Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form
Author's Note: Q: Where have you been? A: Four words -- School, work, running, finals. Luckily, those are over (and so far I know I only failed two of my finals...) and I am staring at an entire summer of nothing but writing our favorite boys. They say you can't buy happiness; I say you can certainly write it.
Warnings: Violence, very dark, my Mary-speculations. Spot of language?
She knew – she hoped – she wasn't a killer. But she knew that she had to do it. After all, it was survival of the fittest. She threw up in a dusty corner when one night (as she dozed off next to another empty eyed corpse with a life unfilled) she realized she was unconsciously humming, "Eye of the Tiger."
He was tormenting her, she knew. His yellow eyes were burnt into the backs of her eyelids.
But she was still the one who set fire to the… Father? Brother? She did not know, she didn't even care – and watched him burn.
I have a son at home, her soul weeps, and he needs me.
--
She can't do it anymore, she thinks, after a young woman dies screaming the name, "Jacob!"
She's ready, ready to die, ready to End. She's grappling with a way to do it when a shock pulses through her body and she's before Him, crumpled at his putrid feet.
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary," He sings like a snake.
Tears whisper down her pale cheeks, pale from time that stretches from sun rise and sun set spent inside and waiting. She presses her head into the floor. "Can I die now?" she whispers.
She hears him walking around her, his footsteps a dot, dot, dot…
"No," he finally whispers, and a sob screams through the room. She flips her head up, hands clasped together.
"Please," she cries, hoarsely.
He bends down, his hand underneath her pointed chin. "No," He sings again, enjoying his torment with no pain. "You will go home."
Her eyes, unfocused, suddenly snap to attention. "What…"
"You'll go home. Back to…John. To Dean."
She's shaking, she's a trembling dead fall leaf still desperately clinging to the old, majestic tree in the front yard. "You're just going to let me…" Her voice trails off and she swallows hard to push her sticky saliva past the lump, the mountain, rising in her throat, "…go?"
He smiles a little bit in a way that makes her remind of Tony, and she finds herself wondering if He knows it scares her, which makes her hate him all the more. "Not quite," He says, pressing a finger to his lips. "You're strong Mary, stronger than any of the children I've ever seen. You've killed every single other person here," (tears run down her lovely face), "almost without question. But as strong as you are, you have one thing that I don't need."
"What?" she asks, begs.
He presses onward. "So here's what I'm going to do, Miss Mary, because I'm a kind and honest man. You will go home, back to your husband and your little boy. And in return for this lavish gesture, you're going to do something for me too."
Her throat, her vocal chords, they're shaking too. She can't speak.
"Overcome with emotion for my generous actions?" He smirks. "You and your little husband are going to have another baby, Mary, and He…He will be the fighter that I need."
"What…"
"He's going to be my Soldier –"
She won't let him finish as a vicious "Never!" pulses from her lips and she's on her knees, shaking.
He sighs, rubbing his hang along the angular line of his jaw. "Then," he says, "your husband will die searching for his love; your son will die with a life unlived. You – you'll remain here, with me."
Her breath is rattling around in her chest. My boys…
"I can't just go home, I've been gone for months, my husband –" Johnlover "—didn't just sit around."
"Oh no, he certainly didn't. There's a nationwide search for you, Love, and a hefty reward for your safe return from Johnny boy himself."
"Then how the hell am I supposed to just go home?"
He smiles; coy. "I have ways to fix that," He says in a voice like the blown branches rustling against each other in the midst of a clear night.
She opens and closes her mouth, and swallows. "This baby…"
"He will be, strong, Mary. That's what you, your husband…it's what you always wanted, am I right? A strong son to be my soldier."
"What about John?" she cries, her voice gathering and losing strength all at once. "And Dean?"
He sighs. "You tire me." He half-smiles again.
"Will…will they be able to…"
"To tell that your son is blest?" (Across her mind shoots 'cursed', but she bites her tongue) He shakes his head. "Not unless you tell him. In fact, they will love Sam unconditionally – all will." His lip curls. "It will be Dean's downfall."
Questions form at her lips but he raises a hand. "Yes or no, Mary Winchester?" His lip twitches. "Fight or flight?"
She doesn't even remember saying yes.
--
"Mama, da-bear!"
She lifts her head up and she's freezing and boiling all at once before everything tingles from her heart to the tips of her toenails and the air rushes in and out of her lungs.
She's on the sofa with the crudely repaired cushions and Dean's on the floor. "Mama!" he squawks again, pointing at the glowing television set in the corner.
She looks down at her hands (hands dry like the thousand year old woman) that killed a mother father brother sister friend godmother godchild farmer accountant banker twin manager hobo.
…hands that crochet.
The door swings open and closed and it's John with a box of pizza. He smiles; earnest and glowing. "I brought pizza," he says, pulling off his coat and kissing Dean in one smooth motion. He pauses when he sees her. "Honey?" He touches her face. "You alright?" He chuckles. "Looks like you've seen a ghost."
Do it.
She's not even quite sure of what she's doing but she's standing up and kissing him hard and strong and she whispers soft, baby, you have no idea.
And the next thing she knows it's hands that feel and grasp and moan twisting legs like a rope braid and kissing him like she forgot how as sweat collects in her collarbone while Dean eats pizza downstairs.
--
When she goes to the doctor after the strip turns pink, he tells her she's having twins. As the Impala growls them home, she twists over so her head is on her shoulder and convinces herself that He forgot.
The night after she finds out one of the babies is dead, she dreams of nothing but a voice – "Strong boy, strong boy, STRONG.
I never forget."