2nd November 1983.

Our little Sammy is six months old today! How has time gone by so fast? It seems only yesterday I was holding him in my arms for the first time. He was so small, smaller than Dean, I think, and just stared up at me without making a sound. He gave John and I a scare when he was born. He didn't cry. He was just looking around at this new world around him, it seems. Total opposite to Dean. I think the whole of Kansas knew he'd arrived.

Even better than when I held him for the first time was when Dean met his little brother for the first time. John and I had noticed how Dean had acted strangely while I was pregnant. There were days when he wouldn't go anywhere near me and days when he wouldn't leave me alone, and he acted out more often. But apparently it's completely normal. Dean feared being replaced or abandoned by the new baby on the way, but of course he wasn't. I love both my boys more than anything, and I'd never replace my Dean with anyone. Dean had stayed with our neighbours, Jane and Phil, while Sam was born, and they told us his little face lit up the moment John told him he had a little brother over the phone. As soon as we helped him hold Sam, he immediately planted a kiss on his head and said, "I love you, Sammy." Then looked a little confused as I pretty much burst into tears.

Sam is such a sweet baby, and so different to his brother. Dean was definitely louder and quite demanding, while Sam is the opposite. He's calm, more serious and is content to sit and watch the world go by with a thoughtful expression on his face. But that's not to say he never smiles, and he never fails to nestle close to John and I. He's grown so much in six months, I think he's going to be taller than his mommy by the time he's four. Sammy's starting to get his daddy's dark hair now, and his eyes have turned the same colour as my mom's. I just wish she was here to meet both her grandsons. I don't like how John and I are the only family they have. It shouldn't be that way for two young boys.

Dean made Sammy a little card with a drawing of all four of us. Sam has a little party hat on in it, and Dean asked if we could get Sam one to wear today. But within a minute he'd forgotten all about it and asked for some pie instead. I swear that boy is going to turn into a pie someday if he isn't careful.

As per Dean's request, Sam now has a party hat on. He looked a little confused but doesn't seem to mind, and gave us a handsome smile as I took a photo. John also just gave him his first solids! He seemed to enjoy it and gave his Daddy a huge grin with his two bottom teeth showing. He's such a sweetheart. And covered in baby food.

Dean asked to hold the half-birthday-boy, but I think he may now be regretting his decision. Sam's having a snooze on him now; I think all the attention wore him out, so he's stuck on the couch. I tried lifting Sam up but he cried and complained until I laid him back on Dean. Poor boy isn't sure whether he's enjoying his little brother's attachment to him or not.

Dean helped me tuck Sam in, making sure he was nice and cosy under his blankets. Sammy stared at us and smiled sleepily, and Dean ran to find his favourite storybook.

"Sammy wants a bedtime story," he said quietly, sitting on the floor beside Sam's crib. Both my boys watched with intent, and Sam's eyes began to droop, letting out a quiet yawn before falling asleep completely. I leaned to kiss his head, and Dean did the same.

"Will you sing the song, mommy?" Dean clambered onto my knee. I wrapped my arms around him and ran my hand through his hair, singing Hey Jude for him and Sam. I let Sammy cling to my finger, and I stroked his fingers with my thumb while I gently rocked Dean in my arms. Both boys were asleep by the end of the song, and I carried Dean to bed.

November 4th 1983.

Everything's fallen apart so quickly. John is dead, Sam's in the ICU and Dean is scared out of his wits. It all happened so fast.

A few hours after John and I went to bed, I woke up to find myself alone in bed. I guessed John had gone to the bathroom, or was checking on the boys, so I decided to wait up for him. But then I heard a yell and Sammy crying. Not crying. He was screaming.

"Sammy!" I gasped, leaping out of bed in blind panic. He's never cried like that before. I went into the hall and was met with thick, dark smoke. Orange light was flickering from Sam's nursery.

"Sammy!" I'd shrieked in total horror, beginning to choke but fighting through the haze to get to my youngest son.

"Mary!" John yelled from the nursery. I could just make out his silhouette, but it seemed like flames were blocking the door, "Get out of here! I'll get the boys, now go!"

"Where's Dean?" I'd managed to choke out.

"I'll get him. Go!"

I desperately searched for Dean through the clouds of smoke. I couldn't just leave him. I called out to him, searched every room I could but I couldn't see him. I couldn't even hear him calling back, if he did.

I managed to stumble outside, gasping for air and falling on the grass. Then I had to wait. The roar of flames drowned out almost every other sound, but I could hear sirens coming closer. Jane and Phil from next door were outside and ran to me the moment I got out. They must have called 911.

"John...the boys!" I cried hysterically, but Jane firmly instructed me to calm down. Being a nurse, she was only looking out for my wellbeing, but I couldn't just "calm down" at the thought of my entire family being killed in there. I couldn't. No one was leaving the house; there was no sign of life. I wished desperately for something, sobbing into Jane as she pulled me close to her.

Phil ran towards the house as a small figure appeared in the doorway, stumbling over his own feet and coughing hard. Dean was wide-eyed and holding Sam tightly in his arms, thank god. Phil scooped them up and carried them away from the house. I pulled my boys into my arms, unable to stop myself from breaking down completely. I could barely form words.

"My babies," I managed to whisper, holding them both tight. I couldn't let them go.

"Daddy's still in there, Mommy! He wouldn't wake up!" Dean's voice was shaking, and he let out a sob, "Sammy's hurt."

In a panic I examined Sam's body for obvious injury. Until I realised he was limp in my arms. His breathing, usually soft quiet, was harsh and wheezing. I remember screaming, not even thinking about holding back so as not to scare Dean, though I should have. Jane took him from me straight away. I guess she realised nothing would be done with me panicking. My son's life could be at risk. I held Dean closer, and he buried his face in my shoulder and began to cry quietly into me.

Both the fire truck and the ambulance arrived at that moment, and Jane handed Sam to the paramedic. I was indecisive for too long. The ambulance was threatening to leave without me. I needed to know John was alright. I wanted to wait for him to be rescued. But at the same time I couldn't leave Sam in a strange place on his own. John would most likely end up in the hospital anyway. Just before the ambulance left, I got inside with Dean on my hip. He didn't even look up to see the fire truck. He loved them, but never saw a real one himself. Had it been a different situation he would have been so excited. I don't know what Dean saw, but he was freaked out. Too freaked out to be cheered up by a red truck. I don't think I've ever seen him so scared.

Sam had been put on oxygen and they insisted Dean and I were too, we'd all been exposed to the smoke. Dean didn't like it at all, crying and trying to pull the oxygen mask away, trying to hide in me again. After a few minutes they let us take them off, and he nestled into me again. Sam was taken away the moment the ambulance parked, and Dean and I were whisked away into a kid's waiting room with various toys and books. Dean didn't touch them.

Dean didn't talk for a while. He stayed on my knee, clinging on tight and staying silent. He didn't make a sound until we'd been there about half an hour.

"Is it my fault that Sammy's hurt?" he whispered, not looking at me.

"No, baby," I said shakily, "You saved his life. You're a superhero."

"I didn't save Daddy," Dean rubbed his eyes, and didn't answer me after that.

About an hour of waiting went by before a nurse came to us. Dean was curled up asleep on my knee by this point. She told me Sam was stable and we could go see him. He'd gone unconscious from the smoke entering his lungs, which had affected his breathing. They weren't yet sure if this could lead to problems later. He also had a large second degree burn on his leg that was being treated carefully. That must have been the reason for the screaming. They were keeping him in for a few days for observation, but they weren't going to discharge him until his burn healed up enough.

I cautiously entered Sam's room with Dean, finding him in a glass crib with an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. Pads were stuck on his chest and some kind of dressing covered a large portion of his leg. He looked so helpless and small that I broke down into tears, sitting beside my baby boy and stroking his hair. He didn't wake.

A cop knocked quietly and came into the room before I could answer. He apologised sincerely for disturbing me at such a time. I left Dean asleep in the chair and asked Sam's nurse to keep an eye on him as I stepped outside.

John was killed in the fire. They were only able to identify his body by his dog tags, his body was so burnt. I was advised to not go and see him, and for my strength I complied. I couldn't let myself see him in that state.

I managed to keep myself together, right up until I got back into Sam's room. The nurse read whatever my facial expression was and left us alone, reminding me to call for her if we needed her. I collapsed into the chair beside Dean and cried all over again. I had no home, no husband, no family to support me. I had two boys to look after with no one to turn to.

Dean woke up instantly and climbed onto my knee, hugging me tight despite his own visible fear.

"Don't cry, mommy," he whispered, "Sammy will be okay. Daddy will be here soon."

His optimism broke my heart. I had to tell him. In the gentlest way possible.

"Sweetheart," my voice shook, "Daddy...he's gone away."

"But where?" Dean looked at me in confusion.

"Daddy's gone...to the sky. He's watching over you right now."

"Like angels?"

"He's with the angels. He's one of them now. Telling them all how brave his big boy is. He's so proud of you, Dean. For being the best big brother Sammy could ever wish for. You saved his life, and Daddy's making sure all the other angels know you're a hero."

"Can I see him soon?" Dean's voice was painfully hopeful, resting his head on me.

"No...no sweetheart. Not yet. You can't go to see the angels just yet. But Daddy loves you and wants you to be a brave boy and watch out for Sammy for him," Dean seemed convinced, to my relief.

"I'll look after you and Sammy, Mommy. Promise. It'll all be okay."

He clambered off my knee and went over to his brother, looking back at me.

"When will Sammy wake up?" he asked, reaching his hand to Sam's.

"Soon. He just needs a lot of rest to get better first," I wiped away the fresh tears. I needed to stay strong for them.

November 5th 1983.

Sam woke up around 5pm yesterday. He was pretty out of it, probably from the pain meds he's on to ease the pain from his burn. He just stared at Dean and I for a good few minutes until he started to smile. Dean and I held his hands and stroked his hair and he seemed happy enough, even with the oxygen mask on. He fell asleep again pretty soon after the nurses allowed me to feed him. It felt so good to be able to hold him, to feel like I was finally doing something to help him while sitting there and watching him being helped. I sang Hey Jude to him and Dean , and it got them both to sleep.

I feel so bad for Dean. The hospital is no place for a kid – who doesn't need to be there – to be. I'd taken him to the playroom and the outdoor playroom while Sam was asleep but he just wanted to be back with his brother. So did I, but I just wanted Dean to be able to be a kid for a little bit. I've been offered a room in a hostel for Dean and I, and Sam once he's better, that I could have until our house is fixed. I personally didn't want to see that house again. I requested they kept the room for us until Sammy's better. I just hope they will. I can't leave Sammy on his own, and Dean gets so scared when we so much as leave his room. We're making do just so he wasn't on his own.

Investigation by the fire department found the fire began in Sam's nursery. Sam's crib to be precise. But they found no evidence of matches or anything that could have started it. They said Sam was lucky to be alive, but they had no explanation as to how the fire began. Neither did I. The only thing we had on in Sam's room was a small night light that wasn't anywhere near the crib, and wouldn't have blown anyway. A thought in the back of my mind hoped the cause wasn't what I feared, but I pushed it away for the sake of my sanity, though I need to be hyper-aware to keep the boys safe. Just in case.

The pain meds are wearing off and they haven't given Sam a new dose. He's in pain and pretty scared. He's fully awake now and aware of the oxygen mask on his face which he certainly isn't a fan of. He's tugged at it and wailed and it breaks my heart to see him like this. The burn on his leg isn't helping at all. I saw it properly as the nurse changed the dressing. It looks so painful. He's not even a year old, he shouldn't be experiencing this kind of pain so young.

The nurse let me hold him to calm him down, which thankfully worked. Sam nestled close instantly and quietened, and I was sure to steer clear from touching his leg. I just want to get him out of here.

Dean's stayed close to Sam and holds his hand most of the time. He's trying so hard to keep his little brother distracted. I don't want to think about what I'd do without Dean. He's my rock. But he's four years old, his peacekeeping and helpfulness is far too much responsibility for such a young boy. It's not fair on him. I'm trying to encourage him to go play, I've offered to take him to the library, the park, the shops, anywhere to take his mind off the situation for an hour or two, but he just wants to stay with Sam. He's just so fiercely protective of his family already.

Missouri Moseley came to the hospital to see how we were coping. I can't say I wasn't surprised and a little confused. Missouri is a psychic in town we knew in passing. She came to visit when both boys were born and occasionally asked how they were but nothing else. I tried to steer clear of her alleged psychic abilities. She watched Sam for a while and assured me he would be alright with some rest. He's a strong child, she told me, and he loves his family more than anything. I was unsure if a six-month-old was capable of such love, but it did put my mind at ease a little. Dean was hiding behind me, and Missouri knelt down to him and told him to keep on being brave. But then she turned to me. And my worst fears were confirmed.

The fire was no accident (but how could it be?), but it wasn't started by a person either. Missouri had visited the house at night, stood in Sam's nursery. She told me she sensed sulphur, she sensed energy. A demon started that fire. But why would it want Sam?

The Yellow Eyed Demon. 1973. Ten whole years ago. He told me he'd come into my home for something in ten years. But what did it want with my son? Did it settle for John instead?

Missouri had found Dean's teddy bear while at the house and gave it back to him. Hopefully he'll sleep better now. He thanked her shyly, then she left with a sympathetic smile.

We can't stay here. Not in Lawrence. Knowing John was killed by a demon. The demon. The demon that may come back for Sam later made up my mind. The moment Sam could leave the hospital, we were getting in the car and leaving town. I had no idea where to go, but anywhere that's not Lawrence seems good.

I just got brought a box of things saved from the fire. Most of our possessions downstairs were unharmed, but most of the upstairs was destroyed. Only a few objects rescued. All of Sam's room was ash and rubble. All his toys and clothes, gone. He's going to freak when he realises he doesn't have his little bear anymore. I'll have to find a similar one.

A few of Dean's toys were salvaged, mostly his toy cars. Most of his stuffed animals were burned or too thick with ash and rubble to be used again. A couple of his t-shirts were folded neatly in the box.

Some of my clothes joined Dean's, but the rest of the box was filled with photos from mine and John's room. Our wedding photo, newborn Dean, newborn Sam. All four of us together, Dean holding Sam. Although not all were saved, I was grateful for the ones we still had. Dean took his bear and gave it to Sam as he curled up to sleep without it. Sam was asleep, but clung to the teddy almost automatically. It baffled me how selfless my four year old could be. I was still going to buy a new teddy for Sam though.

November 12th 1983

I'm so sorry, John. I never wanted this to happen to you. Maybe I should have told you about my upbringing and my past. We could have warded the house, protected all of us. Maybe this never would have happened if I'd told you the truth.

The boys are really starting to miss you. Sam doesn't really understand but he's definitely noticed you're not here. He looks around like he's looking for you, and a few times he's cried and nothing's been able to calm him down. I'm certain he's crying for you, John. He was so attached to you. He loves Dean and I too, of course he does, but from the moment he first smiled he always had a special smile just for you. His face would light up when you came home from work, and he always wanted you when you weren't home. It just hurts that he won't even remember you by the time he learns to talk.

Dean will remember you and he's suffering. I told him you're up there in the sky, you're one of the angels now, and you're watching over him with the other angels. But every day he asks if you're coming to see us or whether we can come see you. Other than that he doesn't talk much, except to Sammy. He doesn't cry though. He's being so brave.

I've put your urn on the table beside the bed Dean and I sleep in. I'll bury you soon, once Sam's out of hospital. So you can finally be at rest. I guess this is the last time we'll be a family together, all four of us.

Sammy's doing better now. He's off the oxygen, which he's very glad about, and they're just keeping an eye on his burn. It's healing well but they think it'll leave a large scar. As long as he's alive and well, that's all that matters to me. They're keeping him in a few days to ensure it doesn't get infected, and then we can go. But we can't go home.

I've loaded up the car with everything from the house that was saved that we need. Any clothes we have, including some of Dean's old baby clothes in the basement that will have to do for Sammy for now. All our money is intact, the books for the boys' college funds, our savings, both our wallets. I should be able to manage for a month or two. Rent someplace until I can find a job, but even then I won't be able to buy anything for a while. I just can't go back to our house. Not only because I know it's the place you died. I can't risk the boys, John. That demon could come back for them, and staying here will only make it easier for it. We need to get out. I can't lose them too.

Sweet dreams, John. Make sure those angels look after you.

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm really excited about this fic as I have a ton of ideas for it! Sorry about the non-creative title but..well it does what it says on the tin!

Please do leave a review and follow/favourite if you like what you see! It really does motivate me to carry on the fic! Thanks :)