Son of man, you cannot say or guess,
For you know only a heap of broken images,
Where the sun beats, and the dead tree gives no shelter,
The cricket no relief
And the dry stone no sound of water
Only there is shadow under this red rock
And I will show you something different from either
The Wasteland, T.S. Eliot
Chapter Three
"No, no, no!" Lucifer screamed, and the ground quaked, a fissure ripping through the earth like paper. Mary fell sideways, and scrambled backwards, heels scuffing the hard ground. Her heart beat a mile a minute in her chest, rattling her ribs, and she couldn't breathe. She looked forward, and the yellow tear was gone—nowhere to be seen.
Everything was gray. A dark, muted color, like reds, and blues, and yellows had never existed before. Strange pillars grew from the ground, like narrow pyramids, metallic in color. On one of them, a body was impaled, blood coloring the entire way up.
Lucifer turned around, and his eyes were full or murder, an alarming red. He screamed, and it was an animalistic sound, like a dragon's screech. Mary's teeth ached.
"You," he growled, and stalked towards her. Mary panicked, and scrambled, getting to her feet. She was trapped. She had no hope of out running Lucifer. She braced her hands, and gripped on tight to the brass knuckles, holding her arms into position like a boxer.
She swung as Lucifer got closer, but she couldn't hide her fear.
"Don't come any closer," she said, and winced at how pathetic it sounded even to her.
Lucifer chuckled. His tongue poked out between his lips. It was forked. "That's cute," Lucifer said. He flicked his wrist, and Mary was thrown sideways, slamming right into one of the pillars. She let out a wordless scream as her bones rang underneath her skin, and pain skyrocketed in every direction. Stars danced in her vision.
Lucifer came closer, his footsteps ominous, kicking up dirt. "I'm going to kill you slow," Lucifer said. He shook his arm, and a metal blade fell out his sleeve, into his hand. He tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed studiously. Mary was reminded of Castiel doing something similar, and for a split second, her heart ached for the angel that was family—but she didn't have the time to grieve long. Self-preservation clawed at her throat.
Lucifer came closer, and Mary had nowhere to go. Bile burned at her throat.
Lucifer raised his blade—and then he was surrounded by a yellow glow that took over his entire form. A sonic boom exploded, and Mary doubled over, vomiting blood.
Lucifer was gone. There were just his footprints in the sand as evidence he'd even ever been there. Mary's ears rang. A man walked towards her. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Mary squeezed onto the brass knuckles, and licked away the blood that was resting on her lips.
"Stay back," she yelled, but it sounded like she was speaking underwater. The man had a pinched expression.
"Mary?" she heard eventually. "Mary Campbell?"
Mary narrowed her eyebrows. Campbell? Nobody had called her Campbell in years. She couldn't remember the last time she even thought of herself as Mary Campbell. She shook her head, then winced as agony raced down her spine. She felt like she was going to vomit again. She clamped her eyes shut. "No," she said. Sound was slowly coming back to her, but everything was underscored by a sharp, high pitched ringing. She clenched her teeth together. "No, I'm Mary Winchester."
The man stared at her for a long moment. He was dirty, smeared with mud and grime, and the horrors of war etched into the lines on his face. Then he sighed, shoulders sagging. "Fucking hell," he said.
.
.
.
"Drink," Bobby said, passing Mary his canteen. Mary took it cautiously, wincing. Bobby stared at her studiously. It made Mary uncomfortable. Every move she made was being scrutinized. Her hands shook as she undid the cap, and when water first touched her lips, she suddenly was parched. She tipped the canteen back and water flooded into her mouth, down her esophagus. It washed the taste of blood down her throat. She had to pocket the brass knuckles to work his fingers.
"Woah, woah, woah," Bobby said, gently touching Mary's wrist. "Easy there, you idjit. You're gonna make yourself sick, and then I'll have to kick your ass for wasting water."
Mary stopped, and gasped for air. She passed the canteen to Bobby. He rolled his eyes as he screwed the cap back on. Mary looked back to the spot where Lucifer had just been. His footprints were black.
She didn't understand. He had been there, and now he was just gone. Vanished in a bright blast of white. When Mary rubbed her eyes, she could still see it, imprinted into her psyche. "What did you do?" she asked, voice shaking.
Bobby raised his hand, revealing a fresh cut down his dirty palm. He smiled. "Angel banishing sigil," he said. "Blows the little winged bastards clear across the planet."
Mary shivered. She crossed her arms over her chest. "But he's not dead?"
"Hell no. No, it doesn't kill them. Puts them out of commission for a bit, and they always come back madder than bull at a rodeo. But it's a quick fix for saving your hide."
Bobby dug into his messenger bag beside him. "Now, where're you hurting?"
"Everywhere," Mary moaned, putting all her weight on the steel pillar.
Bobby twisted so that he was facing Mary. He put one hand under Mary's chin, and held the other up, pointing a finger. "Follow with your eyes," he said, and moved his finger left and right, up and down. Mary tried, but something felt strange. Wrong. She didn't know how to describe it. Her eyes wouldn't follow the commands of her brain.
"Figures," Bobby grumbled. "You've got a hell of a concussion. Hopefully that's all that's wrong with ya. Don't got the means to do much of anything else. I only got antibiotics in here. The good stuff is back at camp."
"Where am I?" Mary asked. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open. Her eyelids were heavy, and sagging. Bobby shook her roughly. Mary forced her eyes open. Right. Concussion. Bobby smiled.
"Welcome to Hell," he said cheerily.
Mary stared at him. Ice flooded her veins.
"Well," Bobby said, shrugging just a bit, pursing his lip. "Not Hell Hell, but good enough."
.
.
.
It was a slow process. Bobby helped Mary to her feet and she immediately stumbled. Bobby held her up, and helped steady her. Her wrapped her arms over his neck, and let her lean all the way into his side. They walked slowly. Each step sent a shockwave of pain up Mary's spine, and it ricocheted in her skull. She ground her teeth together to keep from screaming aloud. The tension pulled at her temples.
Thunder rolled above her. Lightning danced across the sky in horizontal waves, in different colors: reds, blues, yellows, greens. Occasionally they would clash together in a sonic boom that shook the ground. It reminded Mary of a fireworks show.
But she couldn't be mesmerized with the beauty of the colors, and she couldn't occupy her time trying to find faces in the explosions. There was nothing but pain in her mind.
"Angels," Bobby explained. He put a distasteful stress on the word. "Meanest sons of bitches around. I'll take ten demons over one angel any day of the week."
Mary swallowed. They walked further along. "What makes them so bad?" she asked. The only angel she had met was Castiel. He was strange, but nice enough. And her loved her boys so much. Anything that could love like that wasn't evil. Mary's heart ached.
Bobby snorted. "How 'bout I tell you what makes 'em good? That list is shorter. This—" Bobby gestured with his free hand, pointing all around, "is what's wrong with 'em. They started all this."
There was no sign of life anywhere. No vegetation, or animals, or clouds in the sky. Just an endless escape of gray that stretched over the horizon. Another sonic boom rattled the ground. Mary lost her balance. It was only holding onto Bobby that helped her remain upright. "Why?"
Bobby snorted. "'Cause why not?"
Mary winced and hissed as another jolt of pain sprang up her spine. "Huh?"
Bobby kept steady and firm. He kept the pace manageable. "Apparently it's the big The End. Capital A-Apocalypse. Revelations, yadda yadda." Bobby snorted and shook his head. "Y'know, you find out angels are real and they out to be the biggest dicks ever made. That's irony for ya. It'd be funny if it weren't so damn miserable. Angels. Pfft. Just a bunch of spoiled, selfish brats."
Mary thought of Castiel, and his uneasiness. She thought of him, shamefully admitting, that he wasn't sure if he belonged on Earth. She thought of Castiel standing there, in the bunker, saying nothing as Mary threw insult after insult at him, piling blame onto his shoulders where it didn't belong—and he took it, and accepted it without rebuttal, and he looked so sad. He always looked so sad. And he loved Sam and Dean so much. Mary didn't need to hear him admit it to know. It was as obvious as daylight. Grief crushed her heart.
"Not all of them," she said softly.
Bobby chuckled. "Right. The flyboy from your World. Sure. Maybe. I could tell he was different by looking at him, but he might be the only one."
"He's dead," Mary said, swallowing thickly.
Bobby stopped. Mary lurched forward, caught in her own momentum. Bobby stopped her from face planting into the dirt. He looked at her, so many questions swimming in his eyes, eyebrows pinched in confusion, mouth twisted into a disbelieving frown.
"I just saw him with those other two idjits not an hour ago."
Mary swallowed again. She nodded. She thought of those lights shining from Castiel's eyes and mouth, before he slumped to the ground and didn't move. "Yeah," she said.
Bobby's frowned deepened. He stared deep into Mary's eyes. Mary didn't know what he was searching for, but she didn't look away.
"Well, shit," Bobby said. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks," Mary said, even though she didn't mean it. She hated it. Why did people insist on saying sorry when someone died? It didn't make it better. It didn't make it one iota better. She'd rather they not say anything. Castiel was dead. There was nothing anyone could do about it.
She kept looking at the sky, at the angels fighting with demons. She winced when they began walking again. Bobby's stride was more stable than hers. "How much further?"
"Not too far," Bobby said in a tone that betrayed him. Mary moaned in pain, but she pushed on. She had to push on. Once they got to wherever Bobby was taking her, she could get her head together, and find her way back to her World, her boys. They needed her. Especially now. Castiel was dead, and while Mary didn't know him that well, she knew her was a vital component of Sam and Dean's lives, had been for a long time. Mary's heart ached. Dean was four when she died. Sam six months. Castiel had been in their lives longer than Mary had. She needed to be there for her boys during this turbulent time.
And she wanted to be there to pay proper respect to Castiel, the guardian angel that had watched over her troubled, broken boys for so long. She hadn't known him long or well, but he had carved his own spot into her heart as well. She meant what she told Ketch. He was one of her boys too.
Tears burned at Mary's eyes. She tried to fight them, but she was hurting everywhere, and terrified out of her mind, that it was a useless effort. They fell effortlessly and silently.
Bobby didn't say anything about it. Mary was grateful. They kept walking.
.
.
.
The sun was obscured by all the dust, but Mary could still tell when it night had fallen. The air grew noticeably cooler. She could see her breathe curl out in front of her face.
And finally, finally, they came to a halt. Mary's heart leap up into her chest.
She was at the bunker. The door was just the same as it was in her world. A small series of steps lead down to it. They took them slowly. Mary had to lean against Bobby as he dug the key out of his messenger bag. It was the same key Dean had given her. Bobby turned the tumblers and the door swung open, the hinges shrieking.
"Come on, Mary," Bobby said. He led her inside, and it was just like the bunker in her world. Nothing looked out of place, or different. For a moment, she could believe she was in her world. For a long moment, she could convince herself that this wasn't really happening, that everything was okay. Sam and Dean would come out of the hallway any moment now, shoving each other playfully into the walls, racing to the kitchen. Dean would be cooking breakfast, and Sam would be complaining about Dean's high cholesterol diet.
And for a moment, she could even believe that Castiel would be there too, sitting at the table, watching her boys with his brows pinched in confusion, but eyes sparkling with amusement nonetheless.
Bobby walked her down the stairs slowly. Mary's steps were heavy, banging the metal. It echoed throughout the bunker.
Mary couldn't fool herself. No matter how much it looked like her bunker, this was not her bunker. Her boys were not anywhere here. And Castiel wouldn't be sitting in the kitchen, or the library, watching over them in their sleep.
"There ya go," Bobby said, as they finished the last step. Mary's will was quickly leaving her body. Her mental anguish was worse than the physical pains that jostled every inch of her body with each minute movement. It was like there was a weight wrapped around her mind, pulling it under murky water, where she couldn't see anything, or hear anything—there was just pain.
Bobby set her down at one of the library chairs. It felt just like the one in her World. Creaked the same too, when she shifted her weight to the left.
Once she was off her feet, Mary's body stole control from her mind. Tears raced down her cheeks, hot and salty. These weren't from the physical pain, but the weight on her mind. She scanned the room, vision blurred, and cried harder. It was so quiet. All she could hear now where her own strangled breaths, and her cracked ribs rattling under her skin. Her lungs felt full of glass.
"Uh," Bobby said. He popped his lips. He put his gun down, and shook off his jacket. It fell to the ground, splashing mud onto the wood floors.
The sight made Mary swallow a shaking sob. She looked around, and realized, that this bunker wasn't an exact copy of the one in her world. There was dirt stomped into the grooves of the floor, a thick layer of dust on the tables and bookshelves, and an extreme lack of anything personable.
This wasn't a home. She looked at Bobby and wiped her face with her sleeve.
"Hang on, I've got the good stuff somewhere around here," Bobby said. His eyes were somber, but there was a gentleness underneath too, that pooled to the surface. "Stay put."
He stood and disappeared down the way that Mary knew was the kitchen. He was back moments later, a whiskey bottle in his hand. Bobby pulled the cork out with his teeth and handed Mary the bottle.
She stared at it a moment, then took it, and drank. She pulled a long sip, the alcohol burning at her throat.
Bobby chuckled. Mary paused and looked at him over the rim of the bottle neck. Bobby shrugged.
"You sure pound whiskey like Mary Campbell," he said.
Mary scowled and took another long swallow. "Pretty sure you're not supposed to drink with a concussion," she said.
"Nah," Bobby said. "It's the end of the World. Live a little. 'Sides, it's the only thing I got for pain. Narcotics were the first thing to be looted and that was years ago."
The pain was lessening. It wasn't quite gone, but it was foggy, no longer at the forefront of Mary's mind.
"I have to get back to my World," she said. Her face was still sticky with tears. "I need to get to my boys."
Bobby looked at her sadly. "Listen, Mary. Up until this morning, I didn't even know there were other Worlds And way I understand it, it took the devil's baby to get you here. I don't think. . ." He paused and licked his lips. "Your World really not as shitty as this one?"
"It's not an Apocalyptic wasteland, if that's what you mean," she said. She stared at the whiskey bottle, the auburn liquid shining through the glass. "There's still monsters and angels apparently. There was supposed to be an Apocalypse. The destined Revelations Apocalypse, but," she paused, and her throat constricted. "But my boys stopped it."
Bobby snorted in disbelief. "They stopped it? They stopped destiny?"
Mary nodded. "Yes," she said, forcing every ounce of sincerity into the syllable. "My sons, and Castiel, saved our World."
Bobby looked down at the floor for a moment, and then he looked to the bottle in Mary's hand. Mary passed it to him without saying anything, and Bobby swallowed. "Wish we had them in this World."
Mary chewed her fingernails. Her chest was warm. She thought of what Bobby had said so far, and her mind was stuck on one thing. Bobby kept referring to his Mary as Mary Campbell.
"What happened to John Winchester?" she asked.
Bobby shrugged. "Not sure exactly. Never met the guy. Guess he and Mary were sweet back in the day, and something got him. It's the same story every hunter has. Get a few drinks into Mary, she used to ramble on about some 'yellow eyed demon', but I never knew what she was talking about. I've only seen red eyes on demons."
Mary bit her tongue. She winced, thinking of that awful night, when John was dead in her arms. Azazel's sweet voice in ear, promising. John would be okay, if she just made a deal. In ten years, all she had to do was stay out of the nursery, and everything would be okay.
She'd been nineteen. Ten years was so far away—it seemed like an eternity. And she didn't care about anything other than John—the love of her life. She couldn't imagine having to live the rest of her life without John.
The kiss tasted poisonous. It felt like bugs were crawling down her throat, but it was over in a second, and then John was awake, gasping in her arms, and Azazel was gone. Her parents were dead, but she hadn't been able to process that, either, too overwhelmed in her euphoria that John was alive.
Bobby looked at her. "What happened to him in your world?"
"I married him," she said. She met Bobby's eye, chin held high. "Made babies."
"Huh," Bobby said, after a beat. "I'll be damned."
"We aren't already?"
"Touché," Bobby said. Mary smiled humorlessly.
"I'm not giving up," she said. "I'm going to find a way to get back to my World." No matter how long it took her, no matter how far she had to search, or what sort of deals she had to make, nothing was going to stop her. She got a second chance with her boys. A second chance of life. How many people got that opportunity? For her not to at least try would be to throw it away. Not the mention, her boys didn't deserve that. They deserved a mother that would fight for them, tooth and nail, to Hell and back.
Bobby looked at her sadly. "We may not be alive long enough for us to even search for a way," he said.
Mary furrowed her eyebrows.
Bobby scoffed. "Did you forget sweetheart, that there's now two Lucifer's out there?" he pointed to the door at the top of the staircase. "You saw what one did. Can you imagine what another will accomplish? I don't know why that portal opened between our Worlds, but I take it that's not a sun up, sun down routine occasion." Bobby snorted. "Can't even remember the last time I saw the sun."
Mary's throat grew dry. She hadn't even thought about that at all. She swallowed. It went down painfully. Suddenly her buzz wasn't enough. Her swollen eyes began to fill with tears again.
If she died here, would her boys ever know? Would they ever stop looking, ever give up hope?
"I'm going get back to my boys," Mary said. She forced more certainty into the word than she felt, hoping that if she forced it enough, she could believe it in her heart.
Bobby huffed. "I remember when I felt that optimistic," he said. "But most days, I wake up, and think, you know, what's even the point? There's not a World left anymore to save. We're animals now. Surviving for survivals sake just isn't. . ."
"You've survived this long," Mary said. "You're alive. There's a reason you're still here. There's a reason you haven't ended it all. If you really believe that it's not worth it, you would've taken a bullet to the head years ago. But you haven't. That's enough for me. Hope's not all lost. I'm not giving up. You haven't."
Mary licked her lips. She reached into her jacket pocket and clasped her hand around the brass knuckles. She pulled them out and weighed them in her hand. They were heavy. She traced her fingernail in the grooves of the etchings. There was a bit of blood stained onto the rings. Mary put them on and clenched her fists. She looked at Bobby, and flashed the bronze knuckles. They glowed dully against the harsh light. She pointed to the blood stain.
"This morning," she said slowly, testing each word, "I punched the fucking devil in the face. I'm getting home."
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AN: Please review? They make me really happy ^.^
