So this is my very first fanfic, EVER. I'm really nervous here. So be gentle with this newbie. Thank you kindly.

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Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.

Lawrence, Kansas, April 14, 1983

It was a perfect spring day. The sky was that crystal blue with wispy white clouds that draws folks to look up and sigh and think of hope and renewal. The sun was warm but there was still a crisp bite to the air that reminded you that winter wasn't quite a distant memory.

Mary looked outside and sighed. She knew that she needed to do this. There was no putting it off any longer. Not if she wanted to keep her family safe. With a determined gesture, she placed her cup in the sink and walked upstairs. She pulled out a worn pair of sweats and t-shirt. She could hear her son downstairs as he ran through the house. He was his own tornado of destruction and she knew that she would probably find a trail of toys wherever he had been.

"At least the fresh air and sun will be good for him," she thought. She looked down at the swell of her stomach and she wondered if the child now growing inside of her would be any more or less the ball of energy she already had.

She shook her head and walked downstairs. "Dean! Let's go outside for a little while." As she called to her son, she pulled out his coat and boots, as well as her own. The little boy bounced in. He looked up at his mom and with a smile and said, "Ribbit."

"Oh dear, where is my little boy? And who is this frog?" Mary said as she played her sons current favorite game.

"Ribbit," and Dean hopped some more, his golden curls flopping up and down.

Mary bent down and looked closely at Dean, "Hmmmm. I wonder. Could it be? Is that my little boy?" She threw her hand to her head dramatically. "Oh dear, oh my, what shall we do? How will I tell his daddy?"

Dean giggled but was still able to croak out a "ribbit."

"I know," she declared, "I will give him a kiss and he will turn back into a boy." She quickly grabbed him and gave him several kisses on his cheek.

Dean giggled again, "You saved me mommy. Just like the princess did."

Mary smiled and reached for him again, "Yes, and now we need to go outside, my prince. C'mere so I can get your coat and boots on." Dean squirmed a little but did not resist her. She then opened the door and he bounced out into the yard. Mary followed more slowly.

In the backyard, she walked to the shed where John kept the lawn mower and the snow shovels. Inside, she looked at the various plants and bushes along with the bags of new gardening equipment and gloves for her task. Mary hadn't done gardening in a long, long time. Working in dirt only reminded her of her childhood, spending long nights in dark and haunted cemeteries putting sad and angry souls to rest. She had spent enough time working in dirt; she had no desire to reprise those memories.

But if she was really honest with herself, gardening reminded her of her mother. Her mother had kept a garden. She had taught Mary about herbs and how they could be used to protect or to harm. Her fondest memories were spent with her mom; alone in the garden, weeding or harvesting. They would talk then without her father around. It was women time her mother said; where Mary could tell her mother her dreams and desires and fears.

It was in the garden that she told her mother she didn't want to be a hunter. And it was there she told her mother that she loved John. Her mother never judged, never disagreed. She just listened and sometimes gave advice. The advice was always given in such a way that Mary never felt condescended to or belittled.

When her mother and father were murdered that horrible night, she turned away from the hunter life, her family's life. She salted and burned her mother's garden. She claimed it was to prevent her mother from lingering on. But in her heart, she knew different. She knew she was trying to burn her way into normal.

And from that day on, she refused to garden. When they bought their home, she told John that she would have nothing to do with the outside of the house. She would raise their family. She would keep their home but she would not work outside. She had cultivated the idea that she didn't have a green thumb by deliberately killing several house plants over the years. John only laughed and said that they would make no friends in the neighborhood if they kept dead and wilted flowers around their yard. She had mock slapped him but had laughed as well and did not contradict his assessment.

John was surprised to say the least when she suddenly declared last week that the house needed some sprucing up. But he went along with exceeding patience; to the extent of even going with her and lugging her purchases to the shed. She was sure he was thinking this was some pregnant woman's version of nesting. Her choices of plants, though purposeful to her, seemed odd and random to John. She had angelica root, thistle, red clover, and holly. He called them weeds and told her that they didn't need to buy these. If she wanted weeds he would just save some money and not buy weed-and-feed this year. She had added oregano and mint to the purchases claimed that it was an herb garden. He shrugged his shoulders as if he was going with the flow and she didn't pursue it.

Mary shook herself out of her thoughts and looked over her shoulder to see Dean playing in his sandbox. She walked into the shed and started loading her supplies in a wheelbarrow and rolled it toward the house. She quickly fell into the comfortable routine of digging and planting as the morning slid by. With each plant, she muttered charms in Latin and watered them with holy water from a water bucket she had prepared earlier that morning. She then packed each with mulch to protect the young plants in case there was a late frost. At one point, Dean had grown bored of playing in the sandbox and had begun digging with his little shovel to "help" his mommy plant.

It was afternoon when she had finally completed her tasks. She stood stiffly as she looked at her handiwork. The plants were arrayed artfully around the house. Their protective properties against evil, in particular demons, would hopefully keep out what she knew was coming. She had made her deal all those years ago and did not regret it. She looked down at her beautiful boy and knew she would never regret it. But she would be damned if she would let the demon have what he wanted without a fight.

I think we've done a good job here, Dean. What do you think?"

The little boy walked over to his mother and stood by her side, "It's bootiful mommy."

She smiled and put her hand on his head, ruffling his hair. "Well, I think it's time for lunch. Let's go wash up and make some PB and J."

The boy smiled with delight and ran up the stairs to the house. Mary put her tools away and then followed her little boy inside. It was while she made the sandwiches that she started thinking that salt mixed with paint might just be the solution she needed to protect the doors and windows without John ever being the wiser.