Ring around the rosie,
Pocket full of posie
Ashes, ashes
We all
Fall
Down
Mary Winchester awoke to the sound of her son's sobbing. She rolled out of bed and made her way down the hall to three-year-old Dean's bedroom. It was amazing, really, that John could sleep right through it.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
Dean was sitting up in bed, scrawny arms curled tightly around his legs. Without turning on the light, Mary went to him and pulled him onto her lap.
"Ashes, mommy!"
An inexplicable chill crawled down her spine, making her sit straighter and hold her baby closer.
"It's OK, it's alright. You're safe, I got you."
She continued to make soothing noises and began to rock back and forth a little, hoping to help him fall asleep again.
"No mommy! Ashes! Ashes!"
Maybe he needed to talk about his nightmare?
"What's ashes, baby?"
Dean wound his fingers into her nightgown and tried to snuggle closer.
"Don' go mommy. Don' go."
"Shhh, shhh. I'm not going anywhere."
Dean hiccuped. Mary patted him on the back.
"Do you need me to sing you to sleep?"
Mary felt him nod against her stomach.
"Hey Dean, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better."
Dean's grip on her nightgown relaxed. Mary continued to rub his back.
"Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."
Dean's breathing deepened and slowed.
"Hey Dean, don't be afraid..."
Mary stopped, leaving the verse unfinished. She gently lifted Dean off her lap and laid him back in the bed, taking care to tuck him in just right.
Crawling back under her own blankets, Dean's words echoed trough her mind.
Ashes, mommy, ashes.
Mary wiggled closer to John, needing some comfort for herself.