Word Count: 450 words
Disclaimer: Kripke is a god. I'm just playing with his characters.
Summary: John's viewpoint of Mary's death, and how he came to start hunting.
Notes: This is my first John-centric SPN fic, so I hope the characterizations are realistic. This is written for the prompt, "beginnings". Betaed by the amazing potthead, I hope you all enjoy. ♥
"Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now, Dean, go!"
Ít had been nearly three months since he'd found his wife frozen on the ceiling of the nursery, but even now, the sight of her bursting into flames lingered in his mind as brightly as the very fire that had taken her life. He could remember her screaming as he rushed into the room of his youngest son. Things had been quiet when he'd first stepped into the nursery - almost too quiet. And what was even stranger - Sammy had been awake. That in itself should have made him wary; after all, why would his youngest son be awake in the middle of the night? But then, Sammy had given him that irresistable toothless grin, and everything had seemed so normal.
That was, until he saw the dripping blood.
And sometimes, he wondered. What if he'd walked out of the room right then? What if he hadn't looked up? Or going even further, what if Mary hadn't gotten out of bed? What if she hadn't screamed? All these seemingly insignificant factors, but without them, would Mary still be alive? If he hadn't gotten out of bed that day to watch TV, would it have made a difference?
He'd stood outside and watched as his house burned down, Dean and Sam by his side, the former gripping his hand so tightly it almost hurt. A lifetime of memories gone up in flames, along with their photos, Mary's old journals, what little clothing and jewelry they'd owned. His whole life, and that of his wife's, gone in just a few brief moments.
And then, two months ago, he'd gone to Missouri and learned just what was out there. Those life-changing moments that made the normal life he'd led just as little as half a year ago seem like decades had passed.
He'd withdrawn into himself after Mary's death, but he couldn't afford to dwell on the past. He had a new goal now - he had to find out what had happened to Mary, and the trail was getting colder every minute he waited.
Just for a while, he told himself. He would settle down again after he figured things out, and give his boys a stable home. He might even be done in time for Dean's birthday in March. Maybe they could buy cakes and pies to celebrate, and perhaps Dean would start smiling again.
But for now, he had work to do. After all, if he wanted any answers, he would have to find them on his own.