A/N: This is something I've been working on for a while now, after rewatching some episodes. I've got a few chapters written out already, and there could be even more, depending on what people think. Please review, good or bad.

Warnings: Child abuse/neglect, possible non-con

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

When Mary Winchester died, John was a wreck. He kept it together for long enough to ask a neighbor if he and his boys could stay at their house until they found somewhere else. The neighbor did that, of course they could stay, John herded his eldest, carrying baby Sam, up the stairs and in to the spare bedroom. John blew up the air mattress that was given to him, tucked his sons into bed and then climbed into bed himself.

He stayed there for three days. He barely had enough energy to get up and use the bathroom, and he did nothing else. He never really slept, and he didn't eat at all. He was wallowing in his grief, and he was content with doing that. He found his stages of grief were a little out of order. He was only in denial for a few moments. Then he was depressed for three days. Then he was angry for the rest of his life.

Dean, meanwhile, was taking care of his little brother in the best way that the four year old knew how. Of course, the neighbor whose house they were staying in helped, as well. But by the second day, Dean was changing diapers by himself, mixing formula, and never leaving his brother's side. Dean spoke to the neighbor and to Sammy, but never to his dad. He had tried the first day, but he decided it wasn't worth it when his dad just stared blankly at the ceiling.

By midday on the third day of their stay, with the friendly neighbor beginning to worry about John, he came bounding down the stairs. John thanked the neighbor, picked up Sammy, and went outside. Confused, Dean stood up and followed his father to where he was putting Sam into the car. Dean opened the door on the other side of his dad's precious car, and fastened himself into the car seat. John finished buckling in Sam and walked to the driver's seat without a word.

It only took a couple of hours for John to become bitter and resentful. He was driving down a two lane highway, heading god knows where, and he kept glancing in his rear view mirror at his son. His son, with his perfect green eyes, his too familiar nose, and his dirty blond hair. His son Dean, who looked exactly like his mother.

John was too filled with grief to realize that his train of thought was wrong, but he decided that he resented his son. Why had this boy, who was troublesome and irritating, survived when his beautiful and perfect wife had not? Why John did not blame Sam he couldn't say, but he decided that this must be Dean's fault. Any sane person, upon hearing John's thoughts about his eldest, should have come to the conclusion that he was not thinking rationally, and that these thoughts were insane and caused by his grief . But John was no sane person, so he did not come to that conclusion.

"Daddy?" Dean asked, after about four hours of being on the road? "Where are we going?"

"Dean, you are too old to call me that. Now shut up and go to sleep," John practically growled.

"Yes, Daddy."

"'Yes, sir.'" John corrected through gritted teeth.

"Yes, sir," Dean mumbled back.

Dean closed his eyes, but he did not sleep. Instead, he sat and worried. He worried about his dad, who never before said anything unkind to him. He worried about Sammy, who was only six months old and was without a mother. But mostly, he worried about his mom. Although no one had really told him so, he knew that she was dead. But Dean was worried about her, and about what would happen to her now that she was dead. Dean remembered how his mother always told him about heaven, and how angels were watching over him, but how could she know? She had never been dead before, so how did she know that it wasn't scary? Dean hoped that she would be happy, wherever she was now.