoulder and gave his dad a slight smile.

"Well, at least I won't be the youngest anymore," he said with a smirk that would have made his brother proud.

"You're alright with this, then?" John asked sincerely.

"I guess so. I mean, a little sister and brother would be pretty cool. I've never had either of those before."

"They're not like puppies, Sam," John said with a hint of a smile. "No getting rid of 'em if you get tired of 'em."

"We've never had puppies before either," Sam said with a laugh, "but a brother and sister are way cooler," he finished, a smile breaking through and leaving no trace of the angsty teenager he'd been moments before.

"Dean, what about you?" John asked, turning to his firstborn, who had remained silent since his father's explanation. Dean's jaw clenched and he looked away, staring mutely at the floor for a long moment before he painstakingly hauled himself to his feet, pulling his crutches to him without looking at his father.

"I'll meet you in the car, Sam. Move it or I'll leave your ass here," Dean said quietly, hobbling out without a word to John. Sam's eyes widened, obviously completely floored by his brother's first display of attitude towards their father, before he turned to stare at John.

"I guess that didn't go so well, huh, Dad?"

"You'd better hurry, Sam, before he leaves you to ride back to the motel with me."

"Right," Sam said, hastily grabbing his coat, and scrambling out of the booth. Boy knows as well as I do that Dean won't hesitate to do exactly what he said he would if Sam doesn't hurry.

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Sir?"

"See if you can find out what's going on in your brother's head, will ya'?"

"Yes, sir."

John watched Sam run for the door and bolt for the car, slamming the door of the Impala as he climbed inside. With a final, tired sigh, he took one last sip of his cold coffee before he paid the bill and left the diner behind, knowing that things had just gotten a whole lot harder.

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A/N: Please read and review--let me know what you think! I don't mind constructive criticism, but please, no flames.