January 24, 1984
The whiskey bottle felt hard and round in his limp fingers. John had been drinking pretty steady since after dinner and he knew he was drunk. And now according to the glowing alarm clock on the night table at his hip, it was somewhere around 2:00 am. He knew he needed to sleep because his boys would need him to function when they woke up, but he remained motionless staring at his children curled up together in the crib in front of him. John pulled the bottle to his lips and drained the last of it, then set it down heavily beside the clock. There wasn't much room in the small bedroom of this tiny apartment. The room only held a single bed, and the crib. The small night table was crowded with the clock and the lamp that cast a dim orange glow in the room. Gripping the edge of the crib for balance, John peered down at his sleeping boys. As he had taken to doing, Dean had crawled in with his brother, curling protectively around baby Sammy. Moisture began pooling in his bleary eyes at the sight. Carefully reaching down he ran a shaky hand over Dean's back and marveled as Sammy's little puffs of breath made some of his brother's blonde hair flutter. The whiskey had warmed John, quieting his memories and thoughts, pushing everything down under a nice, soft, blurry blanket. Maybe he could finally sleep. Toeing off his shoes, John laid down on the bed fully dressed and turning, he watched his children through the bars of the crib as they slept.
John drifted and sleep pulled him down in a floating nothingness for a long time. He felt good, warm and comfortable. Slowly he realized that there was something in front of him. He didn't want to climb out of the comfortable oblivion, but a dream started to form, demanding at least a little of his attention. John realized that he was looking into the soft green of trees in the distance. The trees became more distinct the longer he looked at them, still peaceful and lush. After a while, he realized he was leaning back on something. Beneath him he felt something hard and with some thought, identified it as the windshield of the Impala. Gently the soft sound of the Eagles drifted his way, presumably from the radio of the car beneath him. The sun had warmed the black metal of the car and the heat was soaking into the back of his legs through his jeans. Now aware of his body, he focused on trying to place his surroundings. The car was parked in a familiar little clearing where he and Mary used to go for picnics. Mary loved the old fashioned experience of eating outdoors on a blanket. At the thought of his wife, the colors got brighter and the edges of his awareness sharpened. John knew this day, remembered it and wanted to push it away, knowing the pain he had tried to drink away was about to manifest. But his sleeping brain had other ideas, forcing him deeper into this dream memory. In a mishmash of competing emotions, John both eagerly and reluctantly turned his head. His Mary was sitting on a blanket a few feet away in the shade of an oak tree. Dressed in a flowing blouse and skirt, she looked like an angel. My god she was beautiful - he had forgotten how the sunshine made her blond hair glow. It reminded him of a halo on a painting of the Madonna he once saw. He watched greedily as she continued the mundane task of unpacking some sandwiches and cookies for their lunch. Yes, we had gone for a picnic that day.
Then a shadow crept across his mind, something about Mary that he should know, but his dreaming brain couldn't place. He remembered the feelings of that day and that he had been starting to get a little worried about her. He'd forgotten that for the few weeks prior to this day she had been moody and out of sorts. A couple of weeks ago she almost bit his head off because he forgot to put his dirty socks in the hamper. And just last weekend she had burst into tears when a button fell off her favorite shirt. Mary wasn't easily rattled so it was worrying to see her so off her game. John slid from the car and went to his wife, awed still at her beauty and grace. She patted the blanket beside her where she had propped herself against their new green Coleman cooler. As they unwrapped their sandwiches he could tell Mary had something on her mind that she had mulled over. Mary thought about things for a long time, but she always shared them with him. And John could be patient for the woman he loved.
Mary peered up at him through her long lashes. "John, I…well, um, I'm pregnant," she stuttered. He stopped chewing and choked down his bite. A thousand things had rushed through his head - disbelief, excitement, fear and joy - his heart was pounding as he looked into her eyes.
His wife ducked her head. "I should be due in January, I know I should have told you sooner, and it's really too soon to get excited, but…are we OK with this?" Mary's breathless fretting tugged on his heart strings.
"Mary, honey, I'm totally OK with this. I'm happy, ecstatic!" He gripped her forearms across the blanket of sandwiches and snacks, unable to pull her into his arms or kiss her without upsetting the precarious lunch. In his dream state he remembered being so excited, but he'd also felt the stirring of worry and fear crowd his happiness. At the time his biggest concern was that he knew nothing about being a dad. After all, his own father had gone out one evening when he was a little boy and never come back. What if he screwed up this kid? He felt the edges of this dream memory darken like a cloud passing over the sun. Mary's beautiful blue-grey eyes peered into his, looking for reassurance. Screw the sandwiches - he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. After a moment he leaned back to look into her face - Mary's amazing, trusting face. "We are going to have a baby! You are going to be an amazing Mom sweetheart."
Mary leaned back and stared deeply into his eyes. As if she could read his doubts and worries, she reached up to put her hand on his cheek and pat it gently. "Don't worry John, you're going to make a great Dad."
"Dad… Dad….Daddy?" The sound of Mary's voice slipped away, drowned out by the pounding in his head. Groggily shaking his way out of the dream and the comfort of sleep, John felt a small hand patting his face. He opened his eyes a crack, wincing as the light of the table lamp stabbed them. Dean was standing in his pajamas by the edge of the mattress. When he saw John begin to awaken, his son took a step back and gave a significant glance towards the crib. Sammy was crying and it was obviously distressing Dean. John shook his head trying to clear the fog that too little sleep and too much whiskey had caused. The loss of Mary hit him again like a punch in the stomach. The grief and anger that he had been trying to drink away for the last few months settled back over his shoulders like his worn leather leather jacket. Dean gave his sleeve an urgent tug.
"Yes Dean, I can hear him," John grumbled. The piercing wail of his youngest son got louder, like a nail gun to his brain. John pushed himself unsteadily to his feet almost bumping into the crib and reached down to scoop up Sammy. Patting the baby on his back, John shuffled into the hall keeping his balance against the peeling wallpaper in the hallway. After leaving Mike and Kate's house just before Christmas, John had rented this furnished apartment in a crappy building on the wrong side of Topeka. There was a shabby living room, with a small kitchen at one end, a tight bathroom that smelled faintly like paint and mildew, and another small bedroom. The other bedroom was supposed to be Dean's, but the child never seemed to want to let him or his baby brother out of his sight. After a few days of putting Dean to bed only to find him in his brother's crib the first time he checked on them, John had relented and stopped trying to keep Dean in his own room.
Dean trailed after him as he made his way to the main room. "Shhhhhh, shhhhhh, Sammy." John pulled the baby closer and and jiggled him up and down. Sam was red faced with tears streaking down his chubby little cheeks. He was still crying, but Sammy snuggled his silky soft head into John's neck, getting the collar of his t-shirt all damp, while John rubbed his back. The battered dresser that held the old TV did double duty as a change table. John changed Sam's diaper and wrestled the still crying baby into a new onesie. "Dean, get out from under my feet!" barked John as his eldest tried to help and see what he was doing at the same time.
Now that Sam was dry and somewhat cleaner, John moved the baby to his hip and carried him over to the other side of the room that served as kitchen, dining room and living space for the three Winchesters. "Let's see what we got for breakfast buddy." John put Sam in his high chair. Compared to the apartment, this chair was a thing of beauty that had been donated to the family by a neighbour shortly after the fire. "How about some applesauce?"
Dean tugged his arm. His little boy's intense green eyes were wide with asking. Opening a mini jar from the counter and taking a spoon from the tray John handed it to Dean who had scampered up onto a chair near his brother. As Dean attempted to get some of the sauce into his brother, John began making coffee. Now that the boys were settled for a minute the pounding in his head had returned. Scattering a few Cherrios onto the high chair tray for Sam, he poured Dean and himself each a bowl of cereal and sat down.
Dean was happily holding the spoon to Sammy's mouth. Sam was trying to help with the spoon and stuff cereal bits into his mouth at the same time. Well at least some of the food was going in. "That's enough Dean, you're not trying to drown him in applesauce. Come eat." Dean obediently put down the jar and sat to tackle his own breakfast. John put the rest of the sauce away while getting his cup of coffee.
John sighed, and dragged a weary hand down his face. The weight of the empty day stretched before him, already beginning to push against him. What to do? He felt restless and frozen at the same time. There were probably calls he should make and things he sort out, but all he wanted to do was go back to bed and return to his dream of Mary. He head was fuzzy, his mouth felt like sand and his thoughts were buzzing so hard that it seemed impossible to focus on only one. Some of this was from the whiskey and although in his heart he knew that he was spending too much time drinking, it was the only way he could get some sleep that wasn't plagued with fire and screaming. He scrubbed his stubbled chin again and resolved for the hundredth time to ease back on the whiskey.
As he contemplated the day, John had a strong urge to go back to the library to try and find more information about the strange occurrences that had made him a widower. There wasn't really anything at the public library that he thought would provide answers, but he knew that somewhere there was someone or something that could answer the questions burning in his brain night and day. Maybe he should drive back to Lawrence and see Missouri Moseley. He had met the psychic not long before leaving Lawrence. Not only was she the only one who seemed to believe what he saw that night, but being in her calm presence made him feel like maybe there was an answer to all his questions out there somewhere. That maybe he could find the truth and avenge Mary. Plus, the boys liked her. John made a decision. Grabbing a dish towel, John wiped the sauce and drool from Sammy's face. "Go get dressed Dean, we're going out."
Dean sat quietly watching Sammy put some coloured cups into a stack and take them out again. Sam was drooling all over the carpet here in the kids section of the library, but he seemed OK. Dean had a truck in front of him...but it was just there in case Dad glanced over. Really he didn't feel like playing with toys anymore. He missed Mom so much and it was really hard to feel excited about the things he used to when they lived in the old house. He liked watching Sammy, and making sure that his brother was safe. In fact it made his tummy upset when he was separated from Sammy. Besides, watching Sam was a way to help Daddy, who was so sad all the time. Sometimes Dad hugged him close, and Dean liked it but it was a little scary, especially when Dad was upset and would cry on him. Then sometimes Dad would yell at him for no reason that Dean could figure out. It was confusing. Dean tried so hard to be quiet and helpful and good so that Daddy wouldn't have to worry about him too. And, he didn't want to be a baby, but he was afraid...what if Dad was gone too just like Mommy went away? Dean was doing his best, but he knew he wasn't big enough to take care of Sammy on his own yet.
Sam crawled over to Dean and waved a red block at him. Dean took it from his brother while his eyes crept across the room to the table by the window where Daddy had spread out books and papers and stuff. Dad was starting to gather up his things, so Dean knew that they were going to leave in a minute. He looked at his little brother who was now happily drooling all over a blue block. "Don't worry Sammy, I'll never leave you." Dean whispered.
John pulled into the quiet street where Missouri lived. Dean was sitting the back wiping the drool off Sam's face. Absently John wondered if Sam was about to get a tooth, but the majority of his mind was already racing ahead. Missouri had said she had invited someone he should meet and John was trying to figure out what that meant. Dean had already unbuckled his brother, so John swung the baby onto his hip and started for the door. "Come on Dean."
The door swung open "Well John Winchester, let me see that sweet baby of yours." Sam's eyes lit up as Missouri scooped him up and tickled him. Sam screamed in laughter as they walked into Missouri's front room. The room normally served as the waiting room for the psychic's many clients, but this afternoon it was empty. "We can't stay too long Missouri...I wanna get the boys home, fed and put to bed early."
"Now you know that once those boys are in bed, all you are gonna do is spend the night pouring over the research you've been doing and pouring whiskey down your throat," She said in a scolding tone. "There's plenty of time for a visit and besides, someone will be along shortly that you need to meet." Turning her attention to Dean, "Child why don't you go see what's in the kitchen?" The adults followed Dean into the other room, a gorgeous pie was sitting on the table next to a couple of brightly wrapped packages. "You didn't think we would forget your birthday, did you boy?," Missouri asked as she handed baby Sammy back to John to help Dean climb up on to a chair. John's heart sank. In his grief and his unrelenting urge to do something about his wife's murder, he had completely forgotten. Was he such a horrible father than he hadn't even remembered his son's 5th birthday?
"Now child I can't make a cake to save my life, but I made you a nice sweet apple pie! Set yourself down so I can cut you a piece...if it's ok with your Daddy?" The smiling woman glanced back at John who nodded. "John why don't you put little Sam on that blanket on the floor and we'll sit and have some pie."
John did as he was told while Missouri cut Dean a slice and poured him a glass of milk. The grieving man's throat was raw with unshed tears and he could feel his face red with his guilt and shame. Wasn't this proof that he was just like his own father, who walked out the door and forgotten all about him? Getting his face under control, he sat at the table and Missouri put a slice of pie and a cup of coffee in front of him. John couldn't meet her eyes. "Thanks Missouri," was all he was able to say, trusting that the kind woman knew he meant it for more than just the pie. Sneaking a glance at Dean who was steadily eating his treat, he couldn't speak and swallowed a swig of coffee with his emotions.
"Now Dean sweetie, this present is from me." Dean dutifully pushed his plate to one side and carefully unwrapped the gift Missouri handed him. John's heart gave another lurch as he saw how delighted his son was to be the focus of their attention. Dean's green eyes hadn't had this sort of sparkle since before the fire. The present was a small pillow covered in blue and red and green race cars on a light blue background.
"What do you say Dean?," prompted John.
"Thank you," whispered his eldest son. Dean seldom spoke anymore, so when he actually got a response, John knew that his little boy was excited and happy.
"Inside this pillow I have put a few things that should make sure you have peaceful dreams Dean." The psychic gave the boy a warm smile and John a significant look - "No more nightmares child. Now this gift is from your Daddy. "Missouri handed Dean the second package. She gave John another look, one that even he could tell meant that he was to keep his mouth shut about who had really bought the gift.
Dean smiled shyly up at John, "Thank you Daddy." The soft sentence meant that Dean had said more words today than he had over the last few weeks. John felt moisture building in his eyes, so he said gruffly "Well open it up."
It turned out that Missouri knew his boy almost better than he did. The present was actually two things; a Batman cape complete with half mask, and a black toy car that John assumed was supposed to be the superhero's car. Dean examined the presents with wide eyes. "Why don't you show your loot to your brother Dean?," John encouraged. The five year old climbed down awkwardly, his gifts in his hands. As he went to join Sammy on the blanket on the floor in the other half of the comfortable kitchen, Dean stopped by his father's chair and put a small hand on John's knee. John tenderly put his hand on his son's head for a moment, then let him go to the baby. Wiping the back of a hand across his eyes, John turned to Missouri. "Thanks," he said his voice rough from suppressed emotion.
"No need to thank me John, I know you've had a lot on your mind lately. Let's leave the boys here to play and we'll chat in the living room. I think the person I was expecting has arrived." She ushered him into the other room and went to answer the door before the person knocked.
Missouri's front room was all business, and her kitchen was clean and friendly, but her living room reflected more of the woman herself. There were some tapestries with exotic birds and a beautiful wooden carving of a dancer. The sofa was a deep lavender, the rug an abstract blend of deep greens. The fading sunset cast a golden aura over the room, warming the shadows in the corners and making Missouri herself glow liked polished walnut. John stood by the mantel where he could still see the boys in the kitchen, when his host and a man about 10 years older than him walked into the room.
"John, this is Daniel Elkins and I think he can help you." Daniel stuck out his hand and John shook it. Then both men sat opposite each other and silently measured the other. Daniel looked a little rough around the edges and seemed uncomfortable on the soft chair he was sitting on. His eyes reminded John of some of the older men he had served with in Vietnam. Elkins had seen things no man should see, and it had made him tougher and harder. John could tell that the older man was doing his own assessment and felt slightly amused and then pleased that the gruff older man seemed to have judged him as adequate. Before the silence between the two men got truly uncomfortable, Missouri spoke up.
"Daniel is a Hunter John, someone who tracks and kills some of the evil things in this world...like the thing that killed your poor Mary. He can tell you more about what goes bump in the night. Why don't you two talk for a spell and I'll go check on those boys." The plump woman rose and moved towards the bright kitchen.
"So you kill monsters?," John asked tentatively. The older man nodded. "So, you might know what killed my wife?," John asked eagerly. Most people would perhaps have been puzzled or disbelieving about the hunter part, but John was excited for the first time since that horrible night 12 weeks ago. If it was an actual job to kill evil things then that meant those evil things could be killed. And John was going to find and kill the son of a bitch that murdered Mary, whatever it was - of that he was absolutely certain. If this guy, this hunter, could help him do it...then he was willing to listen and learn.
The older, taciturn man eyed John silently before finally opening his mouth to speak. "Well mostly I hunt vamps and from what Missouri told me you wife's neck wasn't ripped out, so it likely wasn't a fang that killed her. But I do know a bit about a few things, and know some folks who know more then me. It's a rough life being a Hunter, but if you want to catch that thing that killed your wife, I can probably help point you in the right direction."
"Great, I'm in. Tell me what you know."