Prologue: The First Years
John Winchester grew up in Kansas, in a small, useless piece of the world that would have been totally unworthy of his time had he not met Mary. She was the blond bombshell that made his life the heaven that it was for more than seventeen years. Right out of high school, only after working in the garage for two months, he bought her a ring and asked her to marry him. At nineteen years old, they married at the chapel three towns over, a large ceremony and reception that went flawlessly and a day that John remembers to this day one of the most wonderful times of his moments with Mary.
However, as close and in love as they were, they both still kept secrets from each other – secrets that broke their happy little life to pieces.
The first was the secret life that John never told Mary about, the reason that he was late to so many of his classes or why he would always excel in P.E. Yes, the Winchesters were a family of hunters, a job and lifestyle that John never really wanted to be a part of, no matter how naturally talented he seemed to be at it. Once he walked down that aisle, though, he made the decision to live in a house and work from nine to five at the local auto shop. No more monsters and hotels and long drives to nowhere for him, he thought with some satisfaction over a cold beer at the end of a long day with some of his friends.
Mary's secret was quite different; one that she would tell herself over and over again was only a strange dream. It happened one night when she was driving to their new home in Washington. The roads were wet and just beginning to freeze and a on a particularly sharp turn, the wheels slid and they crashed into the large oak on the side of the road. The right front side of the car hit too hard and too fast for John's air bag to deploy, and his head smashed into the dashboard. Mary got out of the car, disoriented and half-crazed with worry; she stumbled to the passenger side and pulled John out of the vehicle.
"John?" She tried to wake him, holding him gently in her arms. Her hand shook as she checked his pulse, his skin wet with blood from his head trauma. It was weakening, almost too soft to feel under her touch. Mary was sobbing, unable to think or do anything but hold her husband and cry.
That was when he appeared.
"Well, that's a cryin' shame, isn't it?" A voice said from right in front of her. Mary looked up, not even taking the time to question or let herself be surprised at the new addition to the horror scene.
"Can you help us?" she asked. "Is there a hospital n-near here or something?"
"Nope, you're in the middle of nowhere, little darlin'," he mocked her, smiling at her distress. "And he's already gone."
"N-no!" Mary held him tighter. "John…"
"But, if you're willing to make a trade…" The man said, once again interrupting Mary's last moments with her husband.
"Anything." She replied, not seeing sense, or danger in the situation, only wanting her mistake righted.
The man burst out laughing. "I thought you might say that. Love conquers all and all that jazz."
"What do you want?" she asked, glancing away from John for the first time since the accident.
"Don't worry about that now. It's already done," The man smiled cruelly, and Mary felt John move in her arms, inhaling a large breath.
"John?" Mary looked to him, smiling softly, tentatively, as his eyes fluttered open. He smiled back weakly, and tried to sit up.
When Mary looked up again to thank the stranger, there was nothing but the empty road in front of her, and chilly air behind her. They were alone again.
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Nine Years Later…
The house that they had bought together had just settled down for the night, their six year old son, Sam, tucked between the covers of his Buzz Lightyear sheets. Mary had been reading in bed when she heard a noise from down the hall. Thinking it was John, coming up from watching the last of his televised baseball game, she kept reading. Minutes later, not knowing why, Mary walked down the hall to the slightly opened door of Sam's room, wondering if John had caught Sam trying to sneak around and continue playing after bedtime again.
The only light in the room was from the moon pouring in from the window facing the door, though. Mary saw John kneeling by Sam, holding one of his smaller hands in his. Mary smiled, thinking of all the times that she had stolen away by her sleeping son, thanking God for the wild little boy that had enriched their lives even from the moment she had discovered she was pregnant. She knew that John would never admit to doing it past the time Sam turned two, however, and left them at peace so as not to embarrass her husband for such a sweet act.
She was thirsty for some tea, the sweet herbal kind that their local reservation sold, grown and dried from their home gardens. Mary had often walked through the trails in their forests, learning the plants and directional skill from some of the women that lived in the reservation, and she was hoping to learn how to tend her own garden and make her own tea soon. She had never felt more at peace than she did in this small town, and she hoped that John and she would teach Sam to love it too.
As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, a wave of panic crashed through her. John was sitting back in his easy chair, napping.
"Oh my God," She breathed, turning around immediately. She bolted up the stairs and back into Sam's room.
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The thing that woke John was Sam's screams.
He snapped to attention, rolling out of his chair and to his feet with a speed he thought was lost to him. There was a dangerous glow coming from upstairs, flickering in the darkened room like a thing teasing him from his worst nightmares.
The house was on fire.
He ran up the stair and to the doorway to Sam's room, seeing the fire at its worst there. Flames licked the walls and ate at the furniture hungrily, and in the center of it all was his son, trapped beneath a wooden beam that collapsed from the ceiling. The smoke was suffocating him, making his eyes water and with a strength he didn't know he possessed, he heaved the beam off of his son, who had passed out from the pain. He pulled them both from the raging inferno, running to the bedroom, but still not seeing his missing wife.
He looked all over the house, cradling Sam in his arms, but she was nowhere to be found. He grabbed the phone off its base and hurriedly dialed for the hospital, a number that he had memorized from before Mary had given birth.
Later, in the emergency van, Sam woke up on his stomach, the EMTs rushing around him and administering large doses of morphine.
"Daddy…" he murmured.
"Sam," John squeezed his little hand in relief. "I'm here,"
"Dad… Mommy died." Sam said, blacking out once more.
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