This is a little something that came to me as I sit here watching the snow fall out my office window. Yes, that's Michigan for you snow in mid-November. It's my vision of Dean's and Mary's first real Christmas since she's been back. And, maybe just a bit of how I think Mary may see her eldest son. I don't own them, even though I wish I did. I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave a comment and I will try to get better at responding to them. I hope you enjoy.
Dean stood before the decorated tree his eyes shining with a happiness he hadn't thought possible. He looked at the brightly wrapped packages that lay beneath its aromatic boughs and for the first time in a long time he let himself feel the Christmas Spirit. He pushed the thoughts of Michael and his genetically modified monsters to the back of his mind and he focused on his first real Christmas with his mom since she had died when he was four.
He went to the kitchen to check on the ham he had put in the oven and to begin peeling the potatoes. He hummed Christmas Carols as he flitted around the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the Christmas Eve dinner. A sense of contentment washed over him and he soon lost himself in the moment.
Mary stood in the kitchen's doorway, her nose having drawn her in. She smiled as she watched her son stir the macaroni in its boiling water. She giggled as she watched him pull his perfect pumpkin pie from the oven; resisting the urge to put a finger in to taste it. She felt her pride in him grow as she realized just how strong a man he had become.
She thought about all that he had faced, had done, and she realized his resilience knew no bounds. Yes, she had seen him break, but he always came back and he came back stronger. She knew he was loaded down with guilt over what Michael had done while he possessed him. She knew he felt driven to find Michael and to end him, but that he also knew they needed to stop and enjoy the small moments of peace when they came. She knew he was a warrior at heart but that he was also more.
Mary looked at her son and saw a man who loved with all his heart. She saw a man who would do whatever it took to protect those he loved and to show them just how deep that love ran. She saw a man who felt as comfortable in the field with a machete in hand as he did in the kitchen with a vegetable peeler.
She saw a man who knew when to take the lead and when to fall in line. She saw a man on the edge, who, more times than not, had pulled others safely from it. She saw a broken soul whose spark refused to be quenched. She saw the heart and soul of their group. She saw, Dean. Not wanting to ruin the moment she turned and carefully walked away before he would have a chance to notice her.
Dean had decorated the tables and carefully laid the meal out. The silverware had been polished until it shined and the napkins had been neatly rolled and tied with red ribbon. Wine glasses sat waiting to be filled and dinner plates to be piled high; everything was perfect.
The clock struck six and the bunkers residents had begun to fill the dining hall. Their eyes shone with glee and they felt their weariness melt away as the magic of the night washed over them. Laughter floated around the room mixing with boisterous chatter creating a symphony of mirth and merriment this rag-tag group hadn't witnessed in a long time.
Mary found her heart swelling with pride again. Her son did this. Her baby boy had created a night of peace and happiness for a group of virtual strangers all while he struggled with demons none of them could comprehend. He had, once again, managed to put aside his pain and meet the needs of those around him. She saw the damage this did to him, and wished it could be some other way.
She saw the wounds that lay deep and knew one day they would take him and she prayed that it wouldn't be anytime soon. She prayed that some miracle would heal the wounds, but didn't hold hope it would be answered. She knew how this was going to end and he wouldn't have it any other way. She felt a hand land gently on her shoulder and she looked up into her son's brilliant green eyes. She tried but failed to read the emotions they held.
"Merry Christmas, mom," Dean said as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "I want to show you something," he tugged on her arm getting her to stand and follow him. They followed the hallway to Mary's room. Dean opened the door and Mary felt her breath catch. She knew that her son was good with his hands but didn't realize how good until now. Sitting in the corner of her room was a full length mirror enclosed in an intricately carved wooden frame. Hanging by a leather cord from a corner of the frame was a carved wooden heart shaped locket that held a picture of both her sons and sitting on her nightstand was a heart shaped frame that held a picture of her with John and both the boys that was taken a few months before the fire.
She walked to the mirror and ran her fingers over the roses and their vines that had been carved into its frame. She felt the tears as they threatened to fall when she reached out and pulled the locket from its perch. She looked at the pictures and couldn't help but smile at them. She placed the leather cord around her neck and felt the weight of the locket as it settled against her breast. She then walked over to the nightstand and picked up the picture frame that held her son's most beloved picture. She turned to tell him she couldn't keep it and he just shook his head at her.
"It's OK, mom," he quietly said, "I had a copy made and I kept that. This one's yours. That is if you want it."
Mary smiled, once again feeling proud of her son, and placed a hand on his cheek. "Dean, of course I want it. Thank you. This is all so lovely. When did you have time to do all this?"
He smiled and looked down. When he looked back up the emotion in his eyes took Mary's breath away. He swallowed the lump in his throat and sat on the edge of his mother's bed. "I did this when I couldn't sleep. When, when the nightmares were too much. I would go to the garage and pull out the tools and let the repetition of the woodwork lull me into a false sense of security, normalcy. It started out as something I would just do and then I remembered hearing dad tell Bobby about this old mirror you used to have and how much you loved it. He told Bobby about how it used to be your mothers and that it was the one thing you had that had been hers. I couldn't really remember more about how it looked other than its frame was made of wood, carved with roses and vines and I thought it might make a good gift for you. One thing lead to another and before I knew it I had made the locket and the frame. I wanted to do something special. I wanted to make up for the Christmas's we missed. I wanted to say I was sorry for how I treated you. I wanted you to be happy." Dean folded his hands in his lap and watched his mom as she took in what he had just said.
Mary sat on her bed beside him and pulled him into a hug. "Oh, Dean, I love it. I couldn't be happier. It's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you." She kissed him on the check and stood, her hand extended to him, "How about we get back to the party? Wouldn't want all that pie to be gone before you've had any."
Dean smiled, stood up and followed his mother back to the dining hall. The night passed and soon everyone headed off to their rooms to sleep off the day's excitement. Around midnight, Dean found himself heading off to the garage and the small wood-shop he had set up there. He knew it was Christmas and that he should let it go, but thoughts of Michael filled his mind and made it hard for him to sleep. He didn't notice his mom quietly watching him as he let the repetition once again fill him with a false sense of normalcy.
The next morning Mary woke to the joyous sounds of carolers as the magic of the night before had bled into the morning. She smelt coffee brewing and the unmistakable scent of her son's favorite food, bacon. She padded into the dining hall and saw a breakfast fit for kings laid out on the tables. Torn wrapping paper lay spread out in piles on the floor and happy people stood looking in amazement at what "Santa" had brought. Mary recognized her eldest son's handiwork but kept the secret to herself. She sat at one of the tables and started eating; her heart full and her worries light. The day passed without incident and to everyone it had become the best Christmas ever.
The bunkers occupants found themselves heading off to bed not wanting to let the day go. The magic and love of the day still filled their hearts and they didn't want to let anything take it away. They knew soon enough they would have to once again face the world and the evils that it held, but they couldn't resist wishing that the day would never end.
Mary stood behind her bedroom door listening for her son's footsteps as he once again made his way to the garage. She followed him and watched as put all his pain into his next creation. She watched and reflected on the man he had become and wondered how different his life might have been had she never died. "Merry Christmas, Dean," she whispered. She turned and made her way back to her room.