It's no mystery to anyone how quickly things can change but no one ever expects it to happen to them. It doesn't take long, a millisecond maybe, and when it happens, his life doesn't flash before his eyes like some people say. But yet again, he was only four years old and had probably never heard about what should or should not happen in a moment like this. The flames engulf the nursery in less than a second and his mother's screams fill his ears along with Sammy's crying. He had no idea what to do except run.

John Winchester wakes up to the sound of his wife's screams and the smell of smoke burning in his throat. But the moment he steps into the hallway, he knows it is too late. The sounds of sirens are drawing near but Sammy's nursery is lost in smoke and flames, flames that are crawling across the ceiling and down the hall. This moment will stay with him till the moment of his death; nothing will ever take away the guilt of that moment, the moment where he stood there mesmerised, frozen with fear. Weeks after the fire, he would hear about the official cause of the fire, faulty electrical wiring. But there was something, something in that moment amid the flames that told a different story. The fire had destroyed the nursery with such ferocity but left the rest of the house relatively unscathed. Perhaps it was the guilt, the guilt that he wasn't able to do anything, but he believed, knew that something, something unnatural, had caused the fire.

John Winchester however, had no time to work on that suspicion. His wife was dead, consumed by the flames, her body unrecognisable and his son lie clinging to life in a hospital bed. Somehow, Sammy had escaped relatively unscathed. The firemen said that Dean had saved Sammy, somehow shielding him from the flames with his body even when his clothes had been burned off.

It was only six months earlier that they were at this very hospital for the birth of their son. That day now seemed so long ago even though the baby that slept in his arms looked so small. He was sleeping soundly, so peaceful in contrast to the events of the last two days. John only wished that he could close his eyes without seeing that burning nursery.

"John, you need to get some sleep. Dean's doing really well but he's not going to be waking up soon. You continue like this, you won't be able to do much of anything when he does wake up. Go get some sleep, Sammy needs you too." He knows this but he still finds it difficult to convince himself to leave. He already lost his wife; he doesn't want to leave his son for the last time too. He knows that all this wasn't Sammy's fault but a part of him almost hates his son, as much as he hates himself, to be alright. Little Sammy that everyone was so excited about, that Mary was so excited about, that Dean was so excited about. Little Sammy who does little other than eat and sleep, little Sammy who hasn't said his first words, little Sammy who hasn't played baseball with him, or loves chocolate chip cookies.

The motel seems infinitely hostile compared to his burnt out home. Insurance has come through much faster than expected but it will still be weeks, months before they could move back. From the door he can hear the baby's cries. The ladies from church have been so helpful. He can't bring the baby with him to the hospital or watch after it when he tries to sleep, so they come by in shifts to help with everything. He doesn't want to admit it but everyone must know anyway, he just doesn't think he can face being alone with Sammy yet.

"Oh John, Sammy here's just a little hungry I think. How's Dean doing?" She has the baby in one hand and a bottle in the other. Sure enough, the crying stops the moment the bottle enters and stays in his mouth.

"Hey Maggie, the doctors say that he's doing pretty well. They still have him sedated but everything's looking up. All his vitals are getting better."

"That boy's going to be alright. I just know it. He's a strong one."

"I know."

"Well, you try and get some rest. Alice will be coming by soon to keep an eye on Sammy here."

"Thanks so much, Maggie."

"Don't worry about it. Good night."

When he wakes up the next morning it is already eleven o'clock. He runs off to the hospital immediately.

"John, good to see that you got some sleep. Dean's been doing great. I know you don't see much happening but he's really improving so much. I heard the doctors talking about lowering the sedation."

"Thanks Lucy."

He heads off to get prepared to see his son. There are necessary precautions to be taken in order to prevent infection. Dean's already had multiple surgeries for skin grafts but given that they covered over 60% of his body, the work wasn't done yet. It's still a shock to the system each time John enters his son's room. There is barely any inch of skin left not swathed in bandages and there a multiple tubes snaking away from his body. His tiny face is obscured by the breathing tube and bandages over his eyes.

"Mr. Winchester." John turns to see Dr. Bloedel. "It all looks pretty overwhelming doesn't it? But let me tell you, your son has been doing remarkably well. He's not completely out of the woods yet but things are looking better each day."

"When will he be waking up?" It was very unsettling seeing Dean so still. He was always so energetic.

"We will have to keep him sedated for now. He would be in a lot of pain if we were to let him wake up. It wouldn't do much except interfere with his recovery. Once his lungs get a bit stronger, we'll be able to start lowering his sedation, switch the ventilator to assist and start weaning him off it. The way things are going, that can be within the next week. There are some things that we'll have to talk about though."

"What do you mean? You just said that he's doing so well. Everyone's been saying that."

"Yes, be that as it may, Dean sustained some very serious injuries. The skin grafts have been taking on well, but with the affected area being so large; it's very likely that there will be some problems with scarring and contractures."

"What does that mean? What's very likely? How can you prevent this?"

"We're already doing what we can. The splinting will help prevent the contractures and once he's well enough, pressure garments will help with the scarring as well. He'll most likely still need additional surgeries down the road though, and a significant amount of physical therapy. Do you have any questions? I know it's a lot to take in."

"After… all of this, how much will he improve?"

"It's still too early for me to say, but your boy has surpassed our every expectation. I have no reason to believe that he won't continue to do so. I don't foresee any significant physical impairment in his future."

"How about his eyes? Will he be blind?" He feels as if he knows the answer to this question already. He vaguely remembers an ophthalmologist talking to him but he was too tired, too much in shock to remember what was said.

"Yes. The damage was very significant and it's currently beyond us to repair that kind of damage or perform a corneal transplant with this kind of injury. His retinas were, however, relatively undamaged so I would not rule out the possibility of him regaining his sight in the future."

"Thank you doctor, Dean's a strong boy. He'll be alright. Yes, he'd be fine." He repeated the words like a mantra, as if saying them enough would make them true.

The next few days pass slowly, each hour, each day, seemingly repeating itself. But Monday morning, the nurses are missing from the front desk at the PICU and through the glass windows of Dean's room; John can see a hurried commotion.