This is John. I'm not in, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

5 people that John would date if he'd never met Mary
1. Ellen Harvelle
2. Izzie Stevens :P
3. Kate Todd
4. Sam Carter
5. Lara Croft

5 things John would do over again if he could
1. Leave his sons out of the hunting.
2. Protect Mary better
3. Find a way to save Dean without making a deal with Azazel
4. Not be so hard on Sam for wanting to leave
5. Kill Azazel sooner

How have you beaten the odds?

Time passed differently in hell. He had no idea if he'd been there a day, a year, a decade or a century. Not that it mattered. He'd given his life gladly to save Dean's so all the torment that was heaped on him was worth every agonizing second. All he had to do was picture his boys' faces and the pain was easier to bear.

After one particular torture session that was a blur, John heard rumblings among the demons. They thought he had passed out from the pain otherwise they probably wouldn't have spoken so openly about what Azazel had hoped. An opening at the Gates of Hell. That was the only glimmer of hope that John needed to continue on. The leather neck, bull dog determination that had been bred in him since boot camp took hold and melded with Winchester stubbornness. Plans were made and a few discarded, but John watched the demons much more closely than before.

There began to be an air of anticipation around them. The torture sessions became much more painful as if they were practicing for what they wanted to do when Hell was visited on Earth. It didn't deter him, however. In fact, it made John that much more determined to claw his way out when the chance appeared.

Finally, after what seemed like decades the rumor became a reality and the Gates to Hell cracked open. Bit by bit, John kept to the shadows and clawed his way over demons and fellow inhabitants to make his way out into the 'real' world. Back to his boys and back to a way to stop Azazel for good.

There were many instances in John's life when he'd been beaten by the odds and just as many with him beating the odd. None of them, however, would ever compare to his crawling out of hell and helping to save his boys one final time.



Muse: John Winchester
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 321

Impromptu

He was certain that Mary was going to kill him. She'd been very specific about the car that they should get and he had agreed with her. It was practical and perfect for them, especially as they were just starting out. He had gone to the auto dealership with a mission. John was going to use his ability to negotiate and get the best deal. He'd already checked out the car and knew that it was sound mechanically so all that he had to do was negotiate down to the price that they could afford.

That was all he had to do. The problem was that it wasn't what he did. That guy Dean, that he'd seen in the café, had pointed out the Impala. It was easy to picture Mary and him behind the wheel. Maybe it was a little too easy. If John were honest with himself, he'd admit that Dean hadn't really had to twist his arm much. He had fallen in love with the car almost instantly. Like he'd fallen in love with Mary. John was smart enough, however, to know not to mention that to her when he drove up in his new acquisition. Women didn't like to be compared to cars, even if it was favorable.

John rubbed his hand over his face trying to think of what he was going to say about the impromptu purchase and knew that no matter what he said he was a dead man. He'd made a big purchase without consulting her. Mary had every right to be angry with him. John ran his hands over the dashboard and smiled. Maybe he could charm her into giving the Impala a chance. All she had to do was ride in it and she'd see that this was the car that was really perfect for them and their life together. If that didn't work he could always blame Dean.


Muse: John Winchester
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 319

November 6, 1983

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don't believe it. Last week we were a normal family...eating dinner, going to Dean's T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed...When I try to think back, get it straight in my head...I feel like I'm going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out...I'm wandering around alone and lost and I can't do anything.

Mary used to write in these books she kept by the bed. She said it helped her remember all the little things, about the boys, me...I wish I could read her journals, but like everything else, they're gone. Burned into nothing. She always wanted me to try writing things down. Maybe she's right, maybe it will help me remember to understand.




November 13, 1983

Nothing makes any sense anymore...My wife is gone, my sons are without their mother...the things I saw that night. I remember hearing Mary scream, and I ran, but then...everything was calm, just for a second - Sammy was fine - and I was sure I had been hearing things - too many horror movies too late at night. But then there was the blood, and when I looked up, my wife...

Half our house is gone, even though the fire burned for only a few hours. Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe - the safe with Mary's old diaries, the boys savings bonds, what little jewelry we had...all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

I want my wife back. Oh God, I want her back...



November 17, 1983

We're staying. Mike and Kate, they're helping me take care of the boys. They keep telling me they're sorry, and that the fire was probably just a terrible accident...faulty wiring maybe. It doesn't make me feel any better to think that faulty wiring took Mary, it doesn't explain why she was on the ceiling, but what do I tell people? I tried to tell Mike what I think...what I think happened that night. He just looked at me, this look...like he's sure I'm crazy. He must have told Kate something too. Out of nowhere she said this morning, I should think about seeing a shrink. How can I talk to a stranger about this? I never saw a shrink for everything I went through in the Marines, and I got through that. My friends think I'm going insane. Who knows, maybe I am...




November 26, 1983

Alright, I guess I'll try this again but I can't say it's helping. I don't even know if I want to remember what happened today. I spoke to the police. They say the investigation is ongoing, but I know they don't have any real leads. I asked if they'd found the cause of the fire and they said they couldn't say anything yet. They won't even tell me if this is officially considered a crime. Here's the odd thing about our discussion - they asked me the same questions they asked the night of the fire. Where was I? How was my relationship with Mary in the weeks prior to the fire? Any problems with the boys? What's going on???




November 30, 1983

It's 4AM and I can't fall back asleep. I wake up to the smallest noise now, or maybe it wasn't a noise. It's like my senses are tweaked and I can't shut them off. Everything lately feels like these instances when you remember a dream a few days after had it, but then you can't remember if it was a dream or if it actually happened? I keep going over that night in my head...why did I ever get out of bed? I'm so sorry, Mary, I'm so sorry I let this happen to you. Can you ever forgive me? What can I do to get rid of this pain?




December 4, 1983

Last night I was sitting in Sam and Dean's room, in the dark, and I heard these noises...Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was, but it sounded almost like whispering, like someone was whispering a name under their breath again and again...Like something is out there in the dark, watching us...I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them? I haven't let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side - or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cried a lot, wanting his Mom. I don't know how to stop it, and part of me doesn't want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won't remember her at all. I can't let her memory die to whatever is out there in the night.




December 7, 1983

The police were back. I can't believe it. More questions I've already answered a million times. More time spent away from my sons, going in circles, getting nowhere...This is all so stupid, useless!!!

Had a drink around seven...soon boys went down. Having one now. It doesn't help me sleep but I keep hoping it'll clear my head...sometimes it does, just for a sec, and then it's all muddled again.

One thing is clear to me - the only way I'm going to kno...




December 8, 1983

Woke up this morning with a nasty hangover...Wasn't in the mood to do much of anything, much less have a heart to heart with Mike, who jumped on me the second I walked into the kitchen. He was going on about how I have to get myself together, for the boys...but he seemed more concerned about the garage then anything else. Accusing me of phoning it in, you've barely been in to work...No kidding I've barely been to work...My wife is dead, something horrible happened to her, maybe my boys are at risk, too...how can I forget about all that and go to work, for God's sake?

Anyway, I told him he could have it. That stopped him cold - You're telling me you're gonna give up your life's work over this? Watch me, Mike. It's yours.

My sons need me...and my wife's investigation needs me. These two things are all that matter to me now. I've been canvassing the neighborhood, asking questions...I swear a lot of the people conveniently aren't there when I knock. Maybe they don't want to face a grieving widower...or the man they think killed his wife.

A fire doesn't just start. I'm convinced now that someone was in my house that night. It's the only way any of this even starts to make sense. I started digging around at the library. I'm collecting old police files, going through microfiche...looking for any fires, arsons, with similar MOs. I'm gonna find this guy, and when I do...God forgive me...




December 11, 1983

Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him, he's out like a light as well. But me...I close my eyes and she's there. It always starts the same, I'm seeing her as she was before that night, beautiful, and happy and alive. And I'm not seeing it, I'm living it, it's like I'm there...it's so real. I know I can reach out and touch her. And so I do...I reach out...and suddenly I'm back to that night, to the blood and the fire and Mary, Mary is on the ceiling, and how did she get on the ceiling...she can't be on the ceiling...

Here's the weird part. When I wake up, sweating and panting...I swear there is something there. I can feel it, hovering over me, over my boys. It's watching, it's waiting, I think it's even mocking me...You couldn't stop this. You couldn't keep her safe. You can't keep them safe.

Got a few things from the house today...couple of photos, a toy or two the firemen recovered. They saved one of my guns...an antique single action revolver. Won't really do much damage...but I plan to put it under my pillow tonight just the same.




December 13, 1983

I called the police again...Nothing. All the forensics are back and they didn't find a thing. No fingerprints, no DNA, no blood, nothing at all left of my wife's body, no sign of anyone else in that house. Exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect. The investigations tell me an electrical short caused the fire. I asked them to show me proof, to tell me which wire shorted out. And they couldn't. Just some stupid mumbo-jumbo about burn marks and fire forensics and "no hard evidence" which is "to be expected given the severity of the fire". The only thing they did say was that all the evidence points toward the nursery ceiling as the fire's flashpoint. Which doesn't make a lot of sense from a fireman's perspective - almost all electrical fires start in the walls. But to me...it makes a heck of a lot of sense.




December 14, 1983

I actually fell asleep last night...then woke up in a cold sweat five minutes later. Feeling that presence again...and thinking about something I read in one of the books I got the other day. They were mostly books about fires, how they start, how quickly they spread...but one of them talked about strange fires, fires with no explanations...it said that some people believe fires can be controlled by certain evil entities, beings, and used to harm people. It's crazy, the stuff of fairy tales...like fire-breathing dragons, right? But then I remembered...when I went back into Sammy's room that night, when I tried to get to Mary...the fire leapt out. Leapt out at me...like it had a purpose, like it wanted to keep me away, to stop me from reaching her. Like someone was controlling it.

That night...Mary, on the ceiling...I convinced myself I imagined it, made it up somehow. But now I know, without a doubt - she was up there. I don't care what anyone says, the police or Mary's family, or Mike. Let them call me crazy. I know what I saw.

I don't have answers yet, but the questions are clearer in my mind. Something horrible happened in the baby's room. Someone - or something - killed my beautiful wife.

I was up all night, thinking it over...wish I could talk to Mike, but he's already telling me I need help. So this morning, first thing, I went out and bought some more books. Not about fires, but about...other things. Unexplained things.

I also bought two new pistols and a shotgun. Just in case.




December 17. 1983

I met someone...Someone who I think might be a friend to me and the boys. For the last couple of days I've been visiting...well, psychics, I guess would be the term. I wandered past a place, and I don't know, I just walked in. Two months ago, I would have laughed out loud, if anyone told me I'd be doing this, but at this point I'm not sure where else to turn. Anyway, I went inside...it was a total scam. I watched this guy read some palms...he'd just parrot back what people were telling him, or give them broad stuff -"someone you love is worried" and they ate it up. Like I said, it was bull, but for some reason, later that afternoon, I went to another...then today, I went to Missouri. And the second I walked in, I can't explain it...it was like we'd been friends for years. She knew every detail, not just my life, but also of me...my thoughts...tears. She was the first person who didn't look at me like I was crazy when I told her my story...she just listened, and nodded, and then she told me she believed me.

An hour later and I was back...with the boys. For some reason, I wanted her to see them, to meet them...maybe to tell me they were okay. They both loved her immediately...Sammy sat in her lap the whole time, smiling, and Dean talked nonstop...he never does that anymore. I don't know if it were just me, maybe I would trust her, but seeing the boys warm up to her like that...There's something there. I think she can help me.




December 20, 1983

I'm gonna try to get this down...I swear, I'm shaking so badly I can barely write. I just got back from my house...Missouri said she needed to go there to really get a sense of what happened. I don't know how to explain what I felt first of all, just being there, in the home where I lived with my wife, in my baby boy's nursery, seeing it all burned and barely recognizable. Already it feels like a different era, a different life...part of me can hardly remember what it was like to feel normal, but the rest of me...I could barely breathe, I wanted it all back so much.

Missouri was shaken, as freaked out, too...She said she could feel the evil, she could sense the echo from that night, of a horrible presence that was there. She felt it, felt that thing that did that to us, to my wife.

Missouri couldn't tell me what it was - she'd never encountered anything like that - but she told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she's ever come across.




December 23, 1983

We left Mike and Kate's place this morning. I just couldn't stay there anymore, and I can't explain why. I feel like I can't explain anything in my life anymore. I just knew I had to take my boys away. I got up at the crack of dawn, loaded them in the back of the car while they were still sleeping. Maybe we should have said goodbye...but something in me said we should just go, now, fast and quiet. Whatever did this to Mary - there's no trace of it here. It's time to move on. I'm beginning to understand that there's nobody else but me. If I want answers, I'm going to have to find them myself.




December 25, 1983

Didn't sleep again last night. Woke up in a cold sweat and realized it was Christmas. Where's Mary? That was my thought all night and it stayed in my mind all day. Christmas without my wife seems unreal. Our celebration was clumsy...a crooked two foot tall plastic tree, a bunch of junk food stuffed in the stockings, and a pile of sports equipment for the boys...football, basketball, soccer. My attempt to bring back some normalcy. Already Dean is too big for T-ball, this year we'll be going to real Little League games. Or rather, I'll be going to the games. Alone.

Mary will never see Dean hit a home run. She'll never see Sammy walk, or hear him say his first words. She won't take Dean to his first day at school, or stay up all night with me worrying the first night he takes the car out. It's not right that she's not here, and that's all I could think about today. I'm so angry, I can barely see straight - I want my wife back.

The police have officially declared our case closed. What a Christmas present, huh?




January 1, 1984

Today a new year begins. Mary loved this time of the year; she loved the idea of a fresh start for everyone. She always made a resolution, one a year, and unlike most people, she kept hers. And every year she tried to talk me into making one, but I could never see the point. I wish I could have seen her diary. Maybe it would help me remember her. Maybe it would clue me in to some of her secrets. Maybe that's the point of a diary. Keep your stories, your life, from dying. So that other people don't forget.

God I wish the boys could have known Mary for longer.

This year, I'm making a resolution. I'm gong to find out what happened to my wife.