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tigriswolfTitle: Alas, my children, why do you look at me?
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Medea.
Warnings: spoilers for aired season four
Pairings: John/Mary, Mary’s parents, John/OFC
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1470
Point of view: third
Notes: This is an AU that could fit canon.
More notes: thanks to![[info]](https://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
smilla02for looking this over.
John likes to think of himself as a good father. He’s done the best he could. He’s raised Mary’s boys into strong men, into warriors. Dean is an even better hunter than John, and Sam has the brains and will to do damn near anything.
John always tried to tell the truth whenever possible, but talking about Mary hurt so bad, for so long—
Driving away from Jericho, he remembers…
She wanted to keep you.
John got home from work late, exhausted. It had been a horrible day with customers hounding him every minute, demanding he fix shit he couldn’t do a thing about. And when George Shelters got right up in his face, it took all his self-control not to put the bastard down.
He just wanted to crawl into bed with his wife and hold her till he fell asleep, because he knew tonight would be bad. Tonight, the war would stalk his dreams.
He entered the house quietly and walked up the dark stairs. It was silent, and that bothered him—Mary always had a light and the radio on. “Mary!” he called, hurrying down the hall.
Once he got to their bedroom door, he heard muffled sobbing and rushed in. Mary was beneath the blanket, curled up, head on her arms.
“Mary?” he murmured, crawling up next to her. “Babe, what’s wrong?” He gently pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. “Mary, please tell me.”
She clung to him. “Johnny,” she whispered, tears thickening her voice and glistening on her face. “Johnny, I’m not ready to be a mom. We can’t keep it. We can’t.”
He froze. “You’re pregnant?”
She nodded, hands clenching in his oil- and sweat-soaked shirt, sobbing harder.
He breathed, caressing her neck and rolling over to curl around her. “Shh, sweetheart,” he said. “We’ll make it work, Mary. I’m here. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”
She slowly calmed and fell asleep in his arms. John held her until he slipped into sleep, too.
She named you after James Dean.
John paced, fists clenching and unclenching. Something had gone wrong and no one would tell him anything. Three hours since they took her away, and not one word—
“You can see them now.”
John whirled. The doctor stood there, blood drying on his hands. “Your wife and son will be fine. You can go in.”
John lunged past him. He’d have questions later, but for now he needed to see Mary, to touch her. And his son—
Mary lay in the bed, sweaty and pale, and she was staring at a bundle in her arms.
“It’s a boy,” she said, voice shaking, looking up with watery eyes. “We have a boy, Johnny.”
He sank to his knees next to her, gently pulling down the blanket around his son.
“Can we name him Dean?” Mary asked.
“Yes,” John said. “I think your mom would like that.”
She made the best cookies in the world.
John knocked on the door. Four weeks they’d been dating, and not a single dream about the war in all that time. Mary was a balm. He needed to see her today, just for a moment, and then he could go to the garage.
Mr. Campbell opened the door and raised an eyebrow. John straightened to his full height.
“Mary didn’t tell me about a date,” Mr. Campbell said, voice low and smooth.
“We don’t have one, sir,” John said. “I just need to see her for a minute, that’s all.”
Mrs. Campbell came up behind him. “Let the boy in, Samuel,” she called. “I bet he’ll like some cookies.”
Backing up, Mr. Campbell scowled. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I bet you would.” He turned and went down the hall. “She’s in the kitchen,” he said over his shoulder. “You have one minute.”
John hurried to the kitchen, just in time to hear Mary yell, “Shit!”
Mrs. Campbell laughed. “It’s not that big a deal, honey. So you can’t make cookies.”
John stepped in to see Mary covered in flour and the counters a mess around her. Mary slammed a cookbook down and said, “I can shoot the balls off a target without even thinking, so why the hell can’t I bake come damned cookies?”
John brought a hand to his mouth to stop his laughter. Mary spun and glared at him. “Winchester,” she hissed. “These were gonna be for you, so if I hear one comment— ”
He shook his head, desperately trying not to laugh. Mrs. Campbell grinned at him. “Why don’t you kids go for a walk? There’s a batch already in the oven, from dough I made last night.”
John nodded, using iron self-control to say, “Yes, ma’am,” without his voice shaking.
Mary stomped past him, out the kitchen. John took one last look at the mess. “How did she even do this?”
Mrs. Campbell laughed again. “I have no idea.” She nodded after Mary. “You’d better catch up, kiddo. She wasn’t joking about bein’ able to shoot.”
John nodded to her and hurried.
She’s in Heaven.
With Dean leaning against him and Sam in his arms, John decided God did not exist. And if there’s no God, then there’s no Heaven, he realized. So where are you, Mary? Are you here, somewhere, watching me? Watching our home burn?
Dean whimpered, pressing in close. Sam sniffed, large eyes blinking up at him.
John survived one war. Something happened here tonight, and he swore to find out what. If necessary, he’d fight a second.
Sam’s her son, too.
John had no idea what had gone wrong, but he and Mary hadn’t stopped fighting for three weeks. He’d get home angry, she’d already be pissed about something, and they’d go to sleep in cold silence. John slept on the couch.
And tonight, he just couldn’t handle it. Dean’s big sad eyes, Mary’s accusing glares—he didn’t know what he’d done, and Mary expected him to read her mind.
So he didn’t go home. He went to a bar and he drank and when a pretty little blonde with huge hazel eyes invited him home, he went.
The next morning, he woke in bed with a stranger and left without word. He rushed home to his wife and son, threw himself at Mary’s feet, and sobbingly confessed.
He expected her to leave or throw him out, but she just looked at him and asked, “Will you ever do it again?”
He shook his head, longing to hold her, kiss her, show with his body that he would never again stray. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t know what these past weeks have been about, but I love you.”
Mary nodded, falling to her knees. She placed one hand on his face, calloused fingers stroking his jaw. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, the way I’ve been acting. But if you ever cheat on me again, I’ll castrate you.”
He kissed her.
Five months later, a little blonde with huge hazel eyes who wasn’t his wife stormed into the garage and demanded to know what he planned to do about the parasite growing in her. When he went to Mary, she said, “The baby’s yours. That makes the baby mine.”
When the woman gave birth, Mary was right there in the waiting room with him, telling Dean a story about warriors who fought the dark.
The woman handed off his son without a backwards glance and John told Mary to name him.
John wiped away tears as he left California behind. “Mary,” he said, “God, Mary. It should have gotten easier, but it never has.”
His phone rang. He reached over and picked it up, looked at the ID: Dean. Just like the previous two calls, and the three before that.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he said, tossing the phone back down.
He turned the radio up; Johnny Cash sang about killing men in Reno. He hummed along.
Mixed in with all the bald-faced lies and lies by omission, John had told one inarguable truth. And passing into Oregon, John replayed the moment he truly realized Mary was it for him.
She loved you both more than the world.
“Dean,” Mary said, kneeling in front of their son. “This is Sammy, your little brother.”
Dean peered at the newborn. “You don’t love me anymore?” he asked, sticking his thumb in his mouth.
Mary chuckled. “No, baby. I’ll always love you. But Sammy’s my boy, too.” She leaned down to kiss Dean’s forehead. “You can touch him, Dean, but be careful.”
Reaching out with his free hand, Dean let his fingers rest on Sammy’s face.
“You’re both my boys,” Mary said. She looked up to smile at John.
He grinned down and knew he’d love this woman forever.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-18 07:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-19 02:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-18 09:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-19 02:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-19 08:30 am (UTC)But then the YED shouldn't have put his blood in Sam from this universe? *gasps*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-19 07:03 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading!
Also, what do you want for your birthday?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-20 12:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-19 08:45 pm (UTC)That gave me the shivers.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-19 09:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-09 10:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-10 02:34 am (UTC)