Just a little something I wrote tonight for Twinchester Angel, who had some surgery this week. Hope you feel better soon! Also, this is my 150th fic, just for you. :)

Weechester. Dean is five, Sam is 10 months old.

John stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, quickly drying himself. He didn't like leaving the boys by themselves any longer than he had to. He knew he was probably being overly paranoid but after what had happened to Mary…..he thought he was justified. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair and gave a heavy sigh.

It had been four months since Mary died and he was still no closer to finding out what had killed her than he had been in November. He'd managed to alienate any friends he had by just mentioning what he'd seen the night she'd gotten killed. They'd tried to reason with him, they'd tried to be understanding…..but how can you reason with a man who claims his wife died on the ceiling of their perfectly normal suburban home?

John had followed a few leads, whispers of things he'd heard at the roadhouse he'd visited on a few occasions but nothing had panned out so far. He wasn't giving up. He was going to find out what killed his wife and he was going to end it. Whatever the thing was, it was going to regret messing with John Winchester. He'd make sure of it.

But he also had to protect his boys. He hadn't slept well in months, constantly worrying about their safety. Dean was old enough to understand Mary was dead but not quite old enough that he didn't still cry for his Mom and he certainly didn't understand why they moved around so much. Some of it was because of the leads John would get but mostly it was because he was too afraid to stay in one place for very long. What if the thing that had killed Mary came after his boys? He couldn't let anything happen to them.

John pulled on a faded pair of jeans and reached for his keys and wallet. The Impala keys were still on the sink where he'd left them but his wallet was gone. John searched the floor of the bathroom in case it had fallen but it was nowhere to be seen. He opened the bathroom door and found Dean sitting in the floor, his back turned to John, his younger brother watching him intently. John's wallet was lying on the floor next to Dean.

"Dean, what are you doing with my wallet?"

Dean jumped at the sound of John's voice and turned to face his father, a picture of Mary clutched in his small hands.

"I was showing Sammy this picture of Mommy."

Sam giggled and reached for his brother. John knelt in the floor, took the picture from Dean and gazed at it longingly. God, how he missed her.

"Daddy, will Sammy remember Mommy?"

How do you answer that? How do you tell a five year old boy that his brother is never going to have any memory of his mother because some ungodly creature stole into their house in the middle of the night and burned their mother on the ceiling? How do you break a child's heart like that? John knew the answer. You lie. You lie because you don't want your son to feel the way you do. You don't want him to hurt any more than he already does.

"He'll remember her, Dean. We'll make sure that he remembers."

Dean looked up at him with tears in his eyes. "But, Daddy, what if I forget?"

John reached out and pulled Dean into his arms, hugging him tight. "You're not going to forget her, Dean."

Dean buried his face in his father's neck and cried softly. "I-I m-miss her, D-Daddy."

"I know, Dean. I miss her too."

John felt something against his knee and glanced down to find that Sam had crawled over to them and was pulling on Dean's leg.

"Dee."

Dean gasped. "Did he say my name?"

John smiled. "I think so."

Dean climbed down from his father's embrace and turned his attention to his baby brother. "Hey, Sammy. Did you say my name?"

"Dee," responded Sam as Dean grinned widely.

"Here, Dean, you should keep this." He handed the picture of Mary to his eldest son.

"Really? I can have it?"

"Sure, sport." John reached out and tousled Dean's hair….hair that reminded him of Mary's. "We can even get you a wallet to carry it in."

"Can I have some money to put in it too?"

John chuckled. "We'll see, Dean."

"DEEEEEEEEE!" Sam screeched his brother's name and then both boys dissolved into a fit of giggles.

As John watched his boys laughing together, he wondered, not for the first time, at the resilience of children. He wished he had that gift but if he couldn't have it, he was glad his sons did. If they could carry it into adulthood it would help them make it through the hard times…..that and their adoration of each other. Was he a proud father? Damn right, he was.

Thanks for reading! Comments are always welcome!