Mary Winchester walked into the kitchen, her youngest son on her hip. They had celebrated Sammy's second birthday that day, and the little boy had tired himself out by running around the front yard with some of the neighborhood kids.

Dean, Mary's oldest son, was sitting on the kitchen floor, eating some of the leftover food from his brother's birthday party. "Come on, Dean, let's go say goodnight to your sister," Mary smiled, trying to pry the slice of apple pie from her six year old's hands. Dean refused to give it up, attempting to wholly shove the sweet treat into his mouth. "I think you've had enough pie for today," she told him. Dean just frowned in response, reluctantly letting go of his late night snack, and followed his mother up the stairs and into his sister's room.

Rosie had been born five months earlier, and Sam had been having a hard time accepting that most of his mother's attention seemed to be going to the new baby. Dean, on the other had, had instantly warmed up to the little girl. He loved to carry, or rather drag her around the house, trying to teach her how to play with the various toys that he'd collected over the years.

His absolute favorite were the legos. Rosie loved to throw them around the room, making a huge mess in the process. Their dad would sometimes step on one of the little building blocks, causing him to yell and jump around the room, making the boys - and admittedly Mary - laugh. Rosie would just look on in confusion and squeal with excitement whenever an extra loud profanity escaped her father's mouth.

At that moment though, Rosie was laying peacefully in her crib, looking up at her mother. She smiled at her brothers as they entered the room. "Goodnight, love," Mary cooed as she leaned over and kissed her daughter's forehead. She dipped Sam down so that he could to the same, but Dean was already pushing his way past his brother to press a little Batman toy down by his sister's face.

"For protection," he told his mother when she scolded him for pushing Sam aside. Dean watched proudly as his sister happily started to chew on the action figure. He protested loudly when Mary started to quietly usher him out of his sister's room, leaving her little girl to fall asleep.

"Did you have a good birthday, Sammy?" Mary asked as they walked towards her youngest son's bedroom. Sam nodded tiredly in response, letting his mother put him down in his new "big boy bed" and tuck him in.

"Hey, boys," called a voice that Mary immediately recognized as her husband's. Sure enough, John walked in from the hallway, causing Dean to run up to him with a loud: "Daddy!"

Same as every night, Mary thought, smiling to herself.

"Hey, buddy," John smiled, scooping up his oldest son. "So, what do you think?" he asked. "You think Sammy's old enough to toss around a football now?"

"No, Daddy," Dean laughed, shaking his head at his father's question.

"Am too," Sam cried from under the covers, suddenly a lot less tired.

"We'll see, buddy," John attempted to calm his little boy down. "We'll see."

"You got them?" Mary asked, passing her husband, on her way to the master bedroom.

"I got them," John walked over to Sam's bed and kissed his little boy on the temple. "Sweet dreams, Sammy. We'll play with your new toys tomorrow, okay? Maybe try and toss around that football?"

"Okay, Daddy," Sam yawned. "Night."

After tucking in Dean, much like Mary had tucked in the other two children, John made his way downstairs. Mary had already gone to bed, and for once, John could watch his favorite shows without interruptions.

…

Mary woke up to the sound of whispering, the walls thin enough for her to hear that the voices were coming from Sam's room, but thick enough to prevent her from hearing what they were saying. She figured that Sam was having another nightmare. Her son had been plagued by strange dreams since the night he was born.

"John?" Mary whispered, trying to wake her husband. He seemed to have a knack for getting Sam back to sleep. There was no response from the other side of the bed, however, so Mary went to check on her son herself. She knew that John was probably still downstairs, most likely watching television. He had most likely fallen asleep on the couch again.

"Or not," Mary muttered as she saw John standing over Sam's bed, whispering to the little boy. "John, is he still having nightmares?" she asked. Her husband didn't even turn to look at her. He just shushed her, raising his hand in a gesture to be silent.

"All right," Mary shook her head. John had already gotten their son to go back to sleep, apparently, and she knew that her husband would come back to bed as soon as he was sure that Sam was going to be okay. Mary was about to make her way back to bed herself, when she noticed a light flickering at the end of the hall.

"Hmm," she muttered, softly tapping the lamp on the wall. When the flickering finally stopped, she noticed something else … John had left the television on. He always turned it off before he came upstairs, their electricity bill was high enough as it was. Something was wrong.

Mary took a step down the stairs. Maybe John didn't plan on coming to bed just yet ... Another step. Maybe he planned on coming back downstairs later ... Two more steps. Maybe he had passed Mary on his way downstairs, her being too focused on the light to notice ... Three steps. Maybe he had fallen asleep within seconds of sitting down ... One last step. Maybe that hadn't been John by Sam's bedside.

"Sammy!" Mary cried, dashing back up the stairs. All she could think about was keeping her baby safe. "Sammy!" she screamed as the horrifying realization of who, or rather what, was standing over her son's bed hit her. Ten years. It had been ten years.

…

John woke up to the sound of screaming. "Mary?" he asked sleepily.

Yes, that was definitely his wife.

"Mary!" he yelled. John was on his feet in seconds, dashing up the stairs, taking three steps at a time. After what felt like ages, he finally made it to Sam's room, but - just as suddenly as it had started - the screaming stopped. Fearing the worst, he quickly opened the door.

"Hey, Sammy. You okay?" John asked softly, trying not to startle his son.

"Nightmare," Sam answered, pointing upwards to the ceiling.

At first, John couldn't believe what he saw when he looked up. Only after a drop of blood from the gaping wound in Mary's stomach landed on his cheek did the reality of the situation hit him. Before he could do anything to help her, his wife suddenly burst into flames. "No!" John fell to the floor. "Mary!" he cried.

As hard as it was, John knew he had to get up off the floor. His wife was gone, and he wasn't about to lose his children too. He had to do something. He had to get them out of the house, and he had to do it soon. As if on cue, Dean walked into the room. He had woken up from all of the commotion. "Daddy!" he cried, a look of horror passing over his face as he looked up at the fire.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back!" John yelled, pushing Sam into his brother's arms. Dean hesitated for a second, scared to leave the house without his dad. He was unable to wrap his little brain around the severity of the situation. "Now, Dean," his father shoved him out the door, "go!"

"Two kids out, one to go," John muttered to himself as he ran towards Rosie's nursery. All he had to do was grab her and go. He hadn't anticipated to see smoke coming from underneath the door. Dread filled him when he realized that the room was already engulfed in flames.

"Rosie!" he called. He didn't hear crying. He didn't hear anything except for the crackling of the fire. "No!" he screamed, searching the entire room as best he could with the smoke clouding his vision. She was no longer in her crib, but Rosie had to be there.

Outside in the yard, Sam had started crying hysterically. It had dawned on him that the things that were happening weren't part of the nightmare that he thought he'd been having. This was real.

Dean was doing his best to calm his brother down, rubbing the little boy's back and whispering an occasional: "It's okay, Sammy" into his ear. He hoped it would be okay. He hoped that his dad would get their mom out of the house, and their sister. The fire department was there now, they would make sure things were okay. "It's okay, Sammy," he whispered. "It's okay."

Firefighters were shouting at John to get out of the house, but he couldn't hear them. He didn't want to hear them. He had to find his daughter. He was trying desperately to push the men off and away from him. "Sir," one of them shouted, shoving him towards the front door, "you have to get out."

"My daughter," John protested. "I have to find my baby!"

"We have your daughter, Sir," one of the firefighters explained. "She's safe."

"How'd you - " John started to ask, but before he could finish his thought the wind was knocked right out of him by another forceful shove from one of the men.

"Sir, we have to get out now!" he yelled, dragging John the rest of the way to the door.

As soon as John stepped over the threshold, he saw his boys standing out on the lawn. Sam was still crying and Dean was desperately trying to hold it together. "I gotcha," he soothed as he scooped them up and carried them out to the street. Just as they reached the sidewalk, the top floor of the house erupted in flames, the windows that hadn't already been broken shattering onto the grass.

"Stay here, okay boys?" John told them as he lifted them onto one of the police cars that was parked in front of the house. He was headed straight for the man who'd told him that they'd gotten his daughter to safety. "Where's my daughter? You said - " he started, but was once again cut off by the firefighter that had pushed him out the door.

"Sir, if you would just calm down," the man pleaded.

"Calm down?" John started to argue. "How the hell am I supposed to - "

"Here is your daughter, Sir," another firefighter piped up from behind him. "Safe and sound, as promised."

"Oh, thank God," John pulled his daughter from the man's arms as fast as he could, cradling her in his own. "Hi, Rosie. It's okay, Baby," he cooed at his little girl. Her head was barely poking out of the shock blanket that they had wrapped her in. She was surprisingly calm. "I, ah - just - thank you, for keeping her safe..." John trailed off. He hadn't even asked the man for his name.

"It's Gabe, and it was no trouble, Sir," the man winked at John before walking away, taking one last look at the house. As soon as he was sure that no one would be able to see him, Gabriel disappeared into thin air.

His job was done. The Winchester girl was saved.