for caffienekitty

[tigriswolf]

Title: mother

Fandom: “Supernatural”

Dedication:caffienekitty, for her birthday

Prompt: Mary in Home defending her boys, given what we now know about her past and her role in things? I'd love to know what she was really defending them from and her thoughts on the matter now that we've seen more of the mytharc.

 

 

 

            She made that deal even after everything Mom told her, even after all of Dad’s warnings. She made that deal knowingly and without regret because it gave her John and it gave her Dean and it gave her Sammy.

            That deal gave her ten years with John, with his smiles and kisses and caresses. It gave her two sons, two boys she would kill and die for.

            And die she will, she knows. All deals come due and demons lie. A decade with John, four years with Dean, and six months with Sammy. She had never imagined such a gift that night, with Johnny dead in her lap.

            “Goodnight, love,” she whispers, kissing Sam’s forehead. “Angels are watching over you,” she tells Dean, smiling at his sloppy, sleepy kiss to her cheek. She lays in John’s arms and dreams of that stranger, the one named Dean who told her to not get out of bed in November. When John slips out of bed, she startles up, but there is no danger so she falls back under.

            Ten years. Mom and Dad had warned her about demons, but with John’s lifeless gaze, none of it mattered.

            With a jolt she’s awake. Instinct sends her down the hall. Curiosity sends her down the stairs. Fear sends her to the nursery where he stands, her parents’ killer, John’s murderer. He’s right by Sammy.

            “You,” she says. “Get away from my son.”

            “Sweet Mary,” he drawls, yellow eyes bright in the dark room. “As beautiful as ever.”

            “Your deal is with me. Leave my family alone,” she pleads.

            He laughs. “Ten years, Mary.” He touches her cheek and says, “You should’ve stayed in bed.”

            She tries to scream a warning, and before pain steals her thoughts, she remembers that hunter named Dean who had her mama’s eyes and Daddy’s strength of will.

            My Dean, she realizes, forcing her way past the fire and fury, watching John grab Sam. Then John is back, trying to save her. Her sweet John.

            He cannot save her. No one can save her—she made a deal with a demon, for three boys she loves so much.

            John, her soul cries, trapped in the house. Dean, Sammy. She is a ghost, weary and unable to pass on. Something is left for her to do.

            She waits, remembering a decade, four years, six months. Her man and her sons.

            Mary Campbell made that deal. Mary Winchester settles into the walls of her house and marshals her strength for her final task, whatever it is and whenever it comes.

 

 

And, um, here’s take two of the same prompt.

 

 

 

She knows what she is. The same thing Mom and Dad used to hunt. A spirit, lingering after mortal death, dangerous. But she doesn’t feel vengeful. She just feels weary and tired. She sleeps a lot, in the walls she painted with John. She dreams about when she was a girl, when she met John, when she laughed with Dean, and the first time she saw Sam. 

 

She only awakens when the second spirit arrives, malevolent and pissed, lashing out at innocents. She shields them, tries to warn them, but her message is garbled and she hurts at the sheer panic on the little girl’s face.

 

And then, there they are, her boys grown big and strong, her sweet sweet Sammy who always smiled and Dean—she pauses, stares at him. Her little cherub grown into that man who followed her and John, who begged her not to get up on that November night, who had her eyes and John’s weary-soldier grin.

 

“Dean,” she says, longing to hold him like when he was small. Her Dean, her firstborn, her boy. 

 

She moves past him to Sam, even taller than his father, aching and damned because she couldn’t live without John. “Sam,” she says. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“For what?” he asks, eyes wide and tearful. 

 

She cannot answer. Not now and maybe not ever. 

 

She has slept for long enough that her babies became men. She was a hunter, daughter of hunters, and she has not been angry since the night she died.

 

But this interloping spirit, drawn to her house by the evil that killed her—it is threatening her sons. It has hurt them.

 

Her rage flares out, burning and scalding, and she shields her boys as she snarls, “Get out of my house and let go of my sons.”

 

The poltergeist howls but Mary has not fought in over two-dozen years and she is furious at that demon, at herself, at the world for what it’ll do to Sam, what it’s done to Dean. She was a hunter, daughter of hunters, and burns the poltergeist out of existence before finally letting go.

 

She hopes John is there.

 

 

Comments

[caffienekitty]

You wrote me fic! Oh cool! Very interesting insight into Mary, very bittersweet and achy. Thank you!

[tigriswolf]

I'm glad you like it!

[saberivojo.livejournal.com]

Loved them both. It is so cool that the prompt gave us too entirely different stories. I love Mary and the momma in me knows we would do anything for our kids. The wife knows we would do anything for our loves. *sniff* Great jobs.

[tigriswolf]

Thank you for reading!

[sadelyrate.livejournal.com]

Yay! Mary-ficlets by you!
I'm so happy caffienekitty asked for this, and that your Muse was happy to deliver not only one, but two!

Mary remembering 'that Dean', thinking of him, her reaction to seeing her boys again, grown-up... It's all wonderful, love.

Spotted a typo, though, in that second one.
-she was not been angry-
'Was' should be 'has', yes?

[tigriswolf]

Thank you!

And, *facepalm*