A/N: Hello everyone, thanks for reading! First off, the song at the end of the previous chapter was mistakenly identified as Shot to the Heart by Bon Jovi. It is in fact You Give Love a Bad Name also by Bon Jovi. It has now been corrected in the story. Thank you for understanding. CarverEdlundtheLast: As I mentioned, that's a different song. They are apparently commonly confused. My fault. Please listen to it as I put a lot of thought and effort into the songs in this fic and really want people to listen. THANK YOU FOR LIKING IT! I promise I will get the next chapter up soon. I am a lot more busy now I'm in college, but I am committed to this fic, and I am determined to see it through to the end. Hundley: I warned everyone last chapter that it would be getting rough. John was not the monster many authors portray him as, nor was he by any stretch of the imagination a good father. I will not make him evil, because he wasn't, but I won't sugarcoat his character either. Of course Dean got a lot of good from him, but he also got a lot of bad. As I mentioned in my response to an unexpected party in chapter 16: "He (John) is just a man, drowning in grief, in the middle of what is essentially a war, with two small children that he doesn't have the slightest idea what to do with or how to take care of. Basically, Mary used to fill the role of dealing with the kids, and dealing with him when he got stressed and angry (He does have something of a temper), but with her gone, he's sort of mentally replaced her with Dean. He's not evil, he's just lost, confused, and doing the best he can in impossible circumstances." Yes he made mistakes, yes he abused Dean, verbally and physically, yes he is a major reason Dean is a mental mess with literally no self-esteem. But he is also a good human being who loves his sons more than anything in the entire universe and later went to Hell for Dean without a second thought. Basically what happened was he got stressed and worried and really really scared and lashed out. Dean happened to be the one in his way. It was a crime of passion, he will calm down and think, and we will see more of the aftermath of this and how it affects the various characters. Keep reading! MaraDixon413: John has not made himself very likable this chapter, has he? What will happen? We shall see…


Chapter 19


Mark Harris sighed in relief as he prepared to leave from another long day at the office. It wasn't that he hated his job, he actually enjoyed being a literary agent. And things were going well. He had money in the bank, his kids were doing well in school, and he and his wife Alice were getting back together. He was just tired, emotionally and physically. A presence in the vent sensed that weakness, along with his two-month separation from his wife, and prepared to pounce.

Mark turned to get his briefcase and stopped, frozen in shock, "The hell…"

A long thick trail of red smoke snaked out of the air vent as he watched. By the time he gathered the presence of mind to run, it was too late. The smoke poured into him, pushing Mark into the furthest corners of his mind and putting him unconscious. His eyes flashed red, then were normal again.

"Not all of it, just part."

The creature walked over to the mirror, studying his face as though examining a new outfit at a store, "Hm. Not bad." He looked down, "Have to do something about the suit though. Bloody hell, what did he pay for this thing, twenty dollars? Doesn't anyone have a sense of style anymore?" He sighed, "Like the body though. Suppose I'll just have to get in touch with my tailor, get some things." Crowley grinned into the mirror and chuckled before walking out, turning off the office lights as he left.


John took Dean to a barbershop a few days later, after the bruise had healed, to get his hair cut. The CPS guy had gotten a really good look at Dean and, while it was unlikely they would see him again, John wanted his son to look as different as possible. Dean thought it was all very exciting. He was a fugitive, getting a disguise to hide his true identity! Long hair was hard to take care of anyway. Mommy used to deal with it, making him sit still as she combed through the long locks, often singing or telling him a story to keep him from fidgeting. He wished she were here now. He would never squirm, just sit and let her brush it, listening to her voice forever. He stared at the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror. He guessed it was okay, he'd get used to it.

John took them out for ice cream afterwards. He was feeling guilty about his blowup at Bobby's, and this was his way of trying to make up for it. He remembered all the times his temper had gotten him in trouble before. Back before Mary died, he'd come back from a stressful day at work, then get angry at Mary when everything wasn't perfect. Those fights generally ended with him storming out as Mary yelled at him. Then he'd go get drunk, staggering home sometime late that night. Mary would then proceed to ignore him the entirety of the next day. Unlike Dean, she never put up with any of his nonsense. Oh, Mary, where are you? I've made such a mess of everything. What do I do? How do I even begin to fix this? Come home, I need you. He looked at Dean, currently feeding Sam a small spoonful of his portion of ice cream.

"Yeah, there you go. Good, isn't it, Sammy?" Sam smiled and reached towards Dean's bowl. Dean slapped his hand playfully with a spoon, "Hey! Get your own!" The puppy dog eyes were unleashed and the little boy sighed, "Fine. Here." The sweet scene continued. Dean looked over at his father, and John's heart broke at the walls that instantly seemed to snap into place, "Daddy? Aren't you gonna finish your ice cream?"

"What? Uh, I don't know, sport. I don't think so."

"Then can I have it?"

"Yeah, sure." Dean reached cautiously across the table, grabbing it and pulling back to him quickly as though worried John would suddenly change his mind. Once more John wished his wife were there.


Mary stood in the front room of her house, watching the new family unpack. She supposed this was better than the house standing vacant, and they had children. A boy and a girl, the same ages Sam and Dean would be by now. Those could be her children. If the parents were gone- She stopped that thought mid-sentence. No way was she going vengeful. Nope. Not happening. It could be years before John came back, and she didn't need to be taken out by a hunter, or hurt someone, before that could happen. Those weren't her kids, and the best thing she could possibly do was stay here and protect this family until she had a chance to talk to her own. She was also working hard to develop her ghost abilities. Not when the family was around, of course. No sense scaring them more than necessary. With them there, she mostly worked to find what was tying her here. She didn't have remains, the fire had been far too thorough for that, so it had to be an object, if she could just find it! Thus far her efforts had been unsuccessful. It had to be in the basement, that was the only part of the original house still standing. For now, though, she was content to rest and watch this family's children play. She smiled. The boy reminded her so much of Dean, the way he took care of his sister and tried to help with the move-in wherever possible. She hoped her boys were okay. John had never been very good with kids, and now this had been forced on him. She remembered her adult children, tall, handsome, smart, wonderful young men, standing in front of her, begging her to leave John. There is a big difference between dying and never being born, and trust me, we're okay with it, I promise you that. Thinking that her wonderful, sweet Dean could have possibly had such a terrible life that he would ask that of her… she couldn't bear it. Surely it couldn't be John's fault though, could it? And the future wasn't set in stone, if she could just get to them, just help them… Was it John's fault?


Dean lay in bed, sobbing quietly. He didn't want to, but Daddy's words kept whirling around in his head, visions of Daddy's angry face as he hit him, memories of the pain that followed. His cheek and jaw still ached, even though the bruise had faded. He felt a pair of small arms encircle him, "It's otay, Dee."

"Go 'way, Sammy." He felt bad about ignoring the kid since leaving Uncle Bobby's, but he really didn't have the strength to deal with him lately, or anyone. Sam tightened his grip, "No."

"Dammit, Sam! I said gO AWAY!" he whirled to a sitting position, pushing Sam away. The toddler fell off the bed, looked slightly confused, then started to cry. He stood, holding out his arms and giving Dean his most convincing puppy dog eyes, even more lethal when viewed through tears, "Dee…" he called plaintively.

Dean ignored him, turning over on the bed and continuing to cry.

And so passed Christmas, 1984.


John sat in a bar, listening to Jingle Bell Rock, finishing his sixth (seventh, eighth?) beer. He had no business being there, he had a case, not to mention two kids waiting, but it was Christmas, so he would spend the time doing what he always did on holidays these days: getting drunk until he was so plastered he couldn't miss Mary anymore. Not only that, there was Dean. He couldn't bear to go back to that motel room, not after what he'd done. He couldn't bear to look into Dean's eyes, full of pain and accusation. He wasn't even sure he wasn't imagining the accusation. He was probably just torturing himself. He had tried a few times to apologize, but so far he hadn't been able to get the words out, and he had ended up doing his very best to avoid the child instead. So here he sat, drinking like a loser, wallowing in self-pity and regret.

"Hello, handsome."

John looked over to see who had spoken. A beautiful dark-haired woman sat on the stool next to him, blatantly checking him out. He smiled. He didn't know if it was the loneliness or the alcohol, but he was currently quite willing to see where this led. Even if he felt like he was cheating on Mary just talking to her. "Who are you?"

She smiled seductively, "Alison. And what might your name be?"

"I'm John." He looked her over, "You look nice. Come here often?"

"Often enouph. Mostly I'm here 'cause my jerk of a boyfriend just broke up with me and I'm looking for company. You know, Christmas." He nodded.

"So, now I've spilled my guts, what brings you here?"

He glanced at her, "'Bout the same. Christmas, lonely, looking for company."

Her eyes raked over him again, "Sounds like we're looking for the same thing."

He met her gaze, "Sounds like."

"You wanna… I don't know, see if we can find it?"

He leaned in, giving her a flirtatious smile, "Are you asking me for sex?"

She looked playfully thoughtful, "Why, yes John, I do believe I am." Her eyes slid over to look at him as she smiled, "My place?"

And in that moment all his doubts melted. He no longer cared what was pushing him toward Alison. If it was the alcohol, or trying to forget Mary, or the mess he had made with Dean, or just the fact that he hadn't been with a woman in well over a year, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the here and now and that she was pretty and he wanted her, "I thought you'd never ask."


A/N: Well I hope I didn't butcher that last scene. I have no idea how flirtation works, especially not drunken flirting in a bar that ends in a one-night-stand. If you have a better idea for how that dialogue should have gone, feel free to visualize that instead.