The phone danced across the dresser as vibrations ran through the wood. Mary Winchester sat before the TV, leaned forward with her hands clasping each other as her eyes narrowed in concentration. The Ellen Show captivated her, even enough for her to ignore the ringing phone. Mary sighed as the cellar device silenced, finally ripping her gaze away from the screen to rise and approach the phone. One voicemail.
The hell is a voicemail? Mary wondered as her fingers searched for the play button. Finally she jabbed on the screen and pressed her ear against the foreign object. "Mom?!" The frantic cry of her eldest almost caused Mary to drop the phone in surprise, but instead gripped it tighter. "It-it's Dean." There was a loud crash in the background. "I don't know where you are... And I know you needed time but- SHIT! Sammy, watch out!" Gunshots erupted before the sound of pounding feet broke off. "Crap, listen, we need help. You're the only hunter in town and Cas isn't answering our prayers." More gunshots as Sam swore loudly near the phone. "Mom... I lo-" The voicemail cut off, the time limit reached.
Mary Winchester didn't give herself time to think. She scrambled for her purse and bolted for the motel door, hurtling it open and jogging for her car. Dean had picked it out for her, as their bunker came equipped with a large garage that the oldest son spent most his time. It was an old Prius, but had amazing mileage and the paint job had demon warding painted on. Mary stabbed the key into the ignition, roaring the car to life as she peeled out of the parking lot.
Her heart pounded as her hands shook while gripping the steering wheel. emWhy wasn't she there already? Why'd she leave her boys? /emShe was supposed to be there for them- even if they were like complete strangers. Angry and stressed tears threatened to stain her vision, but she pushed them down along with the pedal as the tires shredded down the road. Her hunter instincts had kicked in as she pondered what kind of monster had broken into their bunker. They were extremely well protected, but by the sound of the voicemail, it sounded bad. Forcing a slow breath to escape her, Mary skidded to a stop in front of the isolated bunker. The door popped open as she leapt out, cocking the hammer back of her pistol before rushing for the door.
Pale fingers slapped against the large door, shoving it open as her senses rose while she aimed down the sights. The silence that greeted her was so thick, her breathing sounded like roars. Hands trembling, the mother began down the stairs, scowling at the odd scent that violently hit her. Her legs slowed as she jolted at the recognition of the smell. Iron. Having been a hunter herself, she became familiar with the chemical and resented it. Her blonde locks fell into her eyes as she surveyed the scene. It seemed normal... At first.
Books full of lore was scattered across the table, bottles of beer mixing with the fast food wrappers caking every inch of the wood. But the scene seemed... Wrong. The chairs were cast about violently, crumpled in heaps of wood. The iron scent grew stronger, causing Mary to cautiously walk forwards. She frowned at the strange sound coming from another room, a choked noise that caused chills to run up and down the mom's spine. Following the sound, Mary picked up on traces of crimson liquid splattered about aimlessly. She silently swore to never leave her sons again, not ever again. She was a mother and had to protect her children.
The sound stiffened as Mary Winchester pushed open the door, revealing the horror show instantly. Castiel was collapsed on his knees, shaking uncontrollably while he fought back sobs of agony. The room was in shambles. Bookshelves were knocked over carelessly, furniture snapped and broken. But what caught her attention was what looked like a pile of clothes. Mary sucked in a breath as she suddenly recognized the heap of clothing to be her youngest child. The weapon slipped from her fingertips as the bottom half of Sam was completely missing. His form stiff and frozen. What broke Mary, however, was Dean. He was sprawled before Castiel with a shotgun in his hand, and a closed fist in the other. His stomach had a bloody, gaping hole that seemed to be torn into. The sight of Dean's glossy pale eyes, was what broke Mary.
She fell to the ground, a silent scream shattering her lungs as salty tears blurred her wide eyes. They were gone... They were gone... They were gone. And it was all her fault. If she had been there... She could had stopped this. Her beautiful sons were dead.