Minnesota had seen an unfortunate drop in temperature that resulted in an overnight frost. Not to mention, the heavy snowfall that made it nearly impossible for the residents of Blue Earth to do much else other than miserably wipe their car windshields off, and hope that the weather soon cleared. The snowfall was not that unexpected, but it's sudden appearance, meant a drastic change in plans for some people who were planning more outdoors-y activities for the day. One of those people was residing in a quieter part of Blue Earth, in a small, two-story home that was situated only a few streets down from his church.

Jim Murphy was used to the harsh Minnesota winters, but he was a bit surprised at how fast it had decided to rear its ugly head. Being in the middle of winter usually meant catching up on the mountain of work he had to do, which also included drafting a sermon for that Sunday. The weather seemed to have zapped his inspiration dry, as his hand clenched the pen and hovered over the notepad he used to write his sermons down. He could schedule a few counseling sessions with some people from the church who had left him a message. He had already spoken to two of those people, and softly assured them that he would be available soon.

One of the many responsibilities he had as a pastor, was also providing his counseling services to the folk in his church. Some of them simply needed a reassuring voice to let them know that their problems were not as ugly as they thought, and sometimes they needed counseling for a marriage on the brink of divorce. And even counseling for people who had suffered a loss. Those were the hardest to sit through and watch as the people relived the death of their loved one, and tearfully asked him how God could let something like that happen. Especially if it was someone who was young, who died before their time.

Picking up the phone on his desk after debating whether or not to start the next phase of his work, he scrubbed a hand down his face, and plastered on his best polite tone as he conversed with the young woman on the other end of the line. She was going through a fractured marriage, and wanted to schedule a meeting with the pastor as soon as possible. After assuring her that he would be available sometime during the next week, he hung the phone up, and made a similar appointment with a young man who was seeking direction for the death of his fiancee. From his limited understanding, he gathered she had died from an accident.

Hanging the phone up once he was sure he had made all the calls he needed to make, he tried to make heads or tails of his sermon, and found himself staring at a blank page while his pen hung limply in his hand. The message was already planned out by the elders in his church, but he could not seem to fit the words to the message he was supposed to give. Crumpling up the useless piece of paper and tossing it a few feet into the trash can, he leaned back in his office chair, and tried to understand where the mental block was in his mind. He was always able to write sermons, even under stress and time limits, but he could not this time. If he could venture a guess, the pastor supposed it was due to the unforeseen circumstances he had been forced into by the disappearance of his friend.

John Winchester had been missing for nearly a week with no phone calls, and certainly no sign of the novice hunter. He had gone on a spirit hunt, that Jim assumed was supposed to be simple. It had turned out to be anything but simple, and left the pastor in the terrible position of having to find him, and also having to somehow keep his two young sons from knowing too much before they were supposed to. Even though John was a new hunter, Jim had complete confidence that he would be able to tackle the job before him. A spirit hunt was relatively easy for any hunter, new or old, if they had the right smarts for the job. John did.

Glancing out into the living room, which was right in view of his study, he noted Sam and Dean watching a television show that he had set up for them before retreating to his office to attempt to make his sermon. The two boys had been troopers for a long week while Jim offered half-hearted explanations for why their father was not back yet. Sam, being only one, was far too little to understand what was happening, but Dean was keenly aware that something was wrong. The five-year-old was too intelligent for his age, and that made the uneasy job of keeping him from the truth, that much harder.

The pastor did not know what he would do if he had to tell Dean that his father was dead. There was no simple way of telling a child that their parent had died, especially one who had already lost a parent before. Dean would be aware of what was going on, and he would probably guess what Jim would say to him.

Standing up once he was sure his sore muscles would be able to withstand it after being in the chair for so long, he stretched uneasily and closed his sermon book, and also his notebook in which he kept important hunting information, as well as his list of contacts to call. The house was silent, apart from the low sound of the television, and the air conditioner blasting a comfortable amount of warmth into the house. Standing at the entrance to his study, he wondered what he would do to keep two young boys occupied, and away from the TV for so long.

He was not against television, and used it far more than he would like to as a temporary babysitter, but Dean was getting far too used to asking for a certain show to watch, and being granted his request. The little boy needed much more stimulation than what a few hours of cartoons could offer to him. Sam was happy to just be by his big brother's side. Jim watched while the little baby alternated between crawling and scooting on the floor as he searched for a hidden toy under the sofa. Ever in tune with Sam's needs, Dean noticed him searching for the toy, and easily plucked it from the sofa.

When the TV show finally reached a commercial break, which advertised a cereal Dean happened to like, Jim decided now was the time to make his grand entrance into the room. His appearance did little to attract Sam's attention, who was happily gnawing on his hard toy, but it did draw Dean's attention away from the TV for the first time in a long time. His hazel eyes were soft, downcast, and uncharacteristically sad for a little boy. It broke Jim's heart to see how he was trying to remain strong for his brother, while also casting himself aside in the process.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Jim asked, motioning the five-year-old to come closer to him.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Watching TV."

Jim smiled. "Thundercats?"

His question elicited a rare smile from the toddler. It brought an unexpected feeling of warmth to Jim's heart. Anything that he could do (either intentionally or unintentionally) to draw Dean out of his sadness was good enough for him. Even when Dean was looking at him, he was also keeping a close on Sam. It was amazing to see the bond developing between the two.

"No. Tiny Toons."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why did you pick that show? I thought Thundercats was your favorite."

Dean rolled his eyes, displaying such a John-like attitude that it nearly made Jim do a double-take. "It is. But when Sammy saw this show, he clapped his hands." Dean demonstrated what his brother did. "Then he cried when I turned it off."

Jim smiled, ruffling Dean's unruly hair. "You're a good big brother, Dean. Always watching out for Sammy, aren't you?"

Dean nodded seriously, puffing out his chest. "Yes! Daddy told me to watch out for Sammy."

Jim tried to keep his comments to himself when Dean spoke about the unrealistic expectations he put on his five-year-old son. Watching out for Sam was not an unrealistic expectation, but Jim knew that John often put too much responsibility for the child on his oldest son. According to Dean, there were times he would be expected to feed and even watch Sam while John left for short periods of time.

If Jim didn't know that being torn away from his father would break Dean's heart, he would be sorely tempted to do something about getting Sam and Dean into his care on a more permanent basis. There was simply no excuse for leaving two children alone in a seedy motel room, while all kinds of people could be camping out next door. The thought of it made Jim's blood pressure start to rise.

"That's right." Jim offered a tight smile. "And you are doing a great job. But you know, Dean, it's okay to look out for you, too." Jim tried to be as sensitive as he could while broaching that subject with the child. It was not in Dean's nature to look out for anyone but those he cared about. Even himself.

"But Daddy said-"

"I know," Jim assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder to further engage him in the conversation. "But what about you, son?"

Dean looked at him as though he was trying to figure out what he meant. "What about me?" His voice sounded so small, so unlike Dean that it nearly severed Jim's heart.

"Aren't you sad? Or maybe," Jim said, trying to angle the words in a way Dean could understand. "Angry?"

Dean shrugged, then seemed to change his mind, and nodded slowly in consent. "A little." He held up two fingers. "Just a little."

"That's okay," Jim said, trying his best to comfort him. "That's normal, Dean." Reaching down to scoop Sam up when he got dangerously close to a power outlet, he held the squirming infant in his arms. "That's okay to feel like that."

There was only so much a small child could take with all the change that had happened in his life. It was too much for any adult person to tackle, let alone a small boy like Dean, who as strong as he was, was also not immune to the feelings of anger and sadness that he was not admitting to feeling to the elder pastor. When Jim had first met Dean, he had been astounded at the ease in which he carried himself, and the fierce love he had for his father and brother. Over time, he had learned that his first impression of the boy, was exactly who Dean was in the most literal sense of the word.

Over time, Jim had also picked up that John had, in some ways, expected Dean to shove aside his own feelings about certain things and take up the role of child soldier in this battle he had no idea was even in his life. A five-year-old had no business knowing about the supernatural, and what killed his own mother. John had not yet revealed that critical information to him, but he was starting to train the child to repress his own emotions so that they would not get in the way of doing the job and protecting his brother. It made Jim mad that John was putting all of that on a five-year-old.

"Don't tell Daddy," Dean whispered, as though he was afraid to speak too loud.

"Don't tell Daddy…what?" Jim asked, even though he was painfully aware of what Dean was talking about.

"Don't tell him I told you I was sad and angry."

Jim reached forward and pulled the child into his lap, balancing him and Sam on two knees was interesting, but Jim managed to handle it. Sam was delighted to have his brother in such close proximity again, and let that be known by the way he playfully batted at Dean, and tried to pull at his hair, which Dean expertly avoided. Having Dean on his lap, so close to him, let him feel just how tense the child was. There was no reason a small child should feel that kind of tension in his body.

"Dean," Jim said softly. "What do you think would happen if your Dad knew you were sad?"

Dean was quiet while he contemplated that answer. With John, Jim knew it could be a variety of answers that would end up making his anger even more so. It was challenging to keep his anger at bay, and never let Dean know that he was feeling anything negative toward his beloved father. Keeping his trust to allow him to open up was crucial to him.

"He…he would say I need to take care of Sammy. I can't be sad. I have to take care of Sam."

"You know, Dean," Jim tucked some of the child's hair away from his eyes. "It's okay to feel sad."

"No, it's not," Dean insisted, shaking his head. "Daddy said not to."

"Because of Sammy?" Jim questioned incredulously. "You can still take care of your brother, and feel sad."

Dean still remained doubtful, and Jim did not want to push him into a corner where he refused to say anything that might help Jim understand him a little bit better. Wisely deciding to drop the immediate topic, he looked out the window that was directly across from them, and noted that the snow had blissfully stopped falling. It was still cold outside, but Jim wondered if going outside somewhere might help Dean out of the funk that he was in.

It had been a few days since the boys had been allowed outside to play in the backyard, and even longer since they had ventured outside of the house for anything. John had left two car seats for the boys, but Jim had yet to take advantage of them. Putting his hand on his chin while Dean slid out of his lap settle on the floor with a very curious Sam, he watched as the two of them started building a block tower. Sam, for the most part, was unaware of the concept of building something, and instead chose to refine his skills in knocking the tower down.

"Sam!" Dean said, torn between anger and laughter. "That's not what you do!"

"De!" Sam yelled delightedly. "More!"

"Sam! You'll knock it down!"

Jim smiled. "That's okay, Dean. At his age? That's what they all love to do."

Dean thought about that for a second. "Maybe." His tone made it clear that he still did not have to like it.

Jim watched as Dean reluctantly built the tower, and then stood back to allow his little brother to instantly demolish the carefully built building his brother had taken great care to construct. Watching them learn to play together was a great pleasure, and Jim could only feel pity for John that he was missing these moments of his two boys playing together and growing to cooperate with each other. His work as a hunter was good, but nothing was more important than his two sons.

"Hey, Dean," Jim said, once his mind was made up. "Let's get out of here, okay? You, me, and Sammy."

Dean looked up from the blocks, which Sam immediately took advantage of, and started chewing as many of them as he could fit into his mouth. The pieces were much too large for him to accidentally swallow, and that eased the fear that the hunter would have otherwise felt at seeing what he was seeing.

"Go where?"

Jim shrugged, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Well, it's too cold to go outside. So maybe we can go to the play land?" When the boys were in his care, he often took them to a McDonalds play area which allowed the boys to blow off endless amounts of energy, and gave him time to sit and not worry as much as he would have otherwise.

Dean seemed to consider this proposal very seriously. "Can Sammy play, too?"

Jim laughed kindly. "I think he might be too little. But he can sit with me, and we'll find something for him to do, too."

Dean, once again, fell silent as he considered what Jim was suggesting. "Okay."

Getting two boys ready for the frigid weather and out the door, was not as easy as Jim (foolishly) assumed it would be. Dean, for the most part, was self-sufficient and could even properly place his shoes on the correct feet. Watching as the five-year-old expertly zipped his own coat up, Jim marveled at the amount of skills he had to learn since his mother had died. Sam, on the other hand, was entirely at the mercy of his brother and Jim for getting himself ready and out the door. It was funny to watch Sam attempt to get his coat on, and then realize that he still needed help.

Zipping up the blue coat John had brought for him one visit a few weeks earlier, Jim noted how small the coat already was on the one-year-old. Sam, he noticed, was growing like a leaf and did not seem to be slowing down in the slightest. His brother was growing, but seemed to be going about the process at a much more conservative pace. Chuckling quietly to himself at the differences in the two boys, Jim bent down and helped the small boy latch his shoes. Luckily for the pastor, they were the ones that had Velcro straps and not laces.

Standing up after what seemed like ages of sitting in the same spot, he made sure Dean had gotten all his things on the right way, before grabbing his own coat, and hooking the car keys around his finger. The outside was beckoning them to come out, but Jim was not entirely sure exposing them to the chilly air was the best idea. Even if they were only making the short walk to the car. Looking at the two expectant faces that were waiting for him to open the door, he knew he could not deny them the chance to run and play for a little while. He would deal with any potential illness later on.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, after a short recess. Sam, being Sam, took the opportunity to stomp around in the thick snow that had fallen on the ground. Dean, to Jim's surprise, joined in the fun, and opened his tongue to collect all of the snowflakes that he could. It was these stolen moments that were rare and priceless. Shepherding them into the car, Jim watched as Dean made sure Sam was buckled in before he let Jim buckle him in.

"Uncle Jim?" Dean asked, swinging his feet idly from his car seat.

"Yes, Dean?" Jim replied, studying the small child from the rearview mirror.

Dean smiled, perhaps knowing that his request might be pushing it just a little bit. "Can I listen to AC/DC?"

Jim winced, hoping that the small child would not see it. He did not mind it when Dean requested to listen to music that did not clash with his own personal convictions so much, but AC/DC was another matter to him. Sighing softly, he looked at the expectant gaze of the small child, and resigned himself to a little bit of compromise.

"Sure, Dean. We can listen to that for a little while."

Reaching up into the tape holder he had set up above him, he hesitantly grabbed the CD John had given him that Dean always liked to listen to when they were on the road. Ordinarily, the pastor did not listen to the type of music that Dean and John liked, but he was willing to indulge Dean while so much remained up in the air with his father.

"Thanks!"

"You're welcome."

Settling into the drive while the first track played, he watched Dean bob his head to the music, and he knew he had made the right choice in letting him have that small taste of freedom from his thoughts. The place they were going to was not far from the house, and before Jim knew it, they were pulling into the parking lot of the local McDonalds. When they pulled in, Dean did not hesitate to take off his own seatbelt, and then promptly assisted Jim in helping Sam.

Keeping the kids by his side while they traversed across the parking lot was difficult, but only because both of them were ecstatic to finally get out and have an adventure for the afternoon. Not to his surprise, the place was packed with people who were desperate to get their kids out of the house for the day. The play area was inside another set of doors that was blocked off from the main part of the eating area. Jim was grateful that Dean stood obediently by his side while they ordered food, before taking off for the play area.

Keeping Sam close by his side while Dean took off for the jumble of climbing equipment that was set up near the eating area, Jim watched as Dean fully delighted in tackling the enormous monstrosity that was the McDonalds play ground. He showed no fear in climbing to such heights, and even gleefully waved down at them from one of the tallest points of the tower. Sam was not oblivious to what Dean was doing, but also seemed to be content to eat the lunch he had in front of him.

Glancing around the room, Jim noted a small phone near the wall. It had been awhile since he had heard from Caleb, and he was anxious to reach him and receive an update to their ongoing investigation. It was his luck that he had Caleb in the ideal location to take over the physical search for John. Keeping one eye on Dean, and the other on the telephone, he moved smoothly across the room to reach it.

Holding Sam with one hand, he punched in the number for Caleb's motel room. The ringing tone dragged on for what seemed like an eternity, until someone picked up on the other end.

"Caleb?"

"Hey, Jim." There was something wrong. Caleb sounded numb, almost.

"What's wrong?" He adjusted Sam in his arms, and tried to ignore how fast his heart had started to pound.

"I found something. I was about to call you…"

Jim closed his eyes, trying to breathe evenly. "It's okay, Caleb." He paused. "What did you find?"

The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening. It did nothing but reinforce Jim's belief that something had happened that he was about to hear about. Looking at Dean, he could see he was still making his way all over the enormous structure in the play room. His laughter was as surprising as it was a welcome relief from the way he was just a short time ago.

"Jim…John's…he's dead."