A/N: There are a couple of things that led to this story; first I'm off school for a month and I want to write one, I really want to try my hand at the cliche "The boys have powers" story and I love John. I think the oldest Winchester gets a really bad rep as a father and I'm not sure that's fair. So in my story Dean will be getting powers and John will be protective/supportive about it.

In so many versions of this story it happens later in life and all John can see is a monster, one of the things he hunts. But what if the change happened early in his career as a hunter? Before he had too many preconceptions of the supernatural and before his boys would have thought to hide it from him? This is that story.

Chapter One: The Call

When John Winchester was a marine Hell Week was the hardest thing he'd ever done. This was harder. John sat on the hood of his '67 Chevy Impala. He'd pulled over to the side of the road, too haunted by what the psychic Missouri had told him about the world to drive safely, trying to make a decision that would have more weight than he could possibly understand. John found himself going back to those five days. He'd thought of them often during his service and then later during his adjustment to civilian life. Right now knowing, fearing all the monsters in the world, there seemed nothing more important than that moment midway through hell-week when he decided he was going to make it, he was going to be a marine.

Soaked so far down to the bone in mud and filth that he couldn't feel his extremities anymore. Barely able to stand from the exhausting and pointless labor of the day before. Held up only by sheer will and pig-headed stubbornness. Listening to the droning voice of the drill sergeant demanding his resignation and wondering why he was putting himself through this.

Despite being dry and not shaking with the debilitating effort of keeping his balance, he was more connected with that younger man then he'd been in years. He remembered the tear tracks that stood out against the grime on his face and the way the salt stung his skin, raw from the powerful wind. How what he wanted most in the world was to collapse to his knees and just sleep.

He was in that place now. Wanted to lie down and quit. Wanted to take his precious sons, all that was left of his beautiful wife, and hide. Turn away and never take their heads out of the sand. But that kid, knee deep in mud, didn't. John looked into the clear Kansas sky, seeing nothing but blood and fire and tried to remember why it was that that stupid kid from years ago kept standing; why had he kept going? It would have been easier to quit.

Missouri's normally cheerful face grave with unwanted truth as she recited the evil out there in the world swam before his eyes. "There are people out there you know. It's not all darkness and monsters Mr. Winchester. There's hero's too."

He'd glared at her and demanded around the lump in his throat why his wife hadn't been saved, "If there really are people out there like you say, who know about these things and can fight them-" He tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat as Mary, sweet Mary, on the ceiling came forcefully back from the corner he'd tried to shove her in. When he spoke again his voice was softer, pleading. "Why then am I widower and my children motherless? Why did this happen if there are people out there who could have protected her?"

It's a hard thing to see a man like John Winchester vulnerable, something about it just feels wrong. "John, don't you think for one second that if your wife could have been saved-" She paused and there was regret there for her too. "If anyone would've known she'd been in danger; they would've come and done all they could for your poor family. If I'd've known, John, I would've done something." She looked down and sighed, "Truth is John, there's not nearly enough hunters in this world to save everybody. You just can't."

People are underestimated. It's true, it happens all the time. Life deals a blow that's devastating like divorce or unexpected death. The usual tragedies that everyone can relate too. Some people hunker down into a downward spiral, self-medicating and losing themselves in addictions to keep them from thinking about what they've lost. Many times there's just one moment that changes the course. Where with a whole lot of courage a person takes the first step forward. With him and his sons, right now, their future was on the edge of a knife, teetering between fight and flight, and all he could think about was that stubborn kid from hell-week. What was so important about the kid he used to be?

Making it through hell-week was the precedent for how this decision was going to go. He'd already been pushed as far as he could go, hanging on with the tips of his fingers, making it by the skin of his teeth, and had kept to it. Had readjusted his grip, bit down like a bulldog and kept fighting. John realized that deciding moment for him had already happened.

Two hours after he had pulled over, hidden among some trees, John pulled back onto the road with a purpose. A journey is when the trip is more important than the destination. An adventure is a trip without a destination. A quest is a trip to accomplish a task. A crusade is a campaign for a cause. But a purpose? Is a job.

He remembered why that kid with steel mixed into the marrow of his bones and a tireless heart that pumped pure stubbornness kept going. It was his job and Winchesters don't leave jobs unfinished.

He didn't know the first thing about killing monsters or hunting ghosts but he knew he was going to, this was the beginning of his life long war against evil. John stepped into the car, the reassuring creak of the door swinging shut, the first disruptive noise since he turned off the engine, the sound of the only thing left from his life before the fire. Well, that and apparently his favorite leather jacket. John's face loosened, not a smile but a few of the lines on his forehead softened as he caught a glimpse of it in the rearview mirror. He'd been looking for that. Had asked Mary if she'd seen it the day before… He needed to get back to his boys. He needed to talk to Missouri, and it wasn't a conversation that they could witness, but he could have spent less time on the side of the road daydreaming about his days in the service.

When he finally reached the motel he and his boys were staying at and opened the door the boys were up and standing just inside the door frame. So close Deans nose must have been pressed against the surface of the door. Sammy was sniffing in Dean's arms.

Dean stared up at him with wide eyes, relief in every line of his body. John started, they were sound asleep when he left. Leaving the door open he dropped to his knees and reached around them wrapping them both in a tight hug, squishing baby Sammy between them. He could feel Dean's little heart fluttering in his chest. "Sorry I scared you Dean. Shh, it's okay I'm back now. I wont leave without telling you again." he muttered, pressing a kiss to his oldest boys forehead.

Dean still hadn't said a word since the fire. John searched Dean's eyes for acknowledgment of what he said, "I promise Dean, okay?" The doctor said nothing was wrong with him and he'd talk when he was ready. All John could do was be patient and not push him. He waited till Dean nodded slowly and his trembling little limbs calmed down before looking down at Sammy who was getting progressively noisier, little nose scrunched up and chubby cheeks turning an indignant shade of red.

John addressed Dean softly, focusing on the baby so he wouldn't have to look into his sons green eyes, exactly like his mothers. "You did good Dean, he's okay, just grumpy." He paused before continuing, that lump in his throat coming back, before he finished gruffly, "Sammy just misses Mommy too." Before he could start to think too much about how it was just the three of them now he tightened his grip and whispered "You know something Dean? I'm holding my whole world in my arms right now."

Baby Sammy, sick of being squished, went from mewling in annoyance to crying with gusto. "'A'ight, a'ight, I got you baby." Taking Sammy from Dean, John stood up and shut the door behind him, rocking the baby gently just like Mary had taught him. He watched Dean's eyelids get heavier. John was suddenly very grateful that despite his own uncertainty his sons' trusted him enough for his mere presence to soothe their fears. He took a shuddering breath, hoping he could live up to that trust. Holding his crying son and agonizing over his silent son, John was determined to try. He watched Dean's body slowly melt toward the floor in the way only children under the age of five can.

Picking Dean up as well, John walked carefully over to the bedroom, waiting till Sammy fell back to sleep before he slipped both boys back into the second bed still ruffled from when they got up. Before he could step away, Dean's tiny hands grabbed his shirt and held on, staring for a minute before beaming at him, bright even baby teeth standing out in the dark room. To this day, John thinks back on this moment as one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen.

AN: Thanks for reading! I've planned this story to be five chapters long and am am really excited about it. I hope you like it and would love to hear from you!