Plot: The YED did not have making deals or recruiting special children on his agenda the day he met Mary Winchester, but when he encounters her as she holds her dying son, she unwittingly makes a deal that will change the lives of the Winchester's forever.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.
A/N It's probably been done before, but this is my version of how Mary Winchester might've recognized the YED. This is my first fic posted. I hope you enjoy!
It's You by Deana W.
It was sunny that day. Mary remembered it all too well. The memory haunted her dreams and kept her up at night, even though it had happened over a year ago. It was the most terrifying day of her life, though in many ways, it started like any other day only much better than any other day.
As always, the breakfast table was that of chaos. Dean was a bundle of energy and curiosity. He was more interested in exploring than eating breakfast, and had successfully left more food on the floor than in his stomach. John was too busy hurrying through his breakfast to help out, as usual, but Mary didn't mind. John's business partner at the garage was on vacation, and John had to put in extra hours.
Little did he know that he needed the extra hours. They needed the money. That day was also significant in the sense that that morning she took a pregnancy test that came up positive. She had a doctor's appointment that afternoon to confirm what she had already suspected before she took the home pregnancy test, and wanted to wait until then to tell John the news. They had talked about having a second child for a while, but it was a big step, one she wasn't sure they were ready for. John was making enough to comfortably support Mary and Dean without her having to go back to work, but their apartment was too small for even one kid, let alone two so having another child meant they should start looking for a bigger home. But, she knew John would be as thrilled as she was.
Mary kissed John goodbye as he left for work and Mary was glad. She was having a hard time that morning with keeping her mouth shut. She couldn't wait to tell John she was having another baby, and she couldn't wait to tell Dean he was going to be a big brother and to explain to him what that meant. Dean was playing with his cars as Mary cleaned up the kitchen, humming to herself.
She hoped she was going to have a girl, but having another boy would be wonderful too. She ran a few names through her head. She loved the name Jennifer for a girl, but there were already three Jennifers in the neighborhood. She always thought Sarah was a beautiful name, and when she was little always wanted to have a daughter named Sarah, but again it was too common. Besides, that name became out of the question when she became a Winchester. There was no way she'd have a child with the same name as a famously crazy woman. For a boy she liked the name Dennis, but she always found it cheesy when parents had two kids with the same initial. She liked the name Martin, but having two sons named Dean and Martin was just as cheesy. Of course she and John had plenty of time to consider names.
When the time came for her appointment she strapped Dean into his car seat and they drove to the doctor's. On the way Dean was a little chatterbox, as he played with his toy car. She watched him with joy as he babbled about nothing in particular. Dean was such a happy kid, but he didn't play well with other kids his age. He was shy around anyone other Mary or John, so she couldn't wait for him to have a baby brother or sister. She remembered that Dean was very inquisitive that day, and she spent most of that drive telling him what things were. That was one of the many things she adored about Dean. He was so smart and she knew he would be a great brother.
Mary wasn't sure if it was her excitement of being pregnant, or if she was distracted by Dean, who unfortunately chose that moment to fiddle with the buckle of his seatbelt, but she somehow missed a stop sign, and did not see the other car coming.
The impact made a fierce noise, of metal scraping against metal. She felt the car spin, and her head bang against the driver's window, but she didn't feel the car stop. One second the car was spinning, the next she was stopped, and a man was at her window.
"Are you OK?" he asked.
Mary rubbed her head and replied, "Yeah…I'm fine. Dean? Dean honey are…" she looked behind her and realized that the other car hit the passenger side, the worst in the back seat where she saw that Dean's car seat was crushed, and empty. "Dean!" she cried, jumping out of the car.
She ignored the onlookers who told her she should take it easy and opened the back door, "Dean!" she screamed, looking in the backseat. She saw him on the floor, between the front and back seats. He was still. Dean was never still. Even when he slept, he was never still. "Oh no… please…" she cried. "Please baby, be OK, please be OK…" she begged.
He was partially on his back and partially on his side, his head pointed towards her, but she couldn't see his face. His right arm rested awkwardly over his head, his left buried under him. A quick glance at his car seat made her momentarily thankful that he had unbuckled himself—it was completely ruined, he could've been crushed—but she wasn't sure if being thrown to the floor was better or worse. He was so still, so quiet. His head and arms were at such awkward angles.
She reached in and grabbed his hand, it was so tiny and vulnerable and limp. She expected his small fingers to instinctively curl around hers, but there was nothing. "Come on baby, please…"
Her fingers pressed against his wrist and she felt for a pulse, terrified that she wouldn't find it. Her fears were realized and she began to panic. She slid her fingers to his neck, still unable to find a pulse. Against her better judgment, as maternal instincts began to override logic, she tried to move him, to pull him close to her. The back of her mind told her that moving him could make whatever injuries he had worse, but the only thing that made sense to her was to hold her baby close and make everything all right.
She pulled him towards her carefully. His head lolled back, unresponsive. She saw his face and cried out when she noticed his lips were blue, pale yellow vomit mixed with blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. At that moment she wanted to kill the people who ran into her car, who hurt her son.
"Come on Dean," she pleaded, carefully pulling him closer to her.
"I don't think you should move him, ma'am," a voice told her.
She didn't acknowledge the voice behind her, or the hand trying to pull her back. All her attention was focused on Dean. Memories of the day he was born flashed through her brain. That had been the happiest day of her life. She recalled his first smile, his first word, his first step… He was only three years old, he was going to be a big brother, the powers that be couldn't take him away from her now. It wasn't fair. He was too young. He didn't deserve for his life to be cut short.
"What happened?" one of the onlookers asked.
"She ran through the stop sign," another said, "the other car didn't see her coming."
Mary's heart sank. It was her fault. She pulled her firstborn to her and held his limp body in her arms and looked around desperately at the onlookers. Her eyes were pleading as she sank to the pavement, cradling Dean in her arms.
"I called an ambulance," a woman declared as she rushed from a nearby house, "they'll be here soon."
Soon is too late. Mary thought with horror. Dean was still too still, too pale, his lips were too blue. There was no breath in his lungs. She put her finger in his mouth, she felt that his tongue was blocking his throat, she moved his tongue out of the way, and chanted quietly, "Come on Dean, breathe. Breathe baby… come on. Breathe. Breathe. Please." Something else was hindering Dean from taking a breath, and she didn't know what to do.
Her eyes scanned the crowd who watched the scene in quiet horror. The driver of the other car sat on the curb, stunned as a teenage girl comforted him, a woman was crying while trying to shelter her own healthy child from seeing the horror before them. The other curious onlookers watched in shock or concern and morbid fascination as the scene unfolded, but no one made the move to help her.
"Please, someone help me!" she begged, terrified because she was responsible. Terrified that it was already too late. She couldn't live with herself if she lost her firstborn. How could she look in the mirror if Dean died and it was her fault? How could she ever look into John's eyes again after having to tell him that she killed their son? How could she explain to their unborn child that she killed its big brother?
"No," she murmured, ignoring the salty taste in her mouth as her tears freely ran down her cheeks. "No!" she screamed. "Please! I don't know what to do! Someone please, please help me! I'll do anything!"
A man in black stepped in from the crowd, "Let me," he said. His voice was cold, but soothing and he knelt down beside her, holding out a helping hand.
Mary regarded him and her crying ceased. There was something about his eyes. She wasn't sure if she should be grateful and comforted, or if she should take Dean and run. She held the lifeless body of her son to her breast for a moment before nodding. She was desperate. She handed Dean to him and he rested him flat on the pavement.
A second person came from the crowd, a woman. She placed comforting hands on Mary's shoulder. Mary shook away the comfort and watched the man intently.
The man's eyes bothered her. In any other context, if she saw those eyes she would run. But of all the people in the crowd, he was the only one who stepped forward to help. Maybe he was the only one who knew how.
"What's his name?"
"Dean," Mary replied.
"Ah. Dean," he nodded.
Mary watched him apprehensively. He wasn't doing anything. Why wasn't he doing anything?
"And how old is he?"
"Three."
The man pressed his fingers over Dean's body. He was calm. "A mother would do anything for her child, right?"
"Of course," Mary exclaimed, taken aback by such an odd question. "Can you help him? Please. Please say you can help him!"
Moving only his eyes he looked at Mary.
"If you can save him… please, I'd do anything. Anything!" Mary's tears continued to fall. Dean had been still, not breathing for too long. She knew that it was too late, but she was desperate.
The man nodded.
What happened next Mary couldn't explain, but time seemed to stand still, and then, suddenly, a miracle. The most beautiful sound erupted to pierce the air as Dean coughed, spitting up blood and bile, and then burst into a crying scream. The crowd seemed to exhale in relief at once and Mary let out a cry as she took Dean into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably, but this time they were tears of relief and joy.
The man took Mary's hand and placed something in her hand. She glanced at the small object in her hand and saw that it was one of the wheels of his toy car. Dean had been, without her knowledge, sucking on it like a candy at the time of the accident. She closed her eyes and held her crying son, too grateful for words.
----
The man also remembered that day very well. But unlike Mary Winchester, his day did not start out like any other day. That was the day he escaped hell after a young man named Bobby exorcised him years before.
His host had woken up early that day. A loaded pistol rested on his bedside table. He was a failure of a man. His wife had left him for his best friend, his teenage kids loathed him, he had just lost his job and the bank was on the verge of foreclosing his house. That morning he woke up, took the pistol in his hand and carried it downstairs and made breakfast. Anyone who could see would find it an odd breakfast that he made. Fried eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, top sirloin steak made rare, french fries with gravy, fried chicken and a big piece of apple pie ala mode. He cleaned off his plates, not caring about the indigestion and put the pistol to his head. Before he could pull the trigger, he had become possessed. The despair he had felt made him an attractive host for the demon.
He did not see the accident, nor did he care about the fate of those involved, but still, he could hear the sound of a pleading mother. He could sense that a child fatality was coming up and he did not want to miss some good entertainment. Making deals and recruiting special children was not on his agenda at all yet when he stumbled across Mary Winchester.
He watched the mother cradle her dying son, wishing he had some popcorn. He knew she was pregnant, and he thought it poetic that where one life ends, a new one begins. He also sensed her guilt, it was tearing her apart and he reveled in it. But even as her guilt and despair ravaged her heart, he could sense a powerful strength within her. There was something special about her. His eyes glanced at the reaper that was coming to take her son away. She seemed to sense it, without realizing what she was sensing.
"No," she whispered, staring into the lifeless face of her soon to be dead child. The reaper advanced and without knowing it, she was staring right at Death as she screamed, "No!" The reaper paused and the man watched with interest. She was a strong one. Desperate, but strong. Even though it was clear to everyone that her kid was basically dead, she still had fight in her. She reminded him of a mother bear protecting her cub. It didn't matter that the force she was protecting her cub from was invisible and unstoppable—she still had the strength and will to keep the reaper at bay even though the attempt was futile.
That meant the kid just beginning to grow inside her had great potential.
She turned to her audience beseechingly, "Please! I don't know what to do! Please, please help me!"
He watched her. Throughout the centuries he had learned that one of the most powerful forces in the world was a mother's love. But that love could cause a mother to do the most irrational of things. All that mattered to this woman was the toddler in her arms. She may be aware that she was pregnant, but the babe in her belly was not a full reality yet, not to her. Watching the last bit of the kid's life force get taken away was forefront in her mind, the one on the way was secondary. Would that be enough to work at his advantage?
"I'll do anything!"
He tried not to grin at the sound of the magic words. There are some things that should remain unsaid in the presence of a demon, and those three little words were right up there. Had this woman have known who he was, he had a feeling she would've said them anyway.
He was the only one who could see the reaper advance once again, and if the kid had his eyes open, he would see it too as it put its hand on the kid's cheek.
"Let me," he said, glaring at the reaper. The force in his eyes willed the creature to back off.
Reapers had a bitter respect for him. They hated it when he or his kin interfered with their work and the natural order of things, but he had the power to possess them. If he chose to possess them, the delicate balance of life and death would shift and the consequences had the potential to be catastrophic. Altering the path of one life could still be, in the long run, devastating, but changing the fates of many would be worse, so when he or his kind interfered with a reaper, they complied. It didn't matter that the power they answered to was much stronger than the demon and even the demon's master. If the reaper's master truly wanted the kid to cross over, than the reaper would've never backed off. That was his logic.
Though the reaper did back off at Mary Winchester's command as well. It was clear to him now that the Winchester family possessed remarkable potential, one they were completely oblivious to. Now he wanted a piece of that, and he was going to get it. Mary had already said the magic words. Now he just wanted to be sure, so after a bit of small talk to calm the woman down he chose his next words carefully.
"A mother would do anything for her child, right?"
As he felt the extent of the kid's injuries, she babbled her answer, ignorantly repeating the magic words without being specific therefore still leaving it open for him to turn it around into whatever he wanted.
He nodded, deciding to give her what she wanted. In nine and six months, he'd return to claim his reward. If the child growing inside her inherited his mother's remarkable strength, he'd claim the kid as one of his own. If it turned out there was nothing special about the baby after all, it didn't matter, he'd simply undo his handiwork and the toddler would die like he was intended to. But he doubted it would come to that.
He removed the toy part from the boy's throat and repaired the severe injuries the woman wasn't even aware of, though leaving the non life-threatening injuries to remain. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he was making a mistake as he sensed that the very kid he was healing would ultimately be his downfall. He rejected the idea that it could be possible and never gave it another thought. The reaper left, the boy was healed, a block away, a man unexpectedly choked to death. The kid screamed, and the woman cried with joy, cradling her son.
Eventually she said, "Thank you so much. How can I ever repay you?"
He smiled, "Just take care of your son, and," he added cryptically, "your unborn child."
The relief washed from her face and she whispered, "How do you know? I haven't even told my husband yet."
With a shrug he replied, "Sometimes one can look at a woman and well, you can just tell." He walked away not looking back.
----
Nine and six months later he returned. It was a cold November evening. He thought back on the worst day of Mary Winchester's life and the deal she unwittingly made. It was time to collect his reward and as he marked her infant son, she rushed in. Suddenly she too was thinking about the worst day of her life when she lost her firstborn only to have him miraculously revived. They were both a little surprised that she recognized him. He possessed a different body now.
In horror, she suddenly understood what he was, and what happened that fateful day and what he was doing in Sammy's nursery. Her eyes widened as she stared into his eyes and exclaimed her final words, "It's you."
A/N Thank you for reading! Please R&R. All constructive criticisms are welcomed, craved even.