Something that I cried, endlessly to...and this one- instead of the boys, I decided to do a take on John...

Summary: Because there isn't a worse fate...it should never have been like this. John.

Warning: Get a tissue, or a box- and listen to 'In the arms of an angel' By Sarah Mclachlan.

Disclaimer: Please no, I just own a soggy t-shirt from tears...haha

Written in such a teary mood because today, my mum spoke to me about when she dies...that I'll be ok...and she wants the will signing or something, and to be honest, just like John- I couldn't be more scared of anything happening, apart from losing her...so I had to get it out. I couldn't even cope...even imagine...what it would be like...I'm 17, she's supposed to be there...forever...and I- I just...ah, I don't have words, so read on, just...ignore this.

Anyway, Mary...the 'Mom' figure. Here we go.

One hour, fifteen and a half minutes since she'd gone, Sammy hadn't stopped crying and Dean was...staring, looking at things but not seeing them, not really. John knew the look.

He was doing a pretty good version of it himself.

Thing was, it hadn't hit him yet...not the full doubling over, gasping as he cried until his chest and his head screamed at him hit. He was sullen, withdrawn. Shock, they said.

Somewhere along the one hour, twentieth minute, Dean had managed to get Sammy to sleep, huddled up beside him in the joining room, a place they could go to get some rest. Motel down the street. Both asleep, their chests were moving, they were ok. John had to make sure.

One hour, twenty-three minutes. He caught a scent of smoke, coiled and charred at his clothes and his throat felt tight, knotted almost and he gagged.

The firecrew had deemed them safe, no injury, go home and get some sleep sir.

Except, he doesn't have a home, and he never will because Ma-

"Mary" John breathes. Hot bubbling tears well and stream down his face so fast he can't stop them and lips automatically curl down, as he shudders his now gasping breaths and if he looks, he can't see anywhere. His eyes are so blurry, so he cups his hands over his face and keens, sounds no human should make in the back of his throat and if anyone heard, they'd wonder what kind of tarnish had to be committed to make such primal cries of agony.

His sons did not wake, didn't stir and John was glad as he shut the door to their bed, closing himself with the glow of dull florescent lights and a wooden table.

He's jerky as he pulls a blackened photo from his pocket, still in his pijamas, careful not to tear and there she is. Blonde and beautiful, the love of his fucking life and she's alive...she's real and alive and smiling in this photo.

John clamps his lips as his cries force him to keen, his eyes dart across to the other side of the table.

Just a few hours ago, literally...she'd be there, her warm hand reaching out and her warm eyes winking at him, to come to bed early. If he looks hard enough, he can almost see her.

His hand reached out and opens, palm shaking on the table until he blinks and the situation hits him, knees shaking. She's really gone.

Spend all your time waiting for that second chance
For the break that will make it ok
There's always some reason to feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction oh beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
They may be empty and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

Five hours, thirty-two minutes after the fire, John's still awake, the suns about to rise but whats the point anymore, Mary always looked beautiful in the sun and it's never going to be beautiful ever again...because she can't be there...in the sun, he'll never see her smile or her eyes look him up and down again. And something about that sits so wrong in his chest, he can't describe it.

It can't be that easy to lose someone, it can't be that fast that they're here one minute and gone the next, it can't possibly-

He's blinking, grief not even starting to be over, little did he know it would carry over almost twenty-two years. He doesn't understand that she'd gone.

"I spoke to you yesterday" He whispered, remembered the sound of her lips on the phone and thinking how much he'd like to kiss them when he got home, maybe she'd like another child, and he felt so happy to tell her.

His eyes, sore, red and raw didn't matter because his tears weren't done and everything he had, everything he loved was in that house, but he could live without the house, he had her...and now...he couldn't even have her, he couldn't even save her and god did he try, sightless, terrified dull eyes, that were nothing like hers stared at him and he felt something snap inside him, something he'd never get back. Ever.

In the arms of an Angel fly away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of an Angel; may you find some comfort here

It's a little over seven AM, it's light out, but not many people, it's a lazy day today.

John stands, frowning at how empty he feels, like he's not eaten for days but he couldn't even take a bite. He steps outside, leaves the door open a crack and wanders into the parking lot, there's one car, his, but he just stands there, peering up at blue skies, laced with pink and orange puffy clouds.

Yeah, he thinks, tears again streaming down his face that he can't control, she'd like this.

"You promised you'd look after her...you were supposed to hear me...God, if you're even there, she believed in you, she trusted you. And you couldn't even save her..." John's chin trembled as he stared at the sky, anger and guilt and saddness and oh God...he missed her so much.

"Angel's are not watching over us" he said, a commanding tone despite the quiver in his voice. "You've lied to her...I asked you to protect her...I love her so much and the one thing...the one thing I ask...you won't do?..." John looks down, dark splashes in the dirt where he stands. Shaking his head, he steps back. "Why her?..." He whispers. "WHY HER!?"

John falls to his knees, all unkempt hair and shaking shoulders as he grates noises from his throat, anguish just tearing through him and it hasn't finished, not even close.


So tired of the straight line, and everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
The storm keeps on twisting, you keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack
It don't make no difference, escaping one last time
It's easier to believe
In this sweet madness, oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees

When John finally decided there's enough gravel in his knees, though he can't even feel it, because nothing matters and everything...is numb.

He blinks his last tear, his eyes long since dry, his throat raw and wanders back- the only place he knows and opens the dark blue door.

The joining bedroom door is open, and Sammy's sitting in a chair, on Dean eating some Lucky Charms, and Dean's feeding him as his baby coo's, and a lead weight has just plummeted to John.

"Dean...Sammy" John says, his voice weak, but he manages. Pulls up his own chair and sits at the table.

Dean looks at him, a look that no four-year-old should ever have, and he says something, something that burns John's numbness...but he wished it wouldn't because now he's bleeding again and he doesn't think it will stop.

"It's okay Daddy, Mommy's in heaven"

John sobs, bites his lip and ducks his head, because Dean can't see him like this.

Mary's children cannot see him like this.

"Y-yeah...yes son. Mom went on..." He swallows. " A trip to heaven"

Sammy drops his spoon, wiggles on Dean's knees. "'s hee...n' angel"

It's just baby sounds, no way did Sammy say what he thought, but as Sammy cocks his head and asks again, John swears he sees her eyes in his boy, his cut clenches.

"Anghel?"

John blinks fast, licking his lips and wiping the tears away. "Yeah. She is Sammy. A beautiful angel, but hey...we're gonna see her again real soon, okay?"

Kid's a fast learner, damn fast. He's got her eyes, her face, Dean's taken her blonde hair and John feels, he might just be able to cope, to raise these children, of hers, and see a little peice of her grow everyday.


In the arms of an Angel far away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie
In the arms of an Angel; may you find some comfort here

When Sam's four, and Dean's just turned eight. John goes back to the house, they've rebuilt it, re-done it up, but he can find their bedroom and Sam's nursery anyday.

As soon as he takes to the stairs, he feels at home, safe again and he's fighting tears already because they'd had so many conversation on these stairs, lifting the cot up, chasing her upstairs and kissing at her neck.

And if he's honest, John's going to lie to himself later. Tell himself the photo of Mary, himself and a baby Sam with toddler Dean wasn't waiting for him at the top of the stairs, on the landing where they kissed, maybe for the last time. He'd tell himself it was coincidence and he couldn't smell her perfume, because if John was being honest...he couldn't face opening the still healing wound.

He closes his eyes. "Thank you. I love you" He says.

And leaves, but never leaving her, always coming back.

It's Dean that notices on the photo a few years later, there's almost a burnt engraving of 'I love you too' on the back of the picture.

There, I've had my cryfest...I think I'll be ok, right. :) Hope you liked this- I was in the kinda...right frame of mind to be thinking like John.

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