She's twenty when she meets him. Amy has dragged her away from her journals and books and fantasies to come have a more 'exciting' life. She's braided her long blond hair into two pink tails and put on a skirt to impress Amy, it says: Look I can have fun without sweats!
He's not super tall, or the loudest in the group of guys, but he does have this amazing smile, dimples prominent, that he keeps flashing her way. Amy's boyfriend introduces him as John Winchester. And when he grasps her hands he looks in her eyes. She holds the look though she's sure she's blushing. When she looks away she notices Amy with that mysterious little grin on her face.
But Mary doesn't care, because John just made her stomach flip simply by shaking her hand.
The first times he kisses her it's two months later and summer is about to end. 1974 and the heat blazes down on Kansas like a fire only for them. They go to the pool, they have been doing this for weeks. And on the walk they gently bump elbows and shoulders and grin shy smiles. Mary dunks him in the deep end and John gets his revenge by pushing her in the pool while she tries to dry off. But somewhere between getting ice cream and relaxing on the chairs he catches her eye again and smiles. She recognizes that smile, understands it, dreams about it. When their fingers graze in passing ice cream he bends down and kisses her. When he pulls away he still has a smile, and she knows she's wearing a goofy little one herself. But her stomach just flipped again, and it doesn't really matter. And her heart won't seem to calm down.
Three years with him. Three years of sitting with shoulders touching and hands entwined. He's got large hands, and his second toe is humongous, and he snorts sometimes when he is laughing hard. But he's hers. John Winchester, she likes to write the name in her diaries. It's not surrounded by hearts or flowers or any other girlish crush things, it's just his simple name sprawled on a page, something she loves to see.
He sends her letters everyday though they see each other practically everyday. It's a habit that he started when he had to leave her for three months on Marine duty last year. And every day she got a letter her heart pounded harder. She knew she loved him when she couldn't let herself imagine him not coming back. Told him when he jumped off the train and she jumped into his arms.
Today's letter is a simple message.
Mary Harte,
Meet me at the bar we meet in three years ago today. The day you made my heart flip over and my cheeks hurt from smiling.
Love,
John Edward Winchester
John asks her to marry him at the club they first meet in three years ago. The ring laying there in the box isn't humungous, but he knows that she's never wanted a big flashy thing to show the world she's married, all she wants is to tell them with a smile, with a gesture of happiness. The answer is yes and he kisses her passionately right there in the bar in front of everyone. She can feel the smile on his lips and the flip of her stomach. Even after three years it has never ceased flipping. The ring fits her finger snugly and when she glances down at it she loves the sight of this little thing. A ring made of gold and diamond, small but beautiful; this is what will proclaim to complete strangers that Mary is no longer a single woman. This is the first thing that proclaims her Mary Winchester.
The apartment they get together after marrying is small. They smile at each other when they insist on getting two rooms 'just in case.' The place needs some fixing up, but John has the hands of a mechanic, and Mary has the eyes for warming up any room.
"Not pink," is what he says when she mutters about painting. "Anything but bright pink. And no puke green either. Or that ugly color of maroon red that darkens the place."
"Anything else you don't want Mr. Winchester"
He glances up from installing the lightning and gives her that smile, and her stomach flutters. "No," he says. "Wait . . . No I think that's it Mrs. Winchester"
She seriously considers buying a pink canister after buying the sky blue color she adores. But instead she buys a little stuffed animal for the bed that she knows John will just flip over. It's a cute little teddy bear named Fluffy, and when she thinks about it, driving home, she realizes they won't just store it away as memories. One day it could be a toy for a child. It could be something they put in that second room.
She wonders what a baby of John's would be like. Would it have his smile, or her eyes, or her hair? Would he or she be silent and smart or funny and brave like John? Her stomach flips when she imagines holding that baby.
January 25, 1979. Dean comes home with them from the hospital healthy and loud, already a day old. He was three days late and weighed 7 lbs 9 oz at birth. He was the most beautiful creature she had ever met.
The pregnancy wasn't easy. Dean kept kicking her while she slept, and the first trimester was plagued with morning sickness that lasted all day. Near the end the weight of him caused cramps in her legs. But now he's here, and she knows she'd do it all over again just to get this precious moment.
Dean has his father's brown hair, but he has her smile and her green eyes. When John looks at him all he sees is Mary, and all she can see is John.
She sits in the back seat with the baby boy and drinks in the fatigue and overwhelming feeling of finally seeing the baby she'd dreamed about. A boy, not a girl, and she had known it from the moment she had morning sickness and got kicks in the liver she'd known he was going to be a boy.
The skin of his tiny hands is smoother than anything she's ever felt. And his finger barely wrap around her pinky finger. Then he looks at her with those eyes and she can imagine that maybe her eyes are beautiful, at least on her son.
Dean spends his first month crying nonstop. They call it being colic and from 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. he cries. Then, one night, John takes Dean into their bedroom and lays him between Mary and himself. When his mother gives him a kiss on the forehead and lets him wrap his fingers around her one finger he calms. Within minutes he's asleep and his parents smile across the bed at each other.
The first time he speaks it's to his father. Dada he says when John hoists him in the air and lays a big kiss on his cheek. From the couch she sees John tense and finally laughs.
She knows from that moment on that Dean is going to be like his father no matter what he may look like when he gets older.
"Mommy!" he runs to her across the playground. "I went on the monkey bars mommy, did you see"
"Yeah I did honey! Good job"
"Want to see me go again"
She lets herself be dragged over and watches her only son swing down on the bars with a laugh that she's decided is all John's.
It's sort of comical how easy she's fallen into motherhood. Before Dean mornings were about get ready to work at the preschool and kissing John good-bye with passionate ferocity. Now their about lazy morning kisses and preparing breakfast for a three year old who always want blueberry pancakes. Then their about giving him a bath, letting him play and getting ready herself.
The Winchester's are moving in a week to their first house. Four bedrooms this time, and Mary imagines filling them with Dean look-alikes and maybe a little girl with dimples and her eyes. When Dean goes to sleep early John will give her those smiles that now make his eyes crease slightly but no matter what still make her stomach flip.
"Mary Winchester," he'll whisper as they fall asleep and the name has become so familiar, so happy, that she forgets that once she wasn't a Winchester.
"John Winchester," she whispers back. It's like a promise against the pillows as they clasp hands and drink in the feeling of life.
With her second pregnancy there is less morning sickness. With Dean she couldn't eat till at least noon, but with this baby it is less dramatic. He gives her a gentle kick on the liver before bed and moves gently at night, letting her enjoy sleep. She imagines he'll be quite like her.
"Angels are watching over you," she whispers to Dean at night, kissing his forehead. "And soon you'll have a little sibling to watch over"
Somewhere inside her she knows that it's another boy. John is so convinced that it's a girl, but she knows somehow that it's another little boy. For nine months she carries him around, balancing Dean and a bulging stomach. And each day that passes she knows that she's closer to having her second child.
When she wakes to her water bursting at three in the morning it's a surprise. The whole pregnancy had been routine, but now, two days before the delivery date, her little boy decides to take charge. She wakes John and calls Amy to meet them at the hospital as planned so that she can watch Dean.
Mary's forgotten the pain of childbirth, but it comes back. For six hours she's in labor and when the baby is finally born the nurse who helped deliver Dean smiles up, "Another little boy," she says and Mary begins to cry the way she did when Dean was born.
Sam weighs three ounces lighter than Dean. When he's placed in her arms he fusses only for a moment before staring up at her with dark green eyes. He doesn't wail like Dean, he gurgles.
Dean is ushered in and John lifts him up on the bed to sit next to Mary and his little brother. He stares down with a quirky smile. "Is that him"
"Yep," Mary says. "This is your little brother Samuel, or Sam"
Dean scrunches up his freckled nose. "He's wrinkly," he says. He touches his little brother's hand, and Sam's baby hand opens up around his little brother.
"What do you think, Dean, can he stay?" John asks.
Dean stares down for a moment than nods ever so slightly. "Yeah!" And he smiles down at the baby. "Sammy can stay."
Managing two children. She never imagined that life would be so simple and complex at the same time. Sam doesn't cry as much as Dean and she knows when she has to feed him, and when she has to feed Dean. She knows when Dean needs her full attention from the wide-eyed look, and when Sam wants her, mostly tears but sometimes these coy little sounds. Dean kisses Sam good-night every night but he shies away from her butterfly kisses. Finally, he'll submit and kiss her smack on the cheek with a loud sound. She likes kissing Sam's cheeks and forehead, feeling his smooth baby skin and gentle perfection. She loves touching the tiny mole on the side of his nose. John has his moments when he can be caught staring at his wife managing these two boys like she was born to do it. Her gentle hands smoothing down Dean's darkening hair or shimmering across Sam's short little hairs. Fluffy is handed off from Dean to Sam for a three month birthday present. The teddy bear taking up a spot on Sam's wall. There's moments with Sam when she knows that he's aware of her presence though he's too young to really show any signs. Sometimes he cries before the doorbell rings or the phone goes off, and once he cried for over an hour when Dean wasn't around. Her older son came home that night with a big bump in the middle of his forehead. She shakes off the strange feelings, kisses the top of their heads, and falls asleep to dreams of them as older children. Dreams of them at school, dating, playing sports, marrying even. She always seems to fall asleep with a reason to smile.
The first time Sam smiles he's four months old, lying on the couch next to her as she plays with his toes. He's gurgles a little, and then Dean starts tickling his side, and thats when the smile breaks out. That's when the dimples form in the chubby cheeks.
Mary doesn't realize she's crying until Dean places a small hand on her cheek and it comes back wet.
"Why are you crying Mommy?" he asks all innocence and childhood. "Is something wrong"
"No," she whispers. "Look, Dean. Sammy has dimples just like daddy"
She places Dean's small hand on one cheek and her finger on the other and when Sam smiles again their finger fall into the indent. They both fall into Sammy's smile.
"John"
"Hmmm"
"You awake"
"Maybe"
She kisses John passionately, shifting across of the bed to place lips against the familiar surface. When she pulls away his eyes are open that smile dancing across his face, he's now thirty, and more handsome than he was nine years ago.
"Now I'm awake"
She gently thumps him on the arm. The boys are sleeping soundly tonight, no sounds from either bedroom.
"What do you think about having another child in a couple of years?" she whispers against the shell of his ear. "Maybe a girl this time"
"A girl . . ." his voice sounds distant. He's protective of his two sons, and she wonders how protective he'd be of a daughter. "We could name her Kate"
"And she could have your hair and smile . . "
"And you're eyes," John finishes.
They've done this before, with Dean and Sam, imagining what the child would look like. Every time the finished product is better than the sketch she's programmed in her head. Different and exciting and perfection.
"A girl would be great in a few years," John whispers. "Let's wait till Sam's at least three though, please"
Sam at three, Dean at seven, she can't imagine that far. There our only days like today when she can see them as a child and an infant, as innocent sons and products of all the good she has. She can't imagine four years, six years, ten years in the future.
"We can wait," she says back. Her mind drifts ahead to the winter days ahead, of October coming to an end in a week, and then Sam turning half a year old. "We have all the time in the world."
November 2, 1983.
The day is unseasonably warm, but Mary can't complain when Dean and John slip out to play football in the front yard. Sam sounds awake later and she feeds him and slips outside to sit on the stairs outside their door, watch Dean run around with his father.
The weather changes suddenly, the wind picking up and clouds crawling over the sun. The rain, inevitable, plops down in big drops, not pouring but chilling. John and Mary run inside, make hot chocolate for Dean and wrap Sammy in fuzzy blankets.
"What's with the weather this week," John says sipping his own hot chocolate. He looks like a big version of Dean with brown eyes. "One day it's warm, than it's blistery cold, and then a day starts nice a sunny and turns into rain"
She shrugs, could care less with Dean curled on her side and little Sammy laying in her arms falling asleep against her chest.
That night she puts Sam in his crib early, tucks the blankets around him and goes to get Dean dressed for bed. Outside the rain has stopped, and it's a peaceful night. Dean tries to protest that he's not tired, but he yawns and slumps and eventually lets her carry him upstairs. She cast a smile at John in the kitchen pulling out a beer.
He struggles only for a moment with putting on the Pajamas but he gives in and sighs, his hands in the air, stretched out like he could fly away. She kisses the top of his head for being good, and picks him up, carrying him down the hall.
"Let's say goodnight to your little brother." She flips on the switch and pushes down a side of Sam's crib so that Dean can kiss Sam's forehead.
"Night Sam," he says pecking the soft flesh.
Mary bends over the crib, smiles at Sam's smiling face. "Night, love," she says kissing the same spot.
"Hey Dean!" John materializes at the door and Dean runs into his arms with a shout of "Dad"
Mary carefully raises the crib up again kisses Sam's cheek one last time. She hears John across the room.
"Do you think Sam's ready to throw around a football"
"No, Daddy"
"No"
She pats Dean back. "You got him"
"I got him," John says and she goes to brush her teeth and finish getting ready for bed. Finally, she creeps into Dean's room and kisses his forehead.
"Angels are watching over you," she whispers in his tiny ear. "Angels are watching over you my angel"
She spends a moment gazing at Dean's face knowing the image by heart. Her heart beats painfully against her chest for some reason, but she ignores it, kisses him one last time, and turns off the light. She pauses at Sam's door, stares at the face, similar and different from her older son.
She shares a beer with John before turning in. Kisses him passionately with a little smile of a promise on her lips, an incentive not to stay up to late, and walks slowly upstairs to bed. Before sleep comes though she feels a cold upon her, something cold and strong and painful in the happiness of the day.
It's Sam's baby monitor that wakes her. A silent whirring, crackling sound, that isn't normal, but probably a crack in the system. She doesn't know what time it is, but it must be near midnight.
"John?" She turns on her back, sees the empty bed beside her and pushes herself up with a small groan. Sam has slept for over two weeks without waking her or John once.
The house is cool and the hall even colder than her room. She pushes open the nursery door, sees the silhouette of John at the crib. Strange, it looks like he's almost wearing a jacket.
"John, is he hungry?"
"Shhhhh," her husband whispers across the room. His head turning only slightly.
"Okay!" She turns around heading back to bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. But the light at the end of the hall starts flickering, which it shouldn't since they just replaced it yesterday. She shuffles over, taps at the thing blearily, to tired to think of anything else to do. It eventually stops. "Hmmm"
Once again she turns to go back to bed, but there's a TV on downstairs, John usually doesn't forget to turn the thing off, or maybe Dean snuck down to watch cartoons.
She walks down the stairs, feather soft feat and hands touching the stairs and railing. It's one of John's old horror movies, the ones she always cringes during, she can hear the sounds of the screaming. Typical, a scary movie before bed.
Her mind takes the scene in by degrees. The TV flashing black and white. A beer bottle still enclosed in a hand. The old recliner that John loves, and John laying asleep in the chair, snoring lightly. He's definitely not upstairs, definitely not looking over Sam's crib.
"Sammy! Sam! Sammy!"
It's sheer panic as her mind takes over in one thought, Save Sam, oh my god, Sam, get to Sam! And she's pounding up the stairs faster than she ever thought she could, hitting the creaks and walls as she turns down the hall and races to the nursery. Her heart daring to break her chest.
"Sam!"
Inside the man, not her husband, still stands over the crib. He turns, and she catches a glimpse of yellow eyes, of smoky outlines. A nightmare from her past, something she hasn't let herself think about for years. "It's you"
She races forward, goes to grab Sam, but the thing hits her against the wall with some invisible force. It's painful and to tight, sucking out air from her wasted lungs, and all she can hear right now is her heart beating, and Sam beginning to tear up in his crib. Slowly she climbs up the wall, that force pushing her up, hit's the ceiling and slides up onto it. Slides up over Sam's crib so she's right above her beloved son.
The sudden cutting of her stomach pushes a scream from her lungs, and suddenly the thing is gone, the force remains. She hears John scream her name come running into the nursery.
She's dizzy up there in that moment before her blood begins to drip. And she thinks of Dean, probably trying to wake up and see what the sound was. This can't be happening. She's supposed to see him grow up, get married, become a man as strong as his father. And Sam, her youngest is supposed to remember his mom. She's supposed to see him go to school, become book smart like her, find love like she did. This isn't supposed to happen.
"It's alright Sammy, everything's okay"
The first drop falls just to the right of Sam's head. And John reaches for it, having two more drops fall onto his hand. And he looks up, finds her there, pinned to the ceiling.
Dean will watch out for his brother, he always has, even though Mary was his sole guardian these past few months. Her oldest will find a way to raise Sam, protect him. But what of John, who will never be the same again, what of her family as they go on without her?
Not this way, Mary thinks, not this way, please. But the heat builds behind her and the flames begin behind her back, scorching in pain. And she knows this moment will change lives, will alter the fate of more than just her family. And Sam is taken from the nursery in John's arms. Not this way, not this way, please!
This moment will change lives, she thinks, her mind fading fast. It will change everything. But it is not her defining moment.
It is not hers.