Disclaimer: SPN not owned by me, etc.
AN: To be told in a series of short-ish snippets from Mary's POV (mostly). Expect sequels and random ficlets. And expect draaamaaa~
When she comes to the room is in shambles around the body of her husband. The shadow of black wings spread out beneath his body. She doesn't even notice that Dean is sitting in the corner of the room until long after she's got John in her arms and tears on her cheeks.
Nobody speaks for a very long time.
When the silence is finally broken it's to discuss in flat tones what to do with the bodies of her husband and Dean's brother—her other son. The son that will never exist.
They don't talk about what Dean did and they don't talk about why he did it. Not now. Mary knows better than that. Can see in his eyes the toll that it took. Part of her already knows that she never wants to have that conversation.
The hunter in her takes to building the pyres and moving the bodies with detached efficiency and, by the time what she's doing registers, she's watching the body of her husband burn with wet cheeks and a hand on her stomach. She knows she has to let him go. Knows that nothing good can come from deals with devils. She never looks away, but by the end her hand is in Dean's, clinging to it like a lifeline. If she lets go, she's afraid he'll disappear and leave her alone to make the same mistakes all over again.
And she knows this isn't over. Her grandfather had taught her that God forgave. He also taught her that angels were good and just.
Something in her screams that there will be retribution.