---This is just a little oneshot I wrote to keep my mind off of reality for a while. I am still writing a multichapter fic, which I hope to post this weak. Enjoy!

"We never understand how little we need in this world until we know the loss of it."

- James M. Barrie

November 2, 1985

John looked in the rearview mirror at Sam and Dean. The two-year-old and six-year-old were cuddled together underneath a blanket in the backseat. It was getting late and his two young sons had been lulled to sleep by the movement of the Impala. It was quiet now. The only sound that could be heard was the roar of the engine.

It had been two years. Two long, hard, sad, joyful, strange years had gone by since Mary had died. Two years since the Winchesters' lives changed forever. As John drove down the road, he thought of all that they'd lost in the fire. He listed the things silently.

My beautiful wife, Mary.

Our home.

All of our clothes.

Our family pictures.

Mine and Mary's old love letters.

My old Marine uniforms.

The fishing poles my dad passed down to me.

Dean's first baby blanket that Mary crocheted.

Sammy's pacifier that he'd sleep with every night.

Mary's wedding ring.

The watch Mary and the boys gave him for his birthday.

The artwork that Dean brought home from preschool.

The teddy bear I bought for Sam the day he was born.

Both boys' baby books.

The clay plaque with Sam and Dean's handprints on it that we made for Mary for Mother's Day.

My normal life.

Sam and Dean's childhood.

Dean's innocence.

A mother.

A father.

And that was only the beginning. As John returned his focus to the road, he looked at his boys in the mirror again. They looked peaceful as they slept. John smiled at the scene.

That's when he started listing the things that had been saved in the fire. Sure, most of it was damaged, but it'd been saved. That's all that mattered.

Sammy.

Dean.

The last picture all four of us ever took together.

Sam's baby blanket.

My dog tags.

Dean's first football.

Memories of a happier time.

Two brothers.

The memory of a mother.

A father.

The second list was much shorter than the first, but it was a hundred times more important. So little had been saved, but it was enough.

As John continued down the road, he thought of Mary. He thought about the fire. And as he looked back again at his little boys asleep, John realized that there was a lot more to be lost- and even more to be saved.

The End

---Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Reviews are SO helpful and are greatly, greatly appreciated.