Timeline: February 2005, eight months before John Winchester falls off the map and Dean decides to go to Stanford to recruit Sam into helping find their father.
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People thought he was obsessed.
He was. He wouldn't deny it.
They thought it was an obsession for revenge.
They were wrong.
John Winchester wasn't fueled by hate. He was fueled by fear. Fear for his children. He was obsessed with finding the thing that killed Mary so that he could save his children from the same fate. Because he knew, deep within his soul he knew, that his children would never be safe until that evil thing was dead and gone.
He wanted to avenge her. But more than that, he wanted to save them.
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Damn it. He was close. So damn close. He could feel it. Things were happening, data was lining up. The pattern was just out of his reach.
"Damn it," he growled out loud this time, softly thumping his fist against the maps and scratched notes on the table in front of him.
"Dad?" came a tentative question from across the room.
John shook his head to brush off the inquiry from his youngest son, not in the mood to talk. He stared down at the papers spread before him on the motel room table. There was a pattern. He was sure of it. He could just see the edges of it forming in his mind. He knew now that it was a demon that killed Mary, though he didn't know why. But really, the reason didn't matter. All that mattered was finding that demon and destroying it.
John had been studying for years, learning everything he could about the supernatural world and all the wild, weird creatures that inhabited it. Once he learned that a demon was responsible for the death of his beloved, he dove into biblical lore and taught himself every aspect of the history he could find. He passed the knowledge on to his sons imploring them to dedicate themselves seriously to study. He wanted them to know everything he hadn't, to be prepared where he was unsuspecting.
He'd been working for nearly three years to find a pattern in demonic manifestations: reading reports of localized electric storms, crop failures, and cattle mutilations. If he could find the pattern, he could anticipate their movements and set a trap. All he needed was one demon. One demon he could interrogate. He was confident that no matter how many lies the thing might spew, that he'd be able to use the information. Even incorrect information was better than nothing at all. And truth be told, he knew it would feel pretty damn good to get his hands on one of those evil bastards. He'd make sure they paid for every sin they committed in Hell and on Earth.
"Do you need some help, Dad?"
John looked up from his cruel thoughts to see his youngest son, Adam, standing near the edge of the motel bed, hesitantly making his way over to his father.
A spike of guilt hit John in the gut as he looked at his son. The kid was staying just out of arm's reach.
Shit, he thought, shaking his head in shame. John knew he had snapped at Adam more often than not lately, irritated for every interruption the boy caused valid or not.
"No. No, son," he said, looking up, "You work on that lore book Bobby lent you. I've got this,"
Adam stared at him for a moment and John could feel the weight of his son's silent questioning stare. Adam had always been a perceptive kid, an 'old soul' Kate had always called him, and although his weighty stares had faded somewhat as he'd gotten older (and spent more time in Dean's carefree company) John was still aware that his youngest was always watching and very little escaped his attention.
"Go on," John said firmly, nodding over to the bed where Adam had come from.
Adam didn't reply but obediently returned to his motel bed and the open book he'd left there.
John breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't have to fight this son about learning the lore.
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