Dean fell asleep shortly after he got carried to a bunkbed in a shop. Dean hadn’t realised how tired he really was. It wasn’t just the working out or the near-death encounter that made him pass out; he hadn’t slept since he woke up in that chapel - and was chased by a zombie puppet and a crazy host. After that, the adrenaline kept him active. He had spent two whole days awake, with his eyes and mind both on full alert. All the energy he had used put him into a deep sleep; the comfort of the bed being the final push he needed.

Dean dreamt of something that he hadn’t done in a while; his dream took him back to his past - a reminder of what once was.

He sat at a small dining table with his mother, his father and his little sister. The table was full of food and joy. His Father and Mother were sweet parents, always there for their children. The house was never once quiet, there was always music and laughter to fill the spaces. With smiles on their faces, they spoke of what they had done that day: how school went for Dean; how his little sister finger painted a picture of her family. The mother kissed her daughter and put the painting on the fridge.

Everything was so peaceful and normal; until it was gone. Suddenly a car came crashing through the wall, ploughing into his mother and the fridge. “Mom!” they both screamed, tears dripping down their cheeks. They turned around, hoping for help from their father, only to find another car had come crashing through the wall. Taking him too.

Then everything went black. A phone rang on the table behind him; a spotlight shining down on it in the room full of darkness. It was their old house phone. Nothing made sense to Dean, but all he could do now was answer.

“Why?” Dean’s voice wavered; his lips quivered as tears swelled in his eyes. He let go of the phone; it hit against the floor and hung from its wire. The line behind it went flat, its dull hum the only sound in the room.

“Dean?” his sister came over. She was worried, she’d never seen her brother cry before. Dean just hugged her tightly.

Their parents had been in a car crash on their way home. The wind had been strong that day, strong enough to flip the lorry that blocked their way. They hit the lorry at sixty miles an hour. The front half of the car crushed like a tin can. His mom and dad were killed on impact, their bodies too destroyed to even recognise. The only reason they were able to be identified was that their car license plate was still eligible.

A tv flicked on behind Dean. A news presenter sat at a desk and told them of a crash that happened on the M1. The crash started one of the longest lines of accidents that year.

Dean and his sister were all that was left of their once happy family. Their distant cousins said they would take them in. They didn’t know them well, but they seemed nice.

After things had settled, they went back to their home (where only yesterday they had been joking with their parents) to collect their belongings. Going through the house was bittersweet; so many fond memories had been made in these walls, but there wouldn’t ever be any more.

Dean pulled out some clothes from a draw, throwing them into a suitcase. His cousins helped his siter in another room, she couldn’t hold in her tears any longer.

He heard a loud sucking sound, and then, as if someone flicked a switch, the sound reversed to a loud gust. “Not again!” Dean shouted, and then a bright flash came from outside the door. The light absorbed them and their entire house. Everything started to blur together. Distinct lines became a wash of marks; colours became diluted as they mixed. Their minds were being swayed like boats on a rocky sea. Everything had started to stretch and warp, as if it had been flushed into a swirling vortex. Dean searched from his sister; the rooms of the house now looked more like an abstract painting. His sister called out to him, begging for him not to leave, not like Mom and Dad. “I don’t want to see this again!” Dean was aware it was a dream, but that didn’t change anything. No matter how much he tried to fight it, things ran their course, as if written by fate. As his sister cried out one last time a deafening slush consumed everything, bringing a bright flash with it. When Dean came to, he found himself sprawled on the ground. His house and his sister were gone. He was the only thing left among the ruins of his family home. He just stood there, alone, and wished that whatever it was had taken him too.

That was in 2015, when the Gates first came into existence. The Gates had taken many things, but what Dean cared about most was his sister. He needed to become a Hunter to find her. There was nothing else left he could think to do. That time when he was left in the rubble of his house, he could do nothing but scream. He never wanted to feel so helpless ever again.

“Hey!”

A voice pulled Dean from his nightmare. The sleep was still heavy on his eyes, keeping his head weak and full of fog. A sharp pain flooded through his body as he moved, “You’re awake!”

“Uhg, what time is it?”, Dean grabbed his stomach. Being pulled out of a deep sleep, wounded him. The bright light that shone on his eyes only adding to the weakness of his head, like rubbing salt into a wound.

“Five in the morning.” Came a new voice from above. Dean looked up to find the boy from outside Waterloo Station. He was on the bunk above, peering over the edge at Dean. His white locks dangled, his hair losing a battle against gravity.

“You’re- “

“White.” the boy flipped forward from the top, landing on his feet. Dean would have be surprised and given him a reaction for his stunt; however, his mind was still half asleep and his body sore. The boy stood closer, blocking the bright light behind him. A sparkle could be seen in his eyes as they started to glow gold.

[White has used Sage’s Eyes Lv1]

[System has blocked White's Sage's Eyes Lv1]

The glow started to fade from his eyes as his skill failed, the corners of his lips perked. “You’re strong!”

Dean nearly choked on his tongue. Him strong? He was the farthest from strong. Was the boy joking? So far, Dean had mostly survived by luck; he knew that, and he was trying his best to adapt. The boy saw him raise an eyebrow at his remark; rather than a sign of amusement, he thought it was a cue for him to continue. “My eyes work on everything, but it didn’t work on you. Not on that good-looking guy with the grandma either.” Dean knew who the kid was talking about. His mood got even worse from him complementing Sam as soon as he had woken up. Why did everyone think he was good-looking? Dean sat himself up, fighting against the sore pain as he got to his feet, “You’re going to give me a headache if you start talking about him this early.” Dean’s face started to change from lethargic to annoyed.

The boy gave Dean a funny look. The simple mention of Sam had annoyed Dean, the memory of him getting tripped and left for dead was still fresh. The boy then cupped his cheek in thought, “Can you meet me in two days? At two, near the book shop by terminal one?”

Dean looked down at the boy, he was much shorter than him. “Why can’t we just meet now, why are you trying to lure me somewhere?” The atmosphere at Waterloo might have been more relaxed than it was outside, but the boy was with the group that blocked the entrance. Dean had mixed thoughts of meeting up with him. It could be some sort of trap. The boy was taken aback by the rejection, but he understood Dean’s concern. He had witnessed people killing each other outside, trust was much rarer nowadays.

He pulled his phone out from his pocket and showed Dean a photo of him when he was little with an older woman, both had big smiles for the camera. “Why are you showing me this?”

“That’s my Mom.”

“She’s lovely.” Dean said, annoyed. What would the boy’s mother have to do with him wanting to meet up?

“The man I was with has her tied up.” His voice was somewhere between anger and sadness. He looked at his photo and clenched his fist for a moment. He tried to keep his cool, but his emotions were leaking through the seams. Dean felt bad, but he couldn’t do much for him. Anyway, why should he? He barely knew this boy, and to risk his life for some random woman would be reckless.

“We’ll all be in danger after the Backer selection if we don’t stop him!” His face was full of worry. Dean thought either the kid was an amazing liar, or his words were sincere. He felt a connection with him, he had also lost all of his loved ones; the child reminded him of his past self. Dean looked at the kid, the memories of his own past stewing in his mind. Dean then let out a breath “Alright.”

“Thank you!” The boy’s eyes filled with hope at Dean’s response, his gloomy demeanour now charged with ambition.

“White!” A couple of disgruntled men were calling for him from outside the shop. He turned to run to them, but before he left, he said “Two, don’t forget” and then ran off. He slid his headphones on as he ran out.

‘Wait, how did he get his phone to work?’ Dean thought as the boy disappeared.