Title: Wings of Dark Foreboding
Summary: Mary destroyed everything she touched. She did things she was told not to do. She knew things she shouldn't know. In the end, she was selfish. But it was ok, because her son had angels watching over him. Spoilers for 4.03.
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for 4.03, obviously. And… slight incest. But nothing worse than what you'd find in the show. Never thought I'd actually have to say that.
A/N: I was actually kind of disappointed that Castiel didn't figure into the whole "There are angels watching over you" thing. So I made him figure into it. Kinda AU, but kinda not. And, dude, the parallels between Dean and his mom are awesome! Title comes from a line in "Oedipus the King."
Disclaimer: The show and its characters are not mine!
Wings of Dark Foreboding
May 2nd, 1973
Mary Campbell destroyed everything that she touched. The man with the yellow eyes told her so. She destroyed her mother and her father and the man that she loved.
Your son, too, his slick voice, so unlike Samuel's, unlike her loving father's, unlike the smooth tongue pressing into her mouth, making her cringe and recoil at the terror of it all, said in her mind. Your boy. My boy now. Both of them.
She heard Dean shout, felt the demon crook her father's mouth, once so familiar, now so warm and foreign, into a smile against hers. That's the one, he whispered in her brain, the words sliding in as the damning saliva, the tainted mark did. As, ten years to come, crimson blood would.
The demon leaned away from her, yellow eyes shining as it grinned up at Dean, and she reeled. Her son? No. No, that was impossible. It was impossible like death and deals and demons with shining eyes and clammy hands and warm lips and promises of ten long years with so vague a price. Impossible like vampires and werewolves and revenants and everything else that she'd grown to hate about her life and her family. The family that she'd killed.
Her father's mouth opened, a gaping hole, and in it she could see his tongue. She shuddered. Not her father. Couldn't be her father. Her father wouldn't do those things, wouldn't take her John from her and then promise him back for something that she would never know.
The demon escaped in a cloud of black smoke, and then there was only Mary and Dean. Mother and son. She believed. Demons lied, sure. She'd been taught that from a young age, but they didn't lie to her. Never to her. She was special. She decimated worlds with her hope of being loved and safe and warm and normal. She killed with a touch. She destroyed with whispers of peace. She was a monster.
She looked in the mirror every morning and she saw that written in her eyes. She looked at Dean, and she saw the same thing. She saw the loss of hope and innocence and love and devotion. She saw everything that she never wanted for her son. She saw her failure.
So she looked away, back down at John, but that didn't help. She saw him there, too, in the set of the jaw, the shape of the face, the sparkle in the eyes. Demons never lied to her, and she hated it.
"Mary?"
"John." She leaned in close, savoring the touch of her future husband, the father of her children, warm and breathing and alive in her arms. She heard the rustling of wings, but didn't look up, didn't care.
She was vaguely aware of a shadow stretching suddenly alongside her son's, alongside her Dean's, but it didn't seem threatening. The other hunter- and she hated herself for that, too- didn't seem to mind it, anyway. She focused on John, on her future, tried not think about what was waiting for her at home, about the cooling body of her father beside them, the way his tongue had felt in her mouth, his lips against hers.
And then the new shadow stretched, growing larger at the shoulders. She resisted the urge to look up at it as it enlarged, spreading what she could have sworn were wings in the light cast by the headlights of Dean's car.
Then, as fast as it had appeared, both shadows were gone. Mary looked back up, but Dean was nowhere in sight. The only signs that he had ever been there were the still-idling car and a littering of shadowy black feathers on the ground near where he'd stood.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
November 2nd, 1983
Mary Winchester destroyed everything she touched. She just hoped that her son, her Dean, could redeem her. The boy had an in, after all.
She knew what day it was, knew what she owed, however vague the details might have been. She knew what she had promised, as well. She kissed her oldest boy good-night, tucked him in, and went over the same nightly routine.
She told him the truth, the same truth that she told him every night, the one that she knew with all of her heart. He was special. There were angels watching over him.
She went to bed. She woke up. She broke her promise. She kept her deal.
Mary Winchester's final thought before fire consumed her was that she was selfish. Terribly, horribly selfish.
The End. So, any final thoughts? I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading!