Title: One Month
Rating: G, tame as a kitten.
No spoilers
Gen, pre-series story. Mary's thoughts during the first month of Dean's life.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Supernatural or the Winchesters, no matter how much I may want to.
Just a little thing I wrote during class. What? Should I have been listening?
When Dean was born, they didn't live in the house in Lawrence. They lived in a small two bedroom apartment with barely enough room for the two of them, let alone a screaming newborn.
Dean was born almost a month early. Mary had felt her water break, and when she told John, he looked at her and said, "Oh, shit." Despite her state, Mary slapped him because the last thing she wanted was for a swear word to be the first word her baby ever heard. Of course, after 20 hours of excruciating labor, there was really no way for Mary to prevent it.
Then there he was and the doctor placed the small, slimy body in her sweaty, tired arms and all she could think was, "Who is this stranger?"
He, Dean now, was small, but the doctor said he'd "be fine, just fine."
Dean arrived a month early and she and John just weren't ready. They thought they'd be ready, planned to be. But 9 months turned quickly into 6 and then 2 and then Mary's water broke and John said, "Oh, shit" and Dean came home to a hurriedly bought crib from the local "Baby R Us."
They were young parents, inexperienced with children, and all Dean seemed to do was cry. Mary tried everything she could think of. Diaper changes, bottles, rattles, singing, rocking, but nothing would work. At times like these, she looked at the small, angry body and repeated the question she'd ask herself the first she held him.
One long, tiring night when Dean was almost a month old, it was Mary's turn to get up so she walked into the makeshift nursery, her white nightgown useless against the February chill. Dean was in his crib, his cries filling the room. She pulled him into her arms and sat down in the old rocking chair her mother had once used to rock her to sleep. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair, praying that this time Dean would quiet down.
After a few minutes, Dean was still going full force. Mary looked down at him and tried one more time to soothe him.
"Dean," she whispered, exhaustion softening her voice, "It's okay, baby. Mommy's here. Mommy's here."
As Mary's body relaxed, Dean's cries lessened then stopped, his little fists unclenching and his face softening.
His eyes, still bright birth blue, opened and looked into her own. As she looked at this baby finally quiet in her arms, Mary knew, knew. This was her and this was John and this was everything she hadn't known she'd wanted until she had it.
Dean's eyes fluttered and closed, and he fell into the first restful sleep she could remember.
Mary sighed in relief, her legs rocking the chair back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm.
It was three o'clock in the morning, the start of a new day, and Mary realized that it was February 22nd, Dean's original due date.
Oftentimes, after that, she wondered that if Dean hadn't come early, if they could've had one more month together, just the two of them, then maybe their month long estrangement wouldn't have happened, maybe she would have held him in her arms that first time and known exactly who he was.
It was a silly, ridiculous notion, one probably created to ease her guilt, but Mary couldn't help thinking about it every now and then.
Maybe one month could've made all the difference.