Nobody should be allowed to have exclusive rights to those boys and their family. Especially not me. They're far too much fun to play with.

AN: A few lossely connected oneshots about John and Mary in the months after "What's to be they say will be".

All titles from – hehe – Zeppelin's "What Is And What Should Never Be".

To a castle I will take you

They hid in Dan's cabin for nearly four months. Manning was tucked away in the Colorado forests, small and quiet, the cabin itself isolated. Dan put John and Mary to work almost as soon as they arrived, everything from chopping firewood out the back to sparring to target-practice to research and studying.

John knew what he was doing. Distracting them, wearing them out, exhausting them to the point where neither of them could think about Cold Oak, or Minneapolis, or Azazel.

None of them ever spoke that name aloud again, and Mary and John were careful never to use their abilities.

Mary cried herself to sleep in John's arms every night for the first week, and often afterwards. Abe had been as much an uncle to her as Ben Roberts. She flung herself into 'work' wholeheartedly, and stayed close to John.

Actually, it was more accurate to say they stayed close to each other. Never far apart, and often touching.

John wrote postcards. To Katie, to Allison, to Deacon, and to the General. One each, at the end of every month. Never anything more than simple messages like I'm OK, hope you guys are doing alright or could be I'll see you soon.

"Dad started it," he explained to Mary one weekend at the post office. "When he was away, when we were kids, we'd get a postcard each, every week actually, so we'd know he was still OK."

She smiled. "Nice."

The mountains surrounding them offered their own kind of comfort, their eternal changelessness a balm for the soul, like the myriad of stars they could see at night. Hiking through the woods quickly became their favourite way to spend a Sunday, lost in the silence and beauty and calm around them.

They didn't talk much. All the need for that seemed to have disappeared. It felt sometimes as if talking required an effort that would only make it worse, make them think, make them remember. Better to live in this comfortable, companionable silence, where their conversations were held in looks and gestures, in brief affectionate kisses and slow tender lovemaking.

September was drawing to a close, and the Colorado nights were getting colder.

"Didn't you go to college?" Mary asked one night in bed. John had spent most of the evening with Latin declensions, and he was picking it up pretty damn quickly.

He shook his head, pulled the blankets up around their shoulders. "No. Took myself off to Vietnam instead. After I got back, the idea of spending four years shut up in a dorm room with a typewriter and a pile of musty books didn't really appeal to me anymore. So I ended up learning motors."

"What about the military?"

"On leave. Plus I was injured, so that gave me time. In the end, I decided I really didn't want to spend the rest of my life getting shot at, so I resigned, and headed off on a road trip with Deacon to get up the courage to tell Dad. Not that he's gonna disinherit me, or anything. He'll just be surprised, and disappointed. I hate that."

"I know what you mean," Mary said softly. "I was a mess in high school. And every time something… happened, Uncle Ben would give me this look, like, what your parents would say if they could see you now. Thing is, that just made it worse."

"Didn't you go to college?"

"Academic achievement isn't one of my virtues. Mark owns a farm up in Connecticut. I stayed for three years, and he took me hunting every now and then. When my 'gift' showed up, I left, started looking for answers. Ben was in Canada. He disappears for a few months every now and then – always has done. Used to drive my Dad nuts when he didn't check in. Dad was older, see."

John laughed. "Oh, I know all about younger siblings," he agreed.

Dan left them alone quite a bit, taking off for a fortnight at a time to hunt. He seemed to sense they couldn't deal with anything – or anyone – but each other just yet, and they were both quietly grateful to him.

But their peace was shattered early one frosty morning when a large black car with tinted windows drew up and an older guy in a suit climbed out. He was broad-shouldered, grey-haired and dark eyed, and reminded Mary of someone. It wasn't his looks as much as it was his attitude, the way he walked, the quiet but unshakeable self-confidence he held himself with.

"John," she called as she heard him come down the stairs.

"Yeah?" He sauntered into the kitchen with tousled hair and shirt hanging open (which really wasn't fair on her, she thought) and still-sleepy eyes.

"Your Dad's here."

That woke him up.

"What!"

Mary left the kitchen window open so she could eavesdrop.

"The hell are you doing here?" John demanded as soon as he got out the front door.

"The hell am I doing here!" the General shouted. "What about you? You disappear in the middle of a two-week road trip without telling even Deacon what's going on, let alone your own family, then I have to find out from Jeff you've resigned your commission, and three weeks later I start getting postcards!"

"If I'd known you'd be so interfering as to track me down, I wouldn't have bothered," John growled.

"This isn't funny, John," his father snarled right back. "What do you think you're doing? Messing about trying to annoy me?" Then his voice softened, took on a worried note. "Or are you in trouble, or something?"

John sighed. "Or something," he admitted. The General's eyes narrowed, caught between concern and anger still.

"The one thing I always believed of our relationship was that you had enough trust in me – enough sense – to come to me if you were in trouble," he said quietly. "I know I've been away too much to ever win a Parent of the Year award, but I did think that."

John heaved a sigh, ran a hand over his mouth. That meant anything from awkwardness to embarrassment to unhappiness. Maybe she should go rescue him.

"Dad – I do trust you. But this… you can't fix this. I'm not talking about a speeding ticket, or a bar fight, or anything like that. This is different."

"Different how?" his father wanted to know. "As far as I can see all this is is you hiding up here in the Colorado woods letting your life slip away from you with every day." He did a 180-turn, taking in the house, the forest, the Impala sitting not far away under a tarp, and then did a double-take.

Damn it. He'd spotted Mary through the kitchen window.

She didn't bother to hide, just sauntered out the front door in jeans and boots and unwashed, untidy hair and John's t-shirt from yesterday.

"General Winchester? Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Mary Roberts."

John's expression didn't change, but those beautiful brown eyes glowed.

The General shook hands with her with a polite smile, but she saw the way his eyes flickered downwards, to her abdomen.

"I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're worried about," she said calmly.

John suppressed a whoop of laughter at the way his father practically jerked back from her in surprise. Harry Winchester wasn't really used to women like Mary – blunt, outspoken, and completely sure of themselves. John's mother was a devious, soulless bitch, and Allison was good and kind and loving – a lady. And while Katie had some attitude, chiefly from being the spoiled baby of the family, she was no match for Mary.

Then the General smiled slowly. "Young lady," he said, "I'm rather offended you think I'd be worried about it."

Mary started to like him at that point. "Would you like to come in and have breakfast?"

"The house is yours?" he asked. She shook her head. "No. Friend of ours, we're just house-sitting."

"I see. Tell me, are you in the same… trouble… as my son here?"

"Yes." She didn't elaborate. That wasn't her place; this was John's father.

"Dad," he said now, more softly this time. "Dad, this is one thing you're going to have to trust me on. Please. Just go home, tell Katie and Allison I'm OK, and let me do this. Trust me, Dad."

The General stood looking at him for a long time, studying the man his broken, hurting son had become in the space of a few short months. He suspected it was Mary's doing. He hadn't missed the looks they'd exchanged, the bond between them. John crossed over to them, standing close to her; when she twined her fingers through his, it seemed an almost unconscious gesture.

He looked up again, met John's eyes.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he grumbled. John smiled.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Just don't disappear again," his father ordered. "I expect postcards, one a month, and the occasional phone call to your sister and stepmother if you think you can stand that. You know how to reach me if you ever need anything."

"Yessir," John said, grateful.

"Miss Roberts."

"Mary, please."

"Mary, then. Keep an eye on him for me?"

"My pleasure, General."

John pulled Mary into his arms as the car drew away. She snuggled close, goosebumps rising on her bare arms.

Dan arrived back a few days later, while they were in the middle of a sparring match. John had been rusty when they'd started training, and Mary not very experienced. A few months of constant practice later, and watching them spar was like watching an intricate, perfectly choreographed dance to which only they knew the steps.

Dan paused to watch them, wondering what they'd look like on a proper dance floor. Mary in a dress, and John a tux… the thought made him smile sadly. These kids had saved his life, and yet it was entirely possible that they themselves had no future whatsoever.

"Having fun?" he called out. John looked round, surprised, and Mary took swift advantage of his distraction. He tumbled to the ground with a yelp, and she burst out laughing – cut off when he kicked out, catching her in the knees and dropping her to the ground next to him.

Dan laughed along with them, the sound filling his usually empty back yard.

"You two been OK?"

"Fine, Dan," Mary said, sitting up, still smiling. "How about you?" John propped himself up on his elbows to hear the answer.

"Well," Dan said slowly, "A friend got in touch with me last night. Seems there have been a few disappearances a couple counties over, one body found so far. Pattern looks like a spirit. I thought maybe you two would like to check it out?"

He literally held his breath waiting for an answer. They needed to be OK, these two. He needed them to be OK.

Sometimes he was afraid the whole world did.

Mary and John were exchanging a long look. There was a spark of excitement dancing in John's dark eyes; when Mary saw it, she grinned for the first time in four months.

"Sure, why not?" she said.

"What's the name of the place?" John added.