I haven't forgotten this! Although everyone else probably has ...

When I finally felt I could turn back to the chasm, it was as someone knocked on the door of the motel room. I assumed it was the police, wanting to investigate the fire. John was still on the bed, and Dean was still in Sam's crib, trying to climb back out and failing. John groaned, and pulled himself off the bed, his movements slow and body slumped as he slouched over. He didn't even pay attention to the boys.

He raised an arm to the bright sunshine as he pulled the door open, and I felt at least a little better when I saw Alice there, Alex holding her hand and Laura strapped to her chest in a carrier.

"Hello John, I'm Alice. I was friends with Mary. I only just heard about the fire, and what happened, I'm so sor-"

"What do you want?" John cut her off.

"To offer my condolences. To let you know that I'd be willing to help with the kids if you need it. Do you have any clothes for them? I've got some of Alex's things here, from when he was a baby for Sammy, and things he hasn't worn much for Dean."

"We don't need any hand-outs, thanks." John sneered, just as Dean pulled himself up in the cot.

"Alex! Daddy, can I play with Alex?"

"No, Dean." John barely turned to look at him before he was trying to shut the door in Alice's face.

"But Daddy, maybe Mommy went to talk to Alice! Alice, is Mommy there?"

John slammed the door before Alice could answer. I wished I could go talk to her, apologise for John, thank her for thinking of my boys, and reassure her that I would have done exactly the same thing.

John leaned his head against the door, and Dean carried on chattering away, still completely naive about what had happened.

"Daddy, why can't I play with Alex? Please can I play with Alex? Is Mommy playing a game? Is she playing Hide And Seek? She's real good at that game. Daddy, I think Sammy's done a poopie, he stinks. I'm bored of this crib, can you get me out? Daddy-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, DEAN!" He roared, wheeling around and glaring at our toddler. I lurched forward, wanting to protect Dean somehow, and the angel next to me grabbed me roughly.

"You cannot interfere!"

"Let me go, let me go! I want him to stop cussing, and stop yelling, and just think of the boys."

"He's grieving the loss of his wife, he can't control the way he handles that." The red-headed woman - Anna - informed me coldly. I narrowed my eyes at her.

"Last night, he was picking Dean up and joking around with him. They had plans for softball this morning-"

"And last night, he lost the love of his life."

She was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing. In that moment, I hated her. How could she just let John neglect our children? Why wouldn't one of them intervene? The angel next to her, the one that made them all laugh, he seemed to read my mind.

"We are watchers, nothing more."

Angels are beyond useless. I looked down again, and saw John lifting Dean out of the crib, and passing him the television remote to entertain himself while he pulled Sammy out of the crib, and sniffed his backside.

"Ugh," he grunted. I guess Sammy had pooped. He laid Sammy on the bed and started changing him as there was another knock at the door. Dean trotted over to it and opened it, even though I've warned him about Stranger Danger so many times. Fortunately, it was the police, and they stooped down to his level to talk to him.

"Hey there little guy, is your last name Winchester?"

"I'm Dean." He said proudly.

"Deano, who is it?" John asked.

"The p'lice. Daddy, am I in trouble?"

"No, you're not, small fry. We need to talk to your Daddy about how the fire started in your house last night, and how your mom was involved in it."

John hurried over, thrusting Sam into Dean's arms.

"Deano, watch your brother."

He hustled the officers out of the door, pulling it to behind him. I could see Dean doing his best to hold his brother just as he'd been shown to do, but a six-month-old baby is so heavy for a little boy. Dean put him onto the floor as gently as he could, and switched on the television to Sesame Street, and I heard the conversation between John and the officers, which was basically a repeat of the night before.

My focus was on my boys, however. On how Dean was trying to watch Sesame Street, but his eyes kept wandering over to Sammy, and the door that separated him from John.

"Mommy?" He called softly. "Mommy?"

"I'm here baby, I'm here," I reached a hand out, knowing I couldn't touch him but tracing those chubby little cheeks in the air anyway. I know he couldn't hear me either, but I hoped that he felt me, on some level. That he knew I would never stop loving him. His stomach growled, and he sighed, tucking his knees up to his chest and resting his chin there. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and he wasn't quite sure how it all got there. He was still sitting like that when John came back into the room, and flopped down on the bed. Dean's eyes followed him, and I could almost sense that he wanted to ask after me. But being yelled at twice for asking about me must have put him off, because he said nothing. Eventually John began snoring, and Dean flopped out, his legs splayed in front of him, his arms listless by his sides.

"I'm bored."

I don't think he expected anyone to be listening. After all, to my four-year-old, Daddy was asleep, Mommy was hiding and Sammy was too young to be any fun. His stomach gurgled again.

"And I'm hungry." He noted. There was movement on the bed, and John stuck a twenty out into the void.

"Go buy some breakfast."

If my heart was still beating, it would have stopped at that moment. John wasn't seriously encouraging a pre-schooler to go to the store and buy breakfast, was he? Dean seemed to be feeling the same way, eyeing the money carefully, and then looking back at Sesame Street. John made an exasperated noise, and got up.

"Fine. Fine. We'll get in the car and go find some breakfast."

Dean immediately cheered up, and tried to pick Sammy up from where he was kicking around on the floor, gurgling to himself. At least my baby was happy, ignorant of the fact his family had been changed forever. He let Dean pick him up readily enough, as John grabbed the few baby supplies and shoved them in a bag, and led the boys out to the car. Sam struggled against Dean halfway across the lot and I watched as Dean tried his best to keep hold of him, scared of hurting him, remembering all my talks about how fragile the new baby was going to be.

I was grateful to Dean, for keeping such a close eye on his brother, but I was still confused. Who was going to look out for Dean in the same way? The angels would be no use, they'd repeat their mantra that it's their duty to watch and not interfere. Great.

John strapped them both in the car, and found some pie in the front from a recent family picnic. He passed it to Dean to eat, and cranked up the radio. And that was the moment I realised that they were never going to go back home.