John couldn't say how he knew, maybe it was a soldiers' instinct, or some sort of second sight, but he had felt another presence in Sammy's nursery that night. He'd felt a presence. Whatever it was, it hadn't been human.

No human being could have done what it had done to Mary, as quickly as it had done it. Only seconds had passed between her scream and John making it up the stairs. No human could have pinned her to the ceiling without any bindings, and no normal fire could have burned so hot nor spread so quickly. Only his military training had saved John from becoming another tragedy that night. It chilled him to the bone to think of what might have been. He could have been killed, and the boys too, Sammy certainly. Dean might have survived had he turned and run.

Act, don't think. That's what Vietnam taught him. Stay low, move fast. He had saved himself, and his boys, but he hadn't been able to save her.

Questions plagued him. What had it been? Why had it come to them? Would it come back, and what would he do if it did? He needed answers, and he needed them quickly. The safety of what remained of his family depended upon it.

But where would he go to get those answers?

The toaster popped, making him jump. Everything made him jump these days. He was loathe to leave the apartment, take the boys out into the open, but Mary's death had proven even home was not safe. He hadn't been to work in weeks. Vince brought him some money, his share of that week's profits and then some - a loan for which John was grateful.

"I have to find the answer, Vince. I have to know."

Vince had frowned at him. "What answer? Know what?"

"I need to know what killed her."

John knew what his friend and business partner was thinking, that grief addled his mind. "John," he'd said gently. "The fire department..."

"They weren't there!" John had cried, grief and anger making his voice rough. "There was something in that room, Vince. I know there was! And if it comes back..." He'd broken down then, fear rising up to grab him by the scruff and shake him hard. The boys were all he had left of Mary. He'd die before he let anything hurt them.

Vince told him to take all the time he needed, but his expression was grim as he'd left the apartment.

John put peanut butter and jelly on the toast and poured a glass of milk. He took both to the table and put them front of Dean. Sammy watched from his high chair, his fist in his mouth as he carefully deposited a single Cheerio inside. The tray of the highchair was awash in cereal and dribbles of milk from the baby bottle. John righted the bottle so it wouldn't drip anymore before sitting down at the table.

Dean looked at the toast as if it were crawling with bugs. After a moment he rolled his eyes up at his father and asked to be excused.

"After you eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. You aren't going anywhere until you eat your breakfast."

Dean poked a finger into the jelly and licked it off. "Tastes funny," he said quietly, and folded his hands in his lap. His eyes grew vacant as he simply stared unhappily at the plate, making no effort to eat. He'd gotten worse since the funeral. John had become seriously afraid for his health.

The funeral had been had been difficult on all of them, but Dean in particular. John hadn't wanted to attend, not in his paranoid state of mind when he saw danger lurking around every corner. He hadn't wanted a public funeral at all, but had been overruled by his in-laws. Margaret Copeland planned her daughter's funeral as if it were one of her open houses, complete with hors d'oeuvres. The church in which it was held was filled to capacity. Very few of the attendees had ever met Mary, most didn't have a clue who John was at all.

"Oh," they'd say. "You're the husband."

The husband, as if he didn't matter. Condolences were reserved for Dr. Copeland and Margaret.

Things went sour with Margaret almost immediately. She came to whisk the children away, particularly Sam who shared his grandfather's name. She wanted to show them off to her husband's colleagues. John refused to let the baby be held by anyone other than himself and Dean could not have been pried away from his father's leg even if John had allowed him to go. Margaret went away angry. She didn't understand.

It just wasn't safe.

People came to John instead. They cooed at Sammy, who entertained them with grins and spit bubbles. They exclaimed over Dean, likening him to his mother.

"He looks just like Maribeth at that age, doesn't he?"

"Oh, he has his mother's eyes!"

The more it was said, the tighter wound Dean became. John could feel the tension through the death grip the boy had on his hand and the trembling of his small body. Each time John glanced down at his eldest son, the more alarmed he was at how distressed Dean looked.

Halfway through the eulogy, he felt a tug on his sleeve.

Mary's eyes looked up at him from a pale, pinched face.

"I want to go home, Daddy."

John didn't need any more incentive. He got up, and left, much to the horror of his mother-in-law and the confusion of the other mourners.

That night Dean had a nightmare that left him completely incoherent. John went to him when the crying began and discovered not only had he wet the bed but had bitten his lip so badly it bled all over his pillow. The sight of the blood terrified him even further. He would not be consoled no matter what John did, and and did not eat or sleep for two days afterward.

Reluctantly, John had called Dr. Copeland. His father-in-law prescribed a mild sedative. It helped with the anxiety during the day, and diminished the effects of the nightmares, but it also left Dean even more dull and listless. His appetite had not improved.

Obviously.

Sammy drooled over one fist and banged on the high chair tray with his free hand, making milk and Cheerios bounce down onto the floor around him. Removing the baby's fist from his mouth, John inserted the bottle instead. Judging by the slurping that followed, there was nothing at all wrong with Sam's appetite.

"Sammy's gonna finish before you."

Sammy's brother was unimpressed. He eyed the toast warily before gazing up at John with a pleading expression. "I'm not hungry, Daddy. Really."

"Can you at least drink the milk? Please?"

With a sigh, Dean stared at the glass of milk After a moment he lowered his eyes. He toyed uneasily with one corner of a paper napkin, shredding it into tiny pieces. "Mommy always put chocolate in it," he whispered, and started to cry.

John closed his eyes wearily. "I'm sorry," he said roughly. "I'm sorry..."


A week after John had driven her home, Mary Copeland appeared at the shop looking for him. It took him by surprise. He hadn't expected to see her again. After all, he'd just been a good Samaritan, helping out an old friend from high school who needed a lift.

It wasn't raining when she came by the second time, and he was struck dumb by the full effect of her beauty. With the morning light shining in through the garage doors behind her, and a breeze tugging at her long blond hair, she looked like an angel. She was wearing jeans and a sweater that matched the smoky gray-green color of her eyes. When she caught his gaze with those eyes, he found he couldn't look away no matter what he tried. She seemed to be able to see right through him.

"I dumped my fiance," she said

John immediately asked her to go out with him.

From the promptness of her answer, this was what she'd wanted him to do.

If anyone had asked him back then if he believed in love at first sight, he would have scoffed at the very idea. Many years later, when he came to believe in some other unusual things, he changed his tune. He never understood what a pampered little rich girl saw in a guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Some twist of fate had brought them together, just as it would ultimately tear them apart. For the first three years they dated he lived every moment he spent with her to the fullest, always fearing the time when she would leave him for a man more worthy of her. He never told her his fears. He never had to though, she always seemed to know what he was thinking, and she always seemed to be able to soothe even his deepest heartaches with just a smile and a kiss.

By the time a warm spring night in 1978 rolled around, fate and destiny were the farthest things from John Winchester's mind. He was more than a little preoccupied with the beautiful woman lying beside him, the woman who, after three years, was still part of his life. Even after three years of dating and two years of living in sin, he never failed to be shocked when he woke up in the morning to her smiling face.

Her parents hated him. His mother, who had become a widow not long after John and Mary met, didn't care one way or another. In fact, within the next year, Gala Winchester would move away from Lawrence. John would never see her again.

There was a full moon shining high in the night sky, and a lamp on the utility pole under which they were parked. They'd just come back to Lawrence from a rock concert in Topeka, and in a fit of nostalgia they had snuck into one of the parks, to the place where they'd first consummated their relationship.

In the misty blue light that filled the car, John could see Mary quite clearly. She was grinning.

"You know," he said softly, grinning back. "If the cops come by and see us your mother is gonna hear about it. She'll have a coronary."

"Why? Because her daughter was caught naked in the backseat of a car with a filthy grease monkey?"

"Have you reminded her lately that I have a name other than Filthy Grease Monkey?"

"I think it's cute."

Laughing, John made monkey noises at her and tickled her ribs.

"Stop!"

Her laughter was like music, like a chorus of bells falling down the scale in a waterfall of sound. It suited her. She was heaven. She was magic. He still couldn't believe she was real.

She was though. Her warmth was real. The softness of her skin beneath his hands was real, and so was the scent of her perfume. Her scent mingled with the perfume as he warmed her even more with his touch. Their laughter faded. Things became more serious.

John dipped his head to kiss her neck, rising to shift her body beneath his. Her hair snagged the rough stubble on his cheek. She raised a hand to pull it back. With a sigh she gazed up at him and gave him a look of utter contentment, her lips curving upward in a wry, toothless smile.

"What?" he breathed. He dipped his head, kissing the top of one breast. She wound her fingers in his hair and sighed again.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world right now."

He cocked his head and grinned at her. "Really? 'cause I can think of a lot of places nicer than the back seat of a busted up Chevy."

"Shhh." Mary patted the seat upon which they lay. "She's a work in progress. Don't hurt her feelings."

"Gas guzzling piece of sh..."

"John!"

"Shiny metal," he finished, chuckling.

Mary pulled him down to kiss his mouth, and he had to admit, she made the back seat of a busted up Chevy seem awfully damn nice.

Her legs slid slowly up his thighs. He took it as an invitation. They hardly had to think about sex anymore, their bodies were well tuned to each other, everything falling easily into proper alignment. The awkward phase, the getting to know you phase, was long past. John had mapped every inch of her body. He knew where to touch her, how to please her, and where to find his own pleasure. They flowed into and around each other as if their bodies were liquid. Shared sensation made it difficult to know where one ended and the other began. Mary's long hair, bleached white in the moonlight, trailed over the edge of the seat onto the floor. John gathered her into his arms, and it spilled over his shoulder. He inhaled its scent.

Lilies.

"No place," she murmured breathlessly,when all was said and done. "No place I'd rather be."

John held her tighter, kissed her hair. "Then never leave here. Never leave me."

He heard her breath catch. She raised her head so she could look into his face. "Is that a formal proposal John Winchester?"

It took him only a heartbeat to decide upon his answer.

"Yes," he said.

Mary grinned broadly. "You really are trying to kill my mother!" She sobered then, cupping his face between her hands. Pulling him down toward her, she kissed his forehead as if in benediction. "Yes," she said softly. "I will stay with you forever and ever."

"Till death do us part?"

"Like death could part us," she snorted, and then burst into laughter.

She'd heard the warning bleat of a police siren as a cop pulled up behind them.