Title: Pillars of Fire

By: L. Burke

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but some really bad jokes.

Summary: Questioning his place in the Brotherhood, during a medical crisis for Dean, John Winchester remembers back on leaving Lawrence.

Timeline: Brotherhood AU- Takes place after and deals with events in Tidia's story "Rights of Passage". It also references Rid's story where was stated Dean's allergic to penicillin.

Warnings: This story will mention and reference events of WWII and the Holocaust. It also contains some culturally sensitive words and themes. It also has religious references.

Acknowledgements: This story is my Beta's fault. She asked me to write a story that explains why John Winchester doesn't get in to Christmas and not make him a bastard.

Author's Notes for Chapter One:

Challenge Coins and the Coin Check Game- The coin challenge game mentioned in this story is a military tradition. Its reported roots go back to WWII where, by legend, a rich Army Air Service commander commissioned special medallions made for every member of his squadron. One of the pilots in the squadron was later shot down behind enemy lines and the German confiscated all his forms of ID except for the 'Coin'. The American pilot escaped his captors and made contact with a French patrol. He used his 'coin' to prove his identity and prevent the French from executing him as a German saboteur.

It later became tradition in the various branches of the US military to celebrate major events in a military career, like graduating from boot camp, by presenting the service member a coin. Commanders would also present them as way of saying 'good job' for a duty well done. From that the 'Coin Challenge' game mentioned in this story evolved in the jungles of Vietnam and is still very popular today.

--888--

Pillars of Fire

The LORD went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night. Exodus 13:21,22.

"Junior, will you stop pacing and looking out the damned window." John Winchester snarled from couch. He had had his cast foot propped up on a pillow on the coffee table. "They're both fine, and you're driving me batty."

Caleb Reaves watched the snow fall steadily outside. He was not worrying. "Jim and Dean should be back from the doctor's by now."

"Relax. Jim drives like a granny on a good day." John informed him as he tried to angle and find a comfortable position on the sofa for his broken right foot. "God damn turn-of-the-century craftsmanship and three-inch, solid oak doors anyway."

"The snow is really coming down outside."

"Junior, step away from that window," John replied matter-of-fact. "Or so help me, I'm getting up and kicking your ass."

Caleb turned from the window and shot John an amused look. "You'd have to catch me. Besides, you get up off the sofa and you forfeit your challenge coin to Dean. You're stuck on that couch until the doctor clears a walking cast."

John's dark eyes flashed. "Dean took unfair advantage of the situation. It was use of a challenge coin with Jim-like, Machiavellian intent. I need to stop letting the two of them play together."

Caleb smirked at the injured man on the couch. He'd bet John was regretting teaching Dean the rules of the old military coin challenge game. "You know coin check rules. Any time, any place. You lost. Dean won. Now you must suffer through Dean's appointed sofa detail."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "Easy for you to say, you haven't been stuck on this lumpy thing for an entire week. My own son ambushed me."

Caleb walked from the window and plunked in to a chair next to the couch. "And it was a beautiful thing. Stop complaining. Dean did it because he was worried about you and wanted your foot checked out."

John glared. "My foot is fine."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Your foot is broken in three places. You still can't even put weight on it."

"I've had worse." John stated in a tone that left no room for argument. "Have you started the book I gave you to read?"

It was Caleb's turn to shoot his mentor a dirty look. "Why are you forcing me to read Primo Levi's 'If Not Now, When?"

"If I am not for myself, who will be? And when I am for myself, what am 'I'? And if not now, when?" John simply replied. "I'm bored. Making you read a classic shuts your father up. And finding new ways to torment you makes me happy. It's all win-win for me."

Caleb smiled. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to try using a wheelchair for a while, Johnny? I could park you on top of the stairs and forget to set the hand break."

"Dad, are we Irish?" Four year-old Samuel Winchester looked up from the coffee table and four-leaf clover he was cutting out of green construction paper.

"Yes," John Winchester huffed. "Didn't we already go over this, Kiddo? Half. On your mother's side."

"But you're not Irish."

"Correct." John replied.

"Is Santa Irish?"

John took a deep breath. You could tell the oldest Winchester was drawing on a deep reserve of patience, especially when it came to the subject of 'The Claus'. Everyone agreed Sammy had to let it go sooner or later. "I have no idea if the big guy wears green on St. Paddy's Day or not."

"Would Pastor Jim know? He's Irish. " Sammy gave his father a hopeful look, "Did Grandma make green frosted cupcakes for St. Patrick's Day like Pastor Jim does?"

"I don't know." John sounded exasperated. You could tell he was silently cursing Jim's neighbor a few miles down the road that hadn't taken his Christmas lights down yet. "My mom didn't. She was Italian."

"Did she tell you to always leave the gun and take the Cannoli," Caleb asked innocently.

"Keep it up, Junior".

"What's an Italian?" Sammy asked.

"That's what people from Italy are called." John informed him.

"Why don't Italians make cupcakes for St. Patrick's Day?"

"Because they feel strongly it's much more of an Irish mob thing, Runt," Caleb replied to Sammy gleefully.

"Because," John growled and glared at his protégé, "The Italians were too busy doing things like building Rome or helping launch the Renaissance."

"But the Italians didn't make cupcakes for St. Patrick's Day." Sammy didn't sound impressed.

John shot a look to the heavens that said 'Help me'. "My mother could make a mean Minestra di Riso per Pesach."

Sammy stopped working on his clover. "Pesach? What's that?"

"It's the Passover holiday." John sighed.

Caleb stared. "You're Jewish?"

"My mother's family was." John stated matter of fact.

"What's Jewish?" Sammy asked.

"Oh, why did I have to bust my driving foot?" John pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I need a cigarette. Ask Jim when he gets home, Sammy. He'll be able to explain it much better than I could."

"Okay, I'll ask Pastor Jim," Sammy nodded. Then he looked at his father innocently, "Can we make cupcakes?"

John shot his youngest a scathing look. "You just don't quit do you, Kiddo?"

"Hello," Jim Murphy's voice called from the kitchen. "We're home."

"Well?" John demanded, "What was the Doc's verdict?"

"Exactly what we suspected, Dean has tonsillitis," Jim informed them as he walked in to the living room. The pastor took off his coat, and hung it up. Dean was following behind. "We needed to stop and get a prescription for penicillin filled on the way home."

"I told ya, Dean. You needed to go see the doctor." Sam gloated happily.

"Yup, could tell by the snoring, Deuce," Caleb chimed in.

Sammy nodded. "It sounds like a freight train."

Caleb nodded. "It was keeping us awake."

Dean glared at both of them. Then he croaked out, "At this moment I feel so cherished. Just keep in mind Damien, I have pictures of you holding Jenny Richardson's purse at the mall."

"Purse?" John asked. He perked up with sudden interest. "You have pictures of Junior holding a purse?"

Dean nodded. "A nice, big, pink, glittery one."

John smiled maliciously at Caleb. "The lengths you'll go to for a girl with a large rack, huh, Junior?" Then he happily announced to Dean, "We can negotiate later."

Dean looked at Caleb and smirked. "We already have several interested parties lined-up. One prospective buyer even mentioned the words 'Christmas Cards' and 'Slide Show'."

"You do realize? I'm going to get you." Caleb stated to Dean pleasantly. Then he glared at Sammy "And your little blackmail, collaborator too."

Sammy smiled back and shrugged. "The money was good. And Dean promised me cookies."

"How did everything go while we were gone?" Jim asked, ignoring the exchange. He knelt down and helped Dean out of his coat.

"The three of us bonded over warm, fuzzy baby chicks and rainbows," John replied sarcastically. "It's official. Dean is now my favorite."

"You're ability to nurture relationships, John," Jim replied, "Never ceases to inspire me."

"Don't I know it," John fired back. "We keep up all this touchy-feely crap up. I'll be featured crying on Oprah next. I need a smoke. Where did you hide my cigarettes?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "You don't give-up do you? Think of this as you embracing an opportunity to give up your deadly, filthy nicotine habit. Quitting will add years to your life."

John scowled. "They're the diaper wearing, nursing home years. I don't want 'um."

Jim smiled, and handed John a bag. "Too bad. I bought you gum."

"I'm all chewy with anticipation," John responded dryly.

"Pastor Jim," Sammy spoke up, "Is Santa Irish?"

"Please, not Santa again," Dean muttered as he handed Jim his coat to hang up.

Jim shot Sammy an unruffled look. "I really don't know, Samuel. I'd like to think he wears a wee bit of the green. He's a 'right jolly, old elf' after all."

John snorted. "If I smoked and ate like Santa does, I'd be a jolly, old, fat elf too."

"John," the pastor warned.

Sammy watched as his father moved over to make a spot for Dean to sit down. "Pastor Jim, could we have cupcakes for dinner?"

Jim pretended to think about it as he took the spare chair by the fire. "I suppose we could. However, what would you suggest we serve Dean? He has a very sore throat and he's not feeling very well."

"We could always have kid stew," John threw out innocently.

"You can't eat me." Sammy gave his father a very confident look.

John's dark eyes sparkled with amusement. He pulled Dean in a little closer to check the boy's temperature. "Oh really? Now, why would you say that?"

With utmost certainly Sammy replied, "Because Dean won't let you. And every one knows that in the wild the lame animals get eaten first."

"You'd eat your own father?" John pretended to look shocked.

"Well," Sammy said thoughtfully. "I'd have to be really, really hungry."

Caleb choked down his laughter. "Don't worry, Runt. I'll help you hold your old man down."

"Babies are such a cute way of starting people" John grumbled. "It's how nature lures unsuspecting idiots in."

"Oh Samuel, you just made this old man's night," Jim stated as he wiped tears of glee from his eyes. "But your father was teasing and meant goat when he suggested 'kid'. A baby goat is called a 'kid'."

"Oh." Sammy nibbled on his lower lip for a few moments. "Could we make chicken-noodle soup for Dean? It always makes me feel better when I'm sick."

"That's an excellent idea, Samuel. That way Dean can eat before he takes his medicine." Jim leaned in closer to Sammy. "But we have a problem. We can't make soup without hot, home-made bread to go with it. Don't you agree?"

Sammy nodded.

"Well there's our quandary," Jim replied. "We can't make both bread and cupcakes, and we can't make chicken soup without bread. I only have one oven. What should we do?"

Sammy looked over at his brother, back at Pastor Jim, then back to Dean again. "We should make the soup for Dean. He's sick."

"Are you sure?" Jim prompted. "Making soup means we can't have cupcakes."

Sammy simply nodded again. "I'm sure." Then the young boy asked, "What's Jewish? Daddy said to ask you."

"Well," Jim started, "that's a very, very complicated question."

John grinned evilly at his friend and put his cast foot back up on the coffee table. "I'd keep it simple, Jim, and start with: In the beginning…"

--888--

Dead kids got to him.

They always had.

As a top neurosurgeon, and later as a FBI psychological consultant, Mackland Ames had been taught to be detached and distanced. He had been trained to impersonally study human carnage and quickly and logically decide either a treatment course, or later, a profile for a possible suspect.

Most times he managed to do just that.

Except cases that involved kids.

Tonight, after seeing the worst that humanity could dish out for the last week, he needed to see Caleb's face. He wanted to listen to John grousing about Kool-Aid stains and how they never came out of anything. Hear Jim lecturing the boys about fighting. Stretch out by the fire and happily listen to Sammy chattering about his latest school assignment.

That was the reason Mac breathed a huge sigh relief when Jim's small farm came in to view.

Tonight he needed home.

Mac opened the kitchen door and a rush of warm immediately fell over him.

"Alright Samuel, Where was I?" Jim Murphy's patient voice came from the dinning room. "Oh yes, answering your question. Abraham had two children, Isaac and Ishmael. Isaac had another two children, Esau and Jacob. Jacob, however, would be the only son to carry forward his Grandfather Abraham's creed."

"You follow any of that, Kiddo?" John's bored voiced asked.

Mac's mouth quirked upward when he heard Sammy's baffled reply of, "No."

"Anyway," Jim continued, "Jacob…"

"Who was the biggest wussy on the face of the planet," John butted in.

Mac chuckled when he heard Jim retort sharply, "I was getting to that, Jonathan. And who's telling this story anyway?" Then the pastor called out, "Mackland feel free to join us whenever you're ready."

The next thing Mac knew he had a four-year old, blonde bundle of energy racing towards him at full speed. Sammy leapt in to his arms, and shouted, "Mac!"

Mac hugged the boy a little closer. "Hello, Samuel. Did I miss anything while I was away?"

"Dean's sick," Sammy informed him. "He had to go to the doctor today. At dinner Caleb explained how mummies were made. Did you know they pulled the brains out the nose with a hook? That was cool."

Mac sighed at his son's morbid streak. "How appetizing of him."

Sammy nodded. "Then Dean started talking about his report on the tactics Hannibal used to slaughter the Romans at the Battle of Cannae. Did you know Hannibal managed to kill one quarter of the Roman Senate in one battle?"

"Really?" Mac replied.

Sammy nodded. "Yup. Then Pastor Jim told them to cut it out because that was not polite conversation for the dinner table."

Mac smiled. "Pastor Jim was completely right."

"Before you walked in, Pastor Jim was trying to answer my question of what's Jewish," Sammy informed him. "And Daddy was making him mad."

"Your father does tend to have that affect on people," Mac replied as he put the little boy down. "Why don't you let me take my coat off and I'll join everyone at the table?"

"Okay," Sammy said eagerly as he wiggled out of Mac's arms.

"Dad," Caleb acknowledged warmly as Mac walked in.

John looked him up and down and slid a chair out. "Park it, Mac. You look like you're about to fall over."

Mac sat down in the offered chair. "Accurate enough."

Then John turned and addressed his oldest son, "Dean, time for bed. Go take your medicine and help Sammy get ready."

"Yes, Sir," Dean croaked out in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"Do I have to?" Sammy whined. "Mac just got here. I wanted to show him my school project."

"Yes Samuel, now," Jim replied gently. "You can show Mac your school project in the morning."

Mac smiled at the eight year old. "How are you feeling, Dean?"

"I'm fine," the eight year old replied roughly. He rolled his eyes. "I wish they'd stop fussing."

As Dean got up from the table to collect Sammy, Mac took that moment to study Dean. The little boy looked miserable. The food on his plate was barely touched. A definite testament to how the eight year old was feeling. He had dark circles under his eyes and no voice. From where he was sitting, Mac saw the glands around the little boy's neck were swollen.

"You want any help holding the Runt down to use the soap tonight, Deuce?" Caleb asked his friend.

Dean shook his head. "I've got him. Help Pastor Jim settle the horses."

"Yeah, Yeah, I got it, Deuce." Caleb replied. Then the older hunter looked at Sammy. "Don't give your septic sibling a hard time, Runt."

John addressed Sammy. "What's our motto about soap?"

Sammy glared back and scowled. "If the soap isn't wet, you aren't finished yet."

John gestured towards the stairs with his head. "Yup. Now get your asses moving."

With a, "Come on, Sammy", the boys headed up stairs.

John eyed the stairs and shook his head. "That boy…"

"Is becoming more and more your mirror every day," Mac finished as Jim handed him a bowl.

John ran a tired hand over his face. "Don't remind me."

Mac served himself some soup. It smelled delicious. It took everything he had not to rip in to the food full steam.

"Dean must favor Mary." Jim added carefully. The pastor handed Mac a couple of large slices of bread.

"Yes and no. Sammy is the best and worst of Mary and me." John gave them a sad half smile. "Dean looks like Mary. Temperament wise, however, Dean favors my mother."

Mac spread some butter and honey onto the bread Jim handed him. His ears perked up in curiosity when John mentioned his mother. "Your mother was a leader in the Italian Resistance in World War II wasn't she?"

"She was?" Caleb asked curiously.

"Yeah, she was. She was considered quite brilliant when it came to guerrilla warfare." John replied in a soft tone. Then he glared at Jim. "I thought this was common knowledge since members of the Brotherhood found it fit to inspect my family tree to see if there is any 'tainted blood' flowing through my son's veins."

Caleb's eyes widened.

"John," Jim warned, "that's quite enough."

John's dark eyes flashed angrily. "No, I don't think it is."

"I do," Jim replied in a tone that left no room for argument. Then sensing this discussion was drifting in to dangerous territory the pastor changed the topic. Jim stood up and smiled at Caleb. "I believe it's time for me to see to the horses in for the night. Care to join me?"

The sixteen year-old nodded and went to quickly put his coat and shoes on.

"We will discuss this later, privately," Jim informed John matter-of-fact.

John stuck a stick of gum in his mouth. "Can't wait. You know where to find me."

Jim opened his mouth to retort and then snapped it shut. "Never mind. You're simply impossible sometimes."

John smiled. It was more baring of teeth. "If you say so. It's my charm."

Jim took a deep cleansing breath. Then he addressed Mac. "I'm leaving this grouch in your capable hands. If he goes anywhere other than that couch demand his coin for Dean. If you suddenly feel the undeniable urge to put him out of our misery, don't hold back on my account."

With that Jim stalked after Caleb.

Mac looked back and forth from Jim's retreating back to John. "Am I missing something?"

John shrugged. "I'm in trouble again."

A spoonful of soup stopped midway to Mac's mouth. "How is that unusual?" Then the doctor looked at his friend. "John, I apologize. I didn't know the topic of your mother made you uncomfortable. If I had known, I never would have brought it up."

"I know," John stated softly. A set of earnest dark eyes met his. "Can I ask you an honest question?"

Mac took a spoonful of his soup. "Of course."

"What the hell was Jim drinking when he appointed me Knight?" John truly looked baffled. "I'm nothing like Daniel."

"Points in your favor," Mac replied as he took a bit of bread.

"I'm not charming, politically correct, or diplomatic. I piss off members of the Brotherhood constantly."

The doctored grinned. "You keep life interesting. Jim loves every minute of it."

"I don't do sensitive," John grumbled. "Hell, I don't even do nurturing with the kids. When Junior starts with his woe-to-me, I'm-part-demon crap, I kick his ass. Then I tell him to suck it up, climb down off his cross, and use the wood to build a nice bridge to get-the-fuck-over-it because I don't want to hear it."

"And you have no idea how much my son adores you for it."

John rolled his eyes. "I showed up at Jim's door with what I could carry, a package of saltines, and two traumatized kids. Let's not forget, I came in hot with loads of trouble on my ass."

"Happy anniversary by the way," Mac informed him as the doctor took another spoonful of his soup. "And I think we've already touched established that you make life interesting."

"Tonight is the night I and the kids showed up on Jim's door isn't it?" John sighed, "I don't think I'm cut out for this Knight gig, Mac. I don't fit in with this good old boy's club."

"You fit a lot better than I do," Mac replied. He put his spoon down.

"That's what you think." John cleared his throat. "The other day I lost my temper with Griffin and suggested he remember to don his white hood before he had his goons show up at your and Junior's door to burn that cross."

Mac groaned. "Please tell me you didn't."

"I did," John replied cheerfully. "Porter went digging into my and Mary's families looking for 'tainted blood'. I lost my temper."

There was a scurrying at the stairs and suddenly Samuel's frightened form raced right toward them. "Mac!"

Mac scooped the boy in to his arms. "What is it, Samuel?"

"Dean's really sick! You need to come quick!"