NOTE: I own nothing but a rubber band and a jar of pickle juice. Please don't sue me.
I'd like to apologize to those who have been awesome enough to read or review my stuff. I'm still figuring the website out, and it looks like it's going to be a while before I get the hang of it. Thanks so much for reading!
This story does have a plot, I swear! Spoilers through 'Home', I think.
2.
Mary was in the kitchen, making lunch.
Dean was in the kitchen, making dinosaurs out of play dough.
It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon, golden sunlight streaming through the curtains and lighting up the kitchen with a very homey sort of glow. While Mary washed vegetables, three-and-a-half year old (and he did insist on the half part) Dean kept up a running commentary. It was mostly in dino-like roars, but Mary got the gist of it. Every minute or so she would respond with a "You don't say!" or an "Is that so?" which delighted Dean to no end. He loved explaining his dinosaurs. Pterodactyls were his favorite.
She was in the midst of slicing carrot sticks (and wasn't it still the strangest thing to be using knives so differently?) when the phone rang.
"Hello? Oh, Dr. Carson! How are you?"
Dean squashed his Triceratops into another T-Rex while his mother exchanged pleasantries with the family doctor. Mary leaned over to turn the stove on, the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. She didn't notice the moment her son's happy chatter abruptly stopped.
"Test results? I almost forgot. Mhhhmm. On Sunday, right." Mary paused, her whole body reacting to the news. Stock still, she listened to the rest.
"What? Yes I'm still here. No, it's just a -" She transferred the phone to her other ear. "It's just a little bit of a surprise. No, John will be thrilled. Thank you. Say hi to Enid for me."
Mary Winchester placed the phone back on the hook very carefully, like it was a delicate thing and likely to break apart in her hands.
She took four deep breaths to help process the news before realizing that something was very wrong.
At some point during the phone call, Dean had climbed down out of his chair and toddled up to the stove. He was now staring at the gas appliance, eyes wide and fright written all over his cherubic face.
"Dean, don't do that!"
But Mary's son didn't hear her. He was staring at the flame on the stovetop as if it were the only thing in all of existence. He didn't twitch, he didn't blink; he just stared.
The scene stayed like that, a frozen tableau for all of one terrible moment. Then, somehow, Mary broke through whatever it was and grabbed her son away from the oven and into a very tight hug.
Sometime later, when Dean was back at the table and cheerfully making dinosaurs once again, Mary would force herself to turn the stove off. She would shake off the last cobwebs of whatever that moment had been and enjoy the comfort of the sunlit kitchen once again. John would come home and Mary would have wonderful news to share with him.
For now, she held her child as close to her as she possibly could.