Mary

John's eyes stung, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that the burn of tears threatened to overcome him.

However no tears came, just a quiet resolve that he needed to do something. That there was something much bigger at play tonight and he was going to find out what. She had been on the ceiling?! What could do that? And why?

Mary…

She was his everything, the glue that held them all together. What was he going to do without her? How would he be able to look after the boys on his own? He could feel Dean shift beside him, the four-year-old was probably exhausted beyond imagine and it's not like he had a bed anymore to go to sleep in.

He brushed away the paramedics eager to look him over. The father had been in the house the longest, having Dean rush the infant out of the house as soon as the fire started. John had stayed behind, hoping against reason to help his wife. She was on ceiling, slashed and bleeding, his beautiful perfect wife…

"Mister Winchester… please… you have visible burn marks we need to…"

He waved them off. He'd had worse injuries in Vietnam, hell he had a Purple Heart to show for it – this was nothing.

"Sir…"

The punk ass kid couldn't be more than twenty so John got right up into his face and whispered so his boys couldn't hear, "Listen son, the last thing I care about right now is myself. My wife was in there. My sons lost their mother… I'm not…" John faltered raising his hand and then dropping it to his side limply. "I… I can't deal with this right now."

So there he sat on the hood of his car, the same car he had proposed to Mary in a little more than ten years ago. John sighed heavily, clutching the baby closer to him, the weight of his oldest pressed up against his side. He felt Sam move slightly, the six-month old anxious and unaware of their situation would begin to cry if he didn't get sleep soon. John rocked Sam with one arm and used the other to squeeze Dean's shoulder.

"Hold your brother for a moment Dean," John said, handing the infant to his son. Dean took the baby dutifully and gave John a somber stare. John went to the back seat of the Impala, and nestled in between the boys' car seats was John's leather jacket. Grabbing it, he went back up to the front and placed it over Dean's shoulders – the four year old was only in his pajamas after all and John knew that Dean wouldn't have said something regardless of how cold he was.

Dean was engulfed by the jacket but John had a momentary smile pass his face. His little man… Mary loved that jacket, she often said it was her favorite of John's despite its age and just as often said that when Dean grew up she imagined he would be a very handsome young man in it, just like his father.

"Where's Mommy?" Dean finally asked, Sammy wiggling in his arms and reaching out at John.

And… and John didn't know what to say. He took Sammy back from Dean and kissed the top of Dean's head.

One of the paramedics that John hadn't already chastised approached the father with trepidation. "Mister Winchester, we're going to insist you come to the hospital to clean those burns and check your lungs. If not for yourself then for your boys." She paused when he glared at her before continuing bravely, "Small children are more susceptible to smoke inhalation and damage. Even if the boys were only in the fire a short while…"

"I get it," John surrendered gruffly. He stood up and picked up Dean from the hood, with both boys in his arms he made his way to the ambulance.

The following day John was allowed back into the house, leaving the boys at the hospital. At least, into what was left of the house. Most of the upstairs had been gutted by fire – Sam's nursery, Dean's room and most of the hallway leading to John and Mary's master. The downstairs was relatively untouched except for smoke damage. John trudged through, picking up various little things of no importance.

His hands were heavily bandaged as were most of his forearms, which made it difficult to pick at the dusty items, but John knew he had to… he had to go through this for Mary. For his boys.

These little trinkets now meant everything to the father. It was early November, and the weather was just starting to get cold enough to justify hot cocoa. He picked up one of the mugs left on their coffee table, left there absently, as an unremembered chore by the oldest Winchester. How many hours ago had Mary been drinking from this? Did she know John was stealing moments to give Dean some?

Mary stood over the stove top, stirring the milk. John kissed her neck and massaged her shoulders, "Smells good," he told her.

She shrugged him off lightheartedly, "Come on now John. It'll be done in a few minutes. You should be watching Sammy and Dean."

"I know, I know," he confessed, stealing one more kiss. John turned to the infant and began unbuckling him from the high chair. Sammy giggled when John started to tickle him, waving his hands around. Dean was beside him watching his father play with his baby brother with wide hazel eyes.

"John…" Mary warned playfully. She looked up suddenly, as John lifted Sam out of the high chair and held him close to his chest. "What's today's date?"

John frowned, "Wednesday? I took tomorrow off so I could take Dean to the park when you and Sam go to the doctor's."

Dean smiled, "We're going to the park? Are we going to play catch Daddy?"

Mary hushed Dean, "I mean the date John. The date date."

"You have a boyfriend you plan on seeing?" John asked jovially. When she gave him the eye he said seriously, "The second or third? Maybe?"

"Oh," Mary replied wistfully. She pulled out two mugs for her and John, the odd melancholy passing from her face, "Do you want anything in your cocoa John?"

Dean looked at his father, a wide grin plastered on the four-year-olds face. "Extra cocoa?" John asked, his oldest son nodding happily at the suggestion.

"Dean it's past both you and your brother's bedtime. I'll make cocoa for you tomorrow," Mary smiled. She then raised an eyebrow to John, "I don't want to catch you giving him any of yours either dear."

"What she doesn't know can't hurt her," John whispered to Dean just loudly enough for Mary to hear, a mischievous smile on his face.

John put the mug back on the table, frowning. As he collected other things – pictures, Dean's fire engine, small things like that – he thought that his wife didn't deserve this, none of them did. What had she done to deserve such a…?

He choked on the word, and collapsed near the fireplace. Pushed up against the wall, he hugged a picture of he and Mary close to his chest and wept.

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