In Which Mary Plays Nurse

Mary sat on the couch, not quite irritated, but certainly getting there. John had gone out fishing or some other such display of masculinity that morning and when night fell, she had started perking up whenever headlights hit the house. Now, far be it from six months pregnant Mary Winchester to complain when her husband came home late, but she was pregnant for Pete's sake and that gave her a little wiggle room. Something she'd lost completely since her belly began expanding at such a rapid rate.

By the time she heard the familiar rumble of her Impala in the driveway, she didn't even bother moving. She was what you might call, stubborn as all hell. And when she heard the knocking at the door? With an aggravated grumble, she heaved herself off the couch and yanked open the door in a huff. To be greeted by a thoroughly battered John. And while she didn't say anything, her eyes betrayed her, flickering between anger, fear and annoyance. His nose was bloody and he definitely had a shiner. Not to mention the way he held his shoulder clearly showed he'd dislocated it.

"Oh Johnny." Even when she was mad, she still loved him more than she thought possible. She ushered him inside and pushed him onto the couch. She bustled about trying to mend him, ignoring his babbling about a bar fight and his profuse apologies, only pausing when he said that he had to hotwire the Impala. At that, she threw a dishrag at him. She was in nurse mode, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to go easy on him because he was stupid enough to open his big mouth in a bar. Shaking her head she handed him the projectile dishrag and he knew enough to bite down on it.

She quickly popped his arm back into place, wincing at his grunt of pain and immediately softened her touch before heading to the kitchen for ice and something to make a brace. "What happened?" She listened as he explained the brawl in minute detail, trying to fight the laughter. She found a strap of nylon in one of the drawers, and fiddled with the length until it was suitable for a makeshift sling. They could get a better replacement tomorrow.

She giggled all the way back to John, and continued to do so while she fitted the sling around his shoulder and down over his arm and -Jesus she could just see the entire fight, and oh, her poor, poor, testosterone-driven husband.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling her down onto his lap. She kissed him gently on his black eye and finally calmed her giggles. "It's a good thing you spent those two years in Nursing School." He rubbed her swollen belly softly.

"No, it's a good thing I love you. Anyone else hotwired my car and I would have let them suffer."