Chapter One: Dust In The Wind

John Winchester looked down at his newborn son cradled in his wife's arms and smiled.

Mary tore her gaze away from the infant and turned her attention to her husband. Instead of appearing happy, the woman was frowning, her eyebrows knitted together.

"There… there's something wrong," she murmured tiredly, "John… I… don't feel so good…"

The father stared into his wife's face for a moment, noticing how white she had gone, how her blonde hair was plastered to her brow with sweat, how glassy her eyes were and turned to speak to one of the nurses still in the room when he saw the red stain of blood spreading out from between his wife's legs beneath the blue hospital blankets.

"Mary?" John said, confused for a moment before that bewilderment changed to panic, "Mary!"

A nurse, hearing the exclamation approached and gripped the father's arm, "Sir, you have to leave… you can't be in here right now…"

"Call Dr. Simpson back! Now!"

"Get him out of here!"

"We're losing her fast!"

John stared at his wife- at the nurses surrounding his wife- and was too stunned to fight against the pressure on his arm as he was guided out of the room and into the hallway.

"Mary!" he cried as the door slammed in his face, barring him from room where his wife and son were, "MARY!"

Running footsteps caught John's attention and he saw Mary's doctor sprinting down the hallway towards him.

"Doctor-" the father began, only to be ignored as the physician opened the door to the room and stepped inside without a word.

John paced the area in front of the door, every so often looking up, willing Dr. Simpson to come out and say that everything was going to be alright, that this kind of thing happened all the time, but he didn't and the father felt dread well up in his chest, as the minutes passed.

Something was very, very wrong. But what, John didn't know. He didn't understand. This was their second child. Their first son, Dean, had been born healthy and happy, and Mary had been perfectly fine, able to go home only a few hours after giving birth. There had been no complications with either mother or child but now…

The doctor will know what to do, John told himself, he'll stop the bleeding.

W

Time dragged on slowly and eventually John collapsed into one of the brown plastic chairs against the wall beside the door, head bowed and fingers twined in his black hair.

John's thoughts turned instead from his wife and newborn child to the son that was waiting for them at home. Just before Mary had gone into labour, John had called the babysitter who was watching Dean to check up on how things were going. The sitter, a girl who lived on their street, had told John that his four-year-old son had reluctantly gone to sleep after insisting he stay awake to see his Mom and Dad come home with his new baby brother. John had told the girl that they should be home by the morning. The sitter had said that would be fine and that she couldn't wait to see the baby as well.

John released his hold on his hair and fished in his pocket for his cell phone. He stared at the device for a long moment but decided not to call the sitter. He would wait until he heard from the doctor; maybe Mary would have to stay for a bit longer then expected and if that happened he would have to decide if he wanted to go home to relieve the sitter and check up on Dean.

The door to his wife's room opened and Dr. Simpson stepped out. John noticed the man had streaks of red on his scrubs and that he was not smiling in a relieved sort of way, in fact, he wasn't smiling at all.

The father stood up instantly, "Is Mary alright?"

Dr. Simpson shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry, John, but we couldn't stop the bleeding. She's gone."

John's mouth opened in shock and his knees threatened to give out.

"No," he whispered, tears filling his eyes, "No… she can't…"

Dr. Simpson took the father's arm and guided him back to the seat he had just vacated, "We tried everything. I'm terribly sorry."

John shook his head; he just couldn't believe it. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen. Not in this day and age. Not to him… not to his wife.

"Would you like to go in and see her?" the doctor asked and John nodded, standing up, his eyes overflowing and tears streaming unchecked down his face.

Slowly, in a daze, John followed Dr. Simpson back inside the room and stared at his wife lying so still and quiet in the hospital bed. Mary's sweaty hair was fanned out around her head and her face was sickly pale but her eyes were closed and if John didn't know any better he'd think she was just sleeping, exhausted from the effort of labour.

Lurching towards the bed, John sank into the seat beside it and grabbed one of his wife's hands, noticing that it was still warm.

"M-Mary?" he choked, knowing that she wasn't going to reply, "Mary… Oh God… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

John didn't know what he was apologizing for but it didn't matter. Mary was not going to wake up. He lowered his head until his brow pressed against his wife's hand and he sobbed, everything around him seeming to vanish but for him and he grief.

W

"Would you like to hold him?"

John held his arms out numbly to accept his baby son and he stared down at the infant so pink and wrinkled, unaware that his mother, who had only had a chance to cradle him to her breast for a few moments, would never do so again.

The newborn opened his eyes and slowly gazed up at John. One tiny hand slipped out from beneath the blue blanket he was wrapped in and the father held out one finger, a pained grimace on his face as the child gripped the digit with his small fingers.

"What are you going to name him?" the nurse asked quietly.

John stared down at his son; "Mary and I were going to name him Samuel, after her father."

SPN

John frowned as he crossed the date off on the calendar that hung on the corkboard in the kitchen with a pen. It was hard to believe that six months had passed since his youngest son had been born and his wife had died.

John missed his wife fiercely and oftentimes wished Mary was there to help him look after their two young children but the single father somehow made it work. He took fewer hours at the auto repair shop he worked at so that he would be home more for his boys, especially for Sam when Dean was in Kindergarten during the days. His four-year old was a big help, eager to look after his baby brother, feeding Sam and playing with him. John relied heavily on his sons' pediatrician for advice and assistance with his youngest, with no female relatives he could ask and only having his experience with Dean to use as a guide.

Despite the loss of his wife, John thought he was doing alright. His sons seemed happy and secure and that was the most important thing.

The father smiled when he heard Dean laughing in the living room and he peeked in to see his four-year old sitting beside the blue blanket his six-month old was lying on, Sam lying on his belly, talking to his brother in baby-speech.

"Dee, dee, dee," the younger sibling cried happily, making his brother laugh.

"Say 'Daddy'," Dean instructed and Sam giggled before repeating the word, "Da, Da, Da."

Checking his watch, John saw that it was almost time for supper.

"Want to help me feed Sammy?" John asked his eldest, knowing what the answer would be, and smiling when Dean jumped up excitedly, "Yeah!"

The father moved into the room and picked up his youngest son, chuckling when Sam burbled happily, putting his small hands on John's cheeks.

"What do you feel like tonight, Sammy?" the father asked, "Carrots and peas?"

"Ba ba!" the baby squealed happily and John watched as Dean grabbed the bottled pureed vegetables from the refrigerator so his father could warm them up.

W

John sighed and sank onto the couch cushions. Both his sons were asleep and now he had a bit of time to watch television. Dinner had gone over well, Sammy loved vegetables more than any other food it seemed, even more then the rice cereal he'd eat in the mornings but was also really starting to enjoy the sweet potato and peaches John was offering too.

While Sam dined on pureed veggies, John and Dean had eaten leftover tuna casserole the receptionist at the auto repair shop had brought over a few days ago. Despite the fact that Mary had been gone for six months now, Irma Caravaggio insisted on bringing the Winchesters a prepared meal- casserole or lasagna- at least once a week. Instead of being irritated, as John might have been, he actually felt grateful that his co-worker still thought about them even after the initial death of his wife. Many of the friends who had come over to the house in the days and weeks since Mary's passing had failed to call or pop in as they had promised during the funeral. John knew that they had their own lives but it seemed as though now that Mary had been gone for some time, they no longer felt so inclined to check up on her husband and children.

After dinner the two brother had had baths and then Dean had watched a couple of hours of child-appropriate television, sitting beside his brother as Sam lay on his blanket on the floor, before they were both tucked into bed.

John flicked through the channels, trying to find something he could watch when the baby monitor sitting on the end table crackled to life.

Turning his attention away from the television, John frowned when he heard Sam fussing, whimpering and hoped that his son wouldn't start crying.

After a moment the six-month old quieted down again and John sighed with relief. Sometimes it took as long as an hour for Sam to be comfortable and relaxed enough to sleep at night and even then there was always the chance that he'd wake up minutes later, wanting to be held and cuddled.

The father turned his attention back to the television but froze when he heard a muffled voice coming from the monitor.

John turned to look at the device, frowning. He muted the volume on the TV and listened, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Maybe it's Dean again, John thought. His four-year old had a habit of going into his brother's room at night and talking to him when they both should have been sleeping but the father felt fear skitter across his chest like a large black spider as he listened.

The voice on the monitor, though indistinct, was definitely not one that belonged to a Kindergarten student.

"What the hell?" John said and stood, moving quickly to the stairs.

The father's heart pounded in his chest, hoping he was just hearing things, or that the baby monitor was just picking up some radio frequency- could that even happen- as he climbed the stairs. Once he reached the landing, he saw that Dean's door was shut tight and he instantly crossed the hallway to make sure his son wasn't in fact messing around in his brother's room. Pushing the door opened quietly, John could clearly make out the figure of his four-year old son beneath the Batman blanket on his bed.

Leaving the door ajar, John turned away from Dean's room and crept down the hallway towards Sam's bedroom, right beside the master bedroom.

The door was open slightly and John peered inside, adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. The father's eyes widened in horror as he saw an adult-sized figure bending over his son's crib.

"Hey!" John flung opened the door and shouted, weaponless but feeling that paternal instinct to protect his child no matter what.

Sam started to cry at the suddenly loud shout but the figure did not move, did not even turn around.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" John demanded, hands clenched into fists, "Who are you?"

The figure turned slowly, and John startled at the sight of a man with lemon-yellow eyes.

"Now John," the stranger said in a quiet, calm voice, "You've woken the baby."

"How-" the father began but the breath was knocked out of him as he was slammed forcibly into the far wall hard enough to crack the plaster and began sliding upward, towards the ceiling.

SPN

Eric Nolan was one of the two firefighters to enter the Winchester home, searching for John and his two young sons who might still be alive in the blazing house.

Even with his helmet and over the crackle of fire, Eric could hear the sound of a baby shrieking and a child's voice crying.

Shit, the firefighter thought, please don't let us be too late.

Eric carefully climbed the stairs, motioning his team member to follow, and saw orange flames billowing out of a doorway at the far end of the hallway; the same doorway through with the terrified crying was coming from.

Eric's heart hammered in his chest, sweat dripping down his face as he thought about the two children and their father trapped in the flaming room.

Gesturing his partner to follow, the firefighter burst through the open doorway and into the nursery. Eric staggered to a stop, mouth gaping open. Flames consumed almost every inch of the room, tongues of fire were raining down from the ceiling, leaving only a few inches around a baby's crib untouched but it was clear that in minutes it too would be consumed as well as the two children with it.

"Where's the father?" Eric heard his partner ask but he ignored the question, there wasn't time to talk.

Darting across the room, the firefighter scooped up the four-year old who had been curled against the side of the crib and peered inside at the infant.

"We're gonna need an ambulance!" Eric shouted and motioned his team member over.

The other firefighter quickly picked up the younger child, swearing in sympathy as he did so and the two of them hurried from the room and out of the house as fast as possible.

Author's Note:

The fanfic title comes from a song by the Barenaked Ladies.

Chapter title comes from a song by Kansas.

Please leave a review.