It was as grueling as boot camp, and as gruesome as Vietnam, if not more so. During eight weeks under the tutelage of Daniel Elkins learning the "trade," John saw more of, learned more about the paranormal than he'd ever thought possible. He encountered things most people chalked up as figments of their imaginations and he learned how to kill them. The dark yielded up its secrets.

Dyslexic and just barely a high school graduate, John was forced to became a student of Latin, history, theology and social studies. He was made familiar with unusual weapons from around the world. Each had their purpose. He went Hunting with Daniel and saw what it took to bring down the enemy, and saw how he could prevent evil from destroying the lives of other families.

John channeled his fear and anger into grit and determination. He refused to back down from any fight, no matter how far outside the box it seemed.

He also made a vow. He would find Mary's killer, destroy it, and along the way he would take out every other evil thing he could find.

Elkins found him to be a quick study, and a ruthless Hunter.

"A lot of it is instinct. I can show you where and how to find the clues, show you the hows and whys of the tools we use. You have to put the puzzle together for yourself, and choose the right way to take it from there. I can't do that for you."

The journal grew thicker. John took notes on everything, and was encouraged to do so.

"This is your Bible," Daniel said, shaking his own journal beneath John's nose. "This is your lifeline, 'cause I don't know about you, but I can't memorize every exorcism out there, and in a pinch, you might need to know more than one."

His first solo Hunt was a simple one in which he was called to clear a malevolent spirit from a home. It was tough being on his own, but he handled it. The family was grateful. John was flushed with the pride of success. Mission accomplished with a minimum of fuss. One down, and god knew how many more to go. When it was all over he sat in the car, panting, his head lowered to the steering wheel. It was going to be a long, hard, road. Vengeance drove him. One day, maybe not the next day or even the one after that, but one day justice would be his.

Jim Murphy had the boys. During the time he was with Elkins John checked in frequently by phone and in person, putting a lot of mileage on the Chevy. Even so, he missed the milestone of Sammy learning to crawl. Daniel had sent him off in pursuit of a banshee. It had nearly killed him. Battered and bloody he thrust a sword through her heart at precisely the same time Sam scooted off across Jim's living room, finally mobile and ready for mischief.

John was in a hotel recovering from Elkins' latest assignment when Jim called with news that made his heart clench up tight in his chest. He gripped the phone with white knuckles as the minister's words paralyzed him with fear.

"It's Dean. You better come."

It was dawn when he arrived in Minnesota. He'd driven all night, terrified he'd get there and find his son had been taken from him not by his mother-in-law, but something more sinister. Jim met him at the door and led him back into the bedroom where the boys were sleeping. Sammy was in a portable crib by the door. Dean was lying in the bed, his cheeks sunken and pale. Dark circles of fatigue ringed both eyes. A bandage was wrapped around one small, bony arm.

"He passed out," Jim said softly. "The doctor gave him fluids, some electrolytes. He was dehydrated and anemic. John, " the minister looked deeply concerned. "You've got to do something. This can't go on any longer or you're going to lose him."

John nodded and sighed. He was more than aware of how close to the edge Dean was walking. He'd tried everything short of sending the child back to live with his grandparents, but he had one more option. It was something he vowed to only use as a last resort.

"Give me some time alone with him. I'll see what I can do."

"Of course." Jim rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

As the door shut quietly behind him, John walked up to the end of the bed, resting his hands on the foot board. He stood there watching his sons sleep for a long time. Outside the window the darkness began to retreat, shedding light across the bed. The daylight made Dean look even worse, revealing how very ill he'd become. Jim was right. Something had to be done to stop Dean's downward spiral, and it had to be done quickly.

Coercion hadn't worked. Patience accomplished nothing. John had been handling his wounded child with kit gloves, afraid he would break. Now he had no more options. Dean was already broken. There was nothing to lose.

"Dean," John said roughly.

The boy's eyelashes fluttered. He stirred, moaning, before opening his eyes fully. His voice was weak and breathy when he spoke, but there was a hint of joy in it when he saw his father.

"Daddy."

John closed his eyes, fighting back the pain he felt deep in his gut. He opened them again to see Dean staring anxiously back at him. Clearing his throat, John inhaled deeply and let fly, forcing fear into anger. He had never raised his voice to the children before. Every word he uttered tore wounds in his heart, but he knew it had to be done.

"I want you to listen to me, Dean, and I want you to listen to me good. This is ending. Right now. Today. I've had enough."

At the sound of his father's angry voice, Sammy stirred in his sleep. He yawned, and rolled over. John watched him out of the corner of his eye, but his primary focus was on Dean, who lay clutching the blankets to his chest with his eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm sorry..."

"You should be, dammit! Do you think I need this from you now? Do you? Your mother was murdered, Dean, and I have to find out what did it. I can't do that when I have to rush back here like this. You aren't a baby anymore! Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Dean whispered. His voice caught in sob, the tears started falling.

John's heart shattered, but he kept going, raising his voice further, wresting all the anger and frustration he could out of the pain. "You, me, and Sammy, that's all we got left. We have to stick together. We have to be strong and you are screwing it up. You're making us weak. It's time you dry up and get over this crap!"

"But..."

"Do you want it to come back?" John demanded.

The silence was deafening. Dean stared at him in horror. "Come back?" he breathed, after a long pause. "It could come back?"

"Yes."

Turning his head, John looked at Sammy, who had pulled himself up on the side of the crib and was staring at him. The baby didn't cry, though, as John might have thought he would. He didn't make any sound at all. He simply stared.

"Yes," John repeated. "It can come back. Next time it could take me, or Sammy. You have to be strong in case it comes back. You have to protect your brother. Do you know what Mommy would say if you let anything happen to Sammy?" John forced himself to stare his older son down. "She'd be sad. She'd be disappointed in you. She'd be mad at you." He let that set in a minute before raising his arm and thrusting a finger out at the door. "Now. I'm going to go out there and make breakfast and by God if you don't eat it, I'll pry open your mouth and shove it down your throat. Is that clear?"

There was no answer, only loud, hitching sobs, and a slurred "Daddy..."

"I said dry it up, and I mean it, Dean! Right now! We're through with this."

Dean flung himself into his pillow, his tears accompanied now by anquished, hysterical screaming. "I want Mommy! I want my Mommy!"

"Mommy isn't here!" John roared. "And Mommy isn't coming..." He stopped, choking on the words, his resolve faltering. "Mommy isn't coming back," he concluded. It took him a moment to gather himself again. Tears threatened to blind him. He struggled to maintain the stern tone to his voice. "And if you don't get with the program, I will take you back to Grandma Margaret and leave you there."

"No!" Dean sobbed, clutching desperately to his pillow as he stared up at John with blood red eyes. Tears coursed down his cheeks. "Daddy!" he wailed.

"Make up your mind, and make it up quick," John snapped. He walked over to the crib and picked up Sammy. "Breakfast will be on the table. You come out and let me know what you want to do."

He left the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make Sammy flinch at the sound of the bang. Standing outside he could hear the hysterical crying continuing through the door. The sobs were randomly punctuated with muffled cries of, "Mommy." From his arms Sam gave him a worried look. John had to walk away.

"What have I done?" he asked when he finally made it into the kitchen. "God, Jim. What have I done?" Slumping down into a chair, he let Jim take Sammy and put him in a high chair. "If he didn't need therapy before, he definitely needs it now."

"Tough love isn't easy, John." The minister's gaze was sympathetic. "I'm sorry it came down to this."

John put his face in his hands. "I shouldn't have yelled at him."

"You're keeping him alive," Jim said flatly.

"Yeah, maybe." Raising his head, John wiped at his eyes. "If this doesn't work I'll have to take him back to Margaret, and what if..."

"He'll be safe." With a sigh, Jim went to the refrigerator. He gathered together a few things in order to make breakfast. "I think we both know Dean isn't who it wants," he added softly.

"I know." John whispered. "But..."

Jim's voice was kind, comforting. He came over to stand beside his friend. "But what?"

"I need him. I need both of them. They're all I have left of her, Jim." His voice trembled. "This has to work. I can't give them up. Margaret would never let me see them again, and I can't...I miss her so much. I..." He shook his head, tears filling his eyes. The words were difficult. "When I look at them, I see Mary, and it's like...she's here..."

"I understand." Jim gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You do what you have to do, John."

The conversation ended. John sat at the table resting his forehead on his hands, listening to Jim make breakfast. The smell of bacon and eggs made his stomach growl. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Jim brought him coffee. A small, trembling voice distracted him from his first sip.

"Daddy?"

John glanced over his shoulder. Dean stood in the doorway. His lashes were still wet with tears, and his nose was running. Sniffing, he wiped his face on the sleeve of his pajamas and faced his father with his emotions just barely contained. John acknowledged him with a nod and said, "Well?"

"I don't want to live with Grandma," Dean whispered anxiously. "I want to stay with you and Sammy."

It was what John desperately needed to hear. "You going to eat this nice breakfast Pastor Jim made?" he asked.

After a moment's hesitation, the boy nodded.

"You going to stop being a crybaby?"

One last sniff, and Dean nodded again.

"That's a good soldier." John's voice was rough. He wanted to pick the boy up and hold him, tell him it would be all right, but he knew to give in now would be to fail him. "Get up there and eat." he ordered. "Look at your brother. Sammy's already got half his eggs eaten."

Dean moved to obey, but he paused to check out Sammy's high chair tray along the way. His teary eyes narrowed as he examined it and the baby carefully. "Daddy, he's got half his eggs in his hair."

Non-plussed by the criticism, Sam cocked his head and held out a fist full of scrambled eggs to his brother, uttering what would be documented as his first real word.

"Dee?"


John left Mary sleeping soundly. She was exhausted. After a long day of caring for the kids, a brief round of love-making had done her in completely. Even as the bed dipped beneath her when John got up, she did not stir. John eased himself out from under the covers, letting a lock of hair run through his fingers as he slowly departed.

He was wakeful and restless, possibly still hungry. He glanced back over his shoulder and smiled down at his wife.

In his mind's eye he recalled how beautiful she'd looked on the day of their wedding, walking down the aisle toward him, looking at him with so much affection he thought his heart would burst. He hadn't been convinced he was awake and not dreaming. She'd had a radiance to her that had been almost magical to his love drunk eyes. She teased him later when he mentioned it.

"All pregnant women glow, they just don't always do it before the wedding."

But he remembered how she'd looked, all in white, carrying a bouquet of yellow and white roses that matched her shining blond hair. It was a memory permanently etched into his mind. He'd never forget it, nor the way she'd smiled at him as she left her father's arm and took his hand in hers. He had been a nervous wreck all that morning, but as she squeezed his hand and favored him with a sly, mischievous look, he knew everything was going to be all right.

And it had been.

Mary sighed in her sleep, interrupting John's reverie and tempting him to forget his growling stomach in favor of laying back down beside her. Her scent still clung to him. He could still feel her warmth. The temptation was very strong, but ultimately he chose to listen to his stomach. He would come back upstairs later. She would be there, waiting.

Before he continued downstairs John checked on the kids. Dean had uncoiled himself from around his dog and now lay sprawled face down across the bed, completely and utterly asleep. His dog had fallen to the floor. John picked it up, and pulled the blanket up over the boy, caressing his son's hair with his hand before bending to kiss him.

"Sleep tight," he whispered.

Down the hall, Sammy tossed restlessly. John didn't go all the way in, not wanting to disturb the child's efforts to sleep. Instead he lingered outside the door until the baby settled. Once confident Sam wasn't going to wake completely, he crept carefully down the stairs.

There was more leftover meat loaf. He whipped up another sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and made himself comfortable in front of the television, reclining in his favorite chair.

A good movie prevented him from returning to his bed. A full stomach and the late hour combined to put him to sleep before the film was half over. He dreamed of gunfire, the roar of fighter planes, and the scream of bombs falling through the air. The WWII setting of the movie became the jungles of 'Nam. He'd only been there a year. That had been more than enough.

The bombs fell, screaming...

Screaming.

A woman screamed.

John's eyes popped open in alarm.

"Mary? MARY!"