Title: Mary, The Present
Characters: Mary, Castiel.
Warning: I may or may not have used a phrase of Latin right. Feel free to let me know if I have it wrong.
Spoilers: For only a few things that have happened throughout the expanse of the show.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone affiliated with the show Supernatural. I don't own, so don't sue. Thank you. That last bit rhymed.
Summary: Just because Mary is out of sight doesn't mean her family is out of mind. A hunter's job is never done. She ponders, giving us descriptions of what has become of her as well as a few others, and of course she doesn't leave out her thoughts of her boys.
…
What do you say about two men who walk and talk exactly the way they were brainwashed to, for their own good, for the good of mankind?
Do you say that it's unfortunate? Do you feel sorry for them for having to live such brutalities, walking on such sharp eggshells?
My first instinct would be, yes. However, no.
You see them with respect, because you can't help but to take notice of the authority they demand, and just about the time you see the hardened souls that they were molded to carry, you see them grin like overgrown boys; all innocence that shouldn't be underestimated as something as weakness. Just because they see the beauty of the stars while laying under them on the roof top of a 67' Chevy Impala, just because they were taught that souls were precious enough to throw theirs on the line for everyday, doesn't mean that they can't see through you, that they can't take care of themselves.
Broad shoulders don't just carry the muscle that you first take note of when they come into view. They carry your burdens. That isn't something that is or will ever be something that will get any easier for them. They stopped wishing for that whenever the things they hunted took on shapes of their own father, each other, and even me their mother. Such extremities to take down mere men. It makes their chests ache. It makes mine ache.
It was different when they hit their twenties. More reality. If they thought their eyes were opened at too young of an age when they were small children, they were right. They just didn't fathom that as time kept going and they kept hunting that they would have their eyes opened to more, not less. They felt naive for ever thinking any different when they reached adulthood and began to understand that the hunt is never finished.
John was right to try and teach them though, to never be shocked by anything. If they can't be shocked, then the element of surprise can't sneak up and leave them defenseless, which may be one of the only things a hunter fears; to be defenseless.
As for what others fear...
No.
They don't run from what's to be feared.
They hunt it.
…
Would I have chosen this life for my sons?
Never.
It doesn't mean I'm not proud. I couldn't be prouder.
From time to time, I see them. They never see me.
Dean, my little man; always prone to pick up on every negative emotion that I had. Arguments with John were never something Dean didn't pick up on. It was always hugs and kisses and promises for me that Daddy still loved me because I'm too pretty for him not to and that everything would be okay. He was such a grownup from day one, it seemed. I miss his compliments. He was my little protector, so loyal. It wasn't until John would apologize, that Dean would forgive him too. And really, John found out real quick to come home with flowers for Mommy. Or else. John was such a sucker for Dean's pout. Yes, once the man was the most tender-hearted man I'd ever met. Once John had won my forgiveness Dean became his little shadow again, following him about the house, mimicking everything he did, like always. As loyal and loving as he was with me, the moon and the stars rose in John to him. He was Dean's hero.
From watching him, I imagine that if I had lived that he would have a different date every Friday night. Every Saturday he would be grounded until he went back to school on Monday because of all of the trouble he would get into. No need for John to mow the lawn, or me to trim the hedges. Dean's Sunday evenings would consist of those as punishments. He would be a heart-breaker. The phone would have rung off the hook for him constantly with teenage girls. He might have even played a sport like football. He loved tossing the ball around with his daddy in the backyard.
Sammy, my baby. My heart aches that he has no memories of me. Oh but I remember him. I remember being in labor with him. Unlike Dean whom I was in labor for twenty-one hours with, Sam was ready to be free. Three pushes and he came into this world. He wasn't like his brother, clinging, and not wanting to detach himself. I felt the absence immediately. That is until they cleaned him up and put him in my arms. I was reassured at that moment that Sam wasn't trying to break free from me. He was ready to meet me face to face was all, because my son looked up at me with such understanding that it took my breath away. He knew exactly who I was from the moment we met. I was convinced from that moment that my little Sammy was a mama's boy.
From watching him, I imagine that if I had lived that he would have been the smartest boy in Lawrence school. Judging by the length of him when he was born, he would have hit his growth spurt before everyone else did in his class, and would have been the high-school basketball star. He might have had a hard time choosing which scholarship to embrace; the one for his intelligence, or the basketball scholarship. As for dating, every girl would chase him, but something about him tells me that he would have been a one woman man. He was such a sweet baby, learning to smile so early, turning those big dimpled cheeks on anyone who would take notice; unlike his big brother, who was such a serious looking baby, just observing people, while Sammy loved having people smile and coo at him; whereas, Dean couldn't have cared less. Sam, so desperate for approval would have chased the first girl who didn't fall for his smile and that would have been the one he married. A mother can tell these things.
My poor Sam, there is this one thing. He doesn't understand it, but I do. When I gave birth to him he was breaking free to meet me, and he did, but once I was gone it sent him right back into trying to break free all over again. He's been trying to break free from John and Dean ever since he was old enough to know that it was possible. It saddens me but I'm almost positive that Sam has been trying to break free to find me some way, somehow, even though he doesn't understand that is what he's trying to do, what he's trying to break free and grasp. I'm almost sure of it. My youngest is stuck trying to find what's missing, what's out there, his mother. It's human nature, we all do it. We try channeling our need to fill the missing piece in our lives in certain ways, whatever that missing piece may be.
John and I would have had our hands full, definitely, with Dean constantly getting into trouble, and Sam being defiant. John would have never stopped going to church and we would have brought up our boys in the church where we got married. Dean wouldn't be such a skeptic and Sam's faith would be confirmed. I wish I could bring them here just for a short time to show them that I'm okay. I should have gone to hell. Fate had other plans for me. I want to put their minds at rest about it. For now it has to be enough to watch after them.
John, my beloved. We were who we were and that was always enough. John's heart was and is still good. He gets to watch the boys a little closer than I do now that he's deceased as well. I have yet to get to touch him where I am though. My heart longs for him, but our boys come first. If one could see the invisible they would see a big black truck leading the Impala wherever it goes. Our boys actually think they are grown men, on their own, like big boys. Like John would have any of that.
Making deals with demons, selling your own soul, is big. But what they don't tell you is that there is something that trumps it all. The heart of the person. John gave his soul to save our eldest son. That didn't go unaccounted for
John... John... he-he spent some time there at first, but fate had other plans for him as well. He and Dean share the same handprint on their shoulder. One day John and I will be together again.
Angels can be so stoic, so mechanical. That's a good thing, because I don't think John could tolerate Castiel if he weren't so cut and dry. The angel loves our family and he's one of my closest friends. He's able to get closer to me than to John. The friendship is welcome. I get to hear about my boys from him. The occasional updates when I'm unable to watch them as closely are like music to my ears. He speaks of Dean's undying loyalty to his little brother, and how Sam has learned to stifle the evil intent that the yellow eyed demon was intending to use him for. Hearing those reports from Cas is almost as sweet as hearing 'Hey Jude' sang out of Dean's little mouth when I would sing the song for Sammy to put him to sleep.
It's beyond hard watching my boys fighting and struggling, doing everything to hold it together, with no idea that what awaits for them is so much greater than they could ever imagine. Some angels have strayed, screwing with my boys. Good angels serve mankind, not try and take it over. They don't get big heads from their power. I would know because I'm a friend of many. Not many have devout vessels though like Castiel. Jimmy Novac, Castiel's trusty vessel, will definitely have peace in the end. I've seen angels take human form, but none stay, it's too restricted. I look around and see their forms and it's not like I imagined when I was a young woman living on earth. Some have six wings, and some have four. They all have different purposes and different looks to them. Some look as harmless as babies and some look as intimidating as dragons. Cas's true form, in size, wouldn't fit anywhere except for out in the open.
Jessica, Sam's sweet late girlfriend, she's a great comfort. They might as well have given her wings. She doesn't remember the things she would have missed with Sam. She only remembers the good times between them. She doesn't watch over Sam like any romantic drama would portray. She watches after her family. She's especially assigned to her little sister, a fifteen year old paraplegic who wanted to grow up to be just like her. From the sound of it, she will, being the strong child that she is, she doesn't let that wheelchair stop her a bit.
Everyone has a purpose here. A spirit's work is never done. I've sat on cliff edges, and enjoyed many talks with a certain unpopular, misunderstood God. I've gotten a few questions answered, but mostly I've just enjoyed the visits. People really don't realize how much they really are made in God's image.
Jesus is playful, always tricking this spirit or that angel, getting their wings all a flutter; tapping shoulders and disappearing. Every once in a while, you can feel his arms around you, just because. He does that, shines light, laughs, loves. Seeing Him serious is a sight to behold as well.
I breathe easy and look around me. The colors here are driven by emotions. Right now the wind is purple and blue, with a hint of yellow. Hippie's love it here. God really does love his own painting skills, and honestly, I kind of do too.
I'm okay, I'm just waiting. Not anxiously, there's none of that here. I'm quite glad for that, given that there isn't such a thing as time here. It's a different story of the angels.
I feel a wind and know who it is before I turn around. I would know those wing flutters from anywhere. Cas's flutters are should I say, aware? Yes aware. My boys give him such a hard time about just zooming in and out of wherever they are. Honestly, I think it's made the usually stoic angel, a little self-conscious.
He's telling me that my boys are resting now and I sit on my favorite rock looking over the horizon of orange and yellow rivers that run through the green fields with scattered trees. He doesn't sit, he just stares out, taking in the sight of God's beauty, and breathes in the clean air; so different from the polluted air that is of the world.
He looks over, because he knows what I'm wanting and he graces me with it... "John says to tell you, 'Te amo, Maria.'"
It's times like these that I could just tease the little angel, because he's blushing and turning the winds into bright red swirls with swooshes of neon pink.
I take his hand in mine to calm him, giving him a grateful smile. "You make sure and tell him that I love him too."
End.