Chapter One: Fire and Rain
Flames cast orange light across John Winchester's face as he stared at his burning house.
Standing on the sidewalk, the father held his infant son in one arm while his other hand was clasped around his four-year old's tiny fingers.
He did not even feel grief for his loss yet; instead all he felt was numb, cold, shocked how in the blink of an eye his life and the life of his family could be changed so tremendously.
"Sir?"
John turned wearily to see a young police officer- a kid, really- making his way towards him.
"There's nothing we can do until the fire's put out," the cop told him, his face grim, "Do you have relatives you could stay with for the night?"
John shook his head tiredly and glanced down at his eldest son.
"I guess we'll have to get a motel room," the father realized, "But I- I don't even have any money. My wallet… I left it inside."
The police officer nodded, "I can drive you to a motel and explain the situation."
John looked up at the young cop and forced a smile.
"C'mon Dean," he encouraged, squeezing his four-year old son's hand gently, "We're going to ride with… uh…"
"Officer Hawkins," the cop supplied and knelt down in front of the little boy.
The child had his thumb stuck in his mouth and leaned against his father's legs, staring at the police officer.
"Can you do a big favour for me?" Officer Hawkins asked the boy and Dean nodded, continuing to suck on his thumb.
The cop smiled and took his hat off, placing it on Dean's head. The hat, too big for the four-year old, slid down to his eyes, prevented from toppling off completely by the child's ears.
"Can you look after this for me until we get to the motel?" Officer Hawkins asked and Dean nodded, his expression serious.
John followed the officer to his cruiser, his youngest son sleeping soundly in his arms. The father climbed into the back of the car with his sons, Dean curling against him in the seat, exhausted from sleeplessness and fear.
John sat back and closed his eyes, Sam a warm bundle in his arms. Visions of fire flared behind the man's eyelids and John flinched.
Raising his free hand, the father pinched the bridge of his nose.
His wife, his beloved Mary, was dead, burnt to death in an unnatural fire that had started in his son's nursery.
John sucked in a shuddering breath as his ears rang with his dying wife's echoing scream and he hugged Dean closer to his side. The four-year old peered up at him with teary eyes and John felt his own eyes prickle with emotion.
"Is this alright, Mr. Winchester?" Officer Hawkins' voice spoke out quietly in the darkened interior of the car, startling the father.
John peered out the passenger's side window and was surprised that they were all the way on the other side of town, his house nowhere in sight; not even a column of smoke could be seen rising up from the burning residence.
Tearing his gaze away from the sky, the man glanced around until he spied the neon sign for the Brookside Motel; an old but still serviceable establishment.
"It's fine," John told the officer without any real conviction.
He didn't really care where he and his sons stayed the night.
The police officer pulled up to the motel's office and parked, climbing from the vehicle. Turning, Officer Hawkins opened the passenger's door for the father and his sons and John stepped out.
The grim group crossed the short distance to the building and stepped inside.
John, normally an assertive man by nature, stayed back and let Officer Hawkins do the talking.
Dean stood right beside his father, one hand gripping John's pant leg while the fingers of his other hand were stuck in his mouth.
In his father's arms, Sam began to fuss, the bright lights in the office waking him.
"Shhh," John hushed half-heartedly, feeling as though he was having a nightmare and that any moment he would wake up in his warm, familiar bed, next to wife.
The baby whimpered and wriggled in his father's arms, clearly upset now and starting to cry in earnest.
John rocked the baby distractedly, stopping the action when both Officer Hawkins and the middle-aged woman behind the desk turned to peer at him.
Once the police officer and woman had turned their attention away from him, John held Sam tight to his chest, the infant not happy with being held so tightly.
"Mr. Winchester?" Officer Hawkins' voice startled John and he looked up sharply, "Everything's been arranged. You and your sons can stay here as long as you need to, free of charge."
John nodded, Sam sobbing and Dean peering up at him worriedly.
"Is… is everything alright… I mean…" Officer Hawkins asked uncomfortably, clearly not sure exactly what to say.
John nodded, "We're all just tired and in shock. I'm sure we'll be better in the morning."
Not likely, the father thought but the youthful officer seemed placated.
The cop handed John a room key with a blue fob and followed him out the door. Taking the small family to their temporary living arrangements, Officer Hawkins promised that someone would contact John the next day, before bidding the Winchesters a goodnight and heading back to his car.
John unlocked the door to the motel room- the first of many he and he sons would call home- and stepped inside with his boys.
Although there was no overhead light, an old wooden desk with a lamp sat directly beside the door, in front of a window that looked out onto the parking lot. John switched on the lamp and illuminated the room.
There were two beds with light green duvets, and dark wood headboards and footboards. Each had a framed picture of a scenic river above the headboard and a nightstand between the beds with an alarm clock and a second lamp. The floor was covered in a navy blue carpet; the walls were painted a lighter blue.
Making his way forward, John reached the bed farthest from the door, closest to the tiny bathroom, and pulled down the sheets.
Carefully, the father laid his infant son down on the mattress. Sam squirmed for a moment, frowning, before settling. Dean climbed onto the bed beside him and curled his body around his baby brother and closed his eyes.
John smiled and draped the blanket over his sons, both children asleep within moments.
Sighing, the father crossed the room to the desk in front of the window and sat down, raking a hand through his dark hair.
Closing his eyes, John recalled the events that had led up to this point:
He had been watching the game on TV, alone because Mary didn't like football, and he remembered dozing off.
A scream, Mary's, had jerked John from his peaceful slumber and he had rushed up the stairs, terrified and confused.
Calling his wife's name, the auto mechanic slammed open the door to his son's nursery… only to be shown the horrific sight of his wife spread eagle on the ceiling, orange flames licking at her skin, her hair, her clothes…
John's eyes snapped open and he sat up in the desk chair.
No one else had been in the room. No one but his baby boy. The father recalled the sound of his infant son's wailing cries when he'd barged into the nursery.
Slowly, John turned in his seat to stare at the twin lumps on the bed, one small and one large, a terrible idea forming in his mind.
Perhaps it was the shock of having the life he had known ripped from him so abruptly or the exhaustion tugging at his mind the longer John peered at the tiny form on the bed that was his youngest son, the more appealing the idea became. He needed something, someone to blame.
The fire had started in his young son's nursery, and even though the boy was no more than an infant, John knew that the child was responsible for it.
Sam had killed his mother.
SPN
Officer Rory Hawkins stepped out of his cruiser just as the first drops of rain began to fall.
He had returned to the Winchester home, the fire now mostly vanquished, the upper floor of the house a charred skeleton.
"How are they?" Hawkins' partner, Officer Burke asked and Rory shrugged.
"Stressed," he replied, "Sad."
The other officer nodded, "The fire department has the flames pretty much contained, they're gonna stay until they're sure the fire won't cause anymore damage but we can get out of here."
"Hey, Fred," Rory began but then paused. He was thinking of John Winchester, holding onto his youngest son, the infant crying.
"Yeah?" Officer Burke replied, clearly ready to call it a night and head back to the station.
"Never mind," Officer Hawkins muttered.
"Let's get back before the rain really starts coming down," his partner commented and both men made their way to the cruiser, grimacing in unison as the coroner's black van pulled up beside the bright red fire truck to take care of the earthly remains of Mary Winchester.
SPN
The sound of rain splattering against the motel room window and pounding against the roof woke little Sam Winchester from his sleep.
The infant whimpered and began crying softly when a small arm curled around him and pulled him closer to his big brother.
John, still sitting up, watched from the seat at the desk, the curtains open to reveal the rain-drenched world outside the window.
Author's Note:
Fanfic title comes from a John Saul novel of the same name.
Chapter title comes from a James Taylor song of the same name.
I am not sure how realistic it would be for someone to blame a baby for something as serious as causing a fire and murder but people do just snap and for the sake of the story, we'll say that John did; the grief and shock of the loss of Mary pushed him off the deep end. Also, Max Miller was blamed for his mother's death in 'Nightmare' (Season 1, Episode 14) so maybe it isn't such a stretch of the imagination for John to have the same feelings as Max's father.
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