In my Time of Death
This didn't turn out as I had planned it. But I like what I came up with. This is my first time Writing Mary Winchester. There are no spoilers for season 6 because that doesn't matter. This is a coda fic for s1e1, well, kinda twenty-two years earlier than when that ep takes place, but same difference. Right?
- - -
In my Time of Death
Fandom - Supernatural
Characters - Mary Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester
Warnings - death fic.
Disclaimer - I do not own nor am I making any money off this.
Summary - Mary Winchester pays a visit to her family before she leaves them forever.
~*~
In Olden Times, sacrifices were made at the alter, a practice that still continues ~ Helen Rowland
~*~
Suddenly being dead is not a very happy experience. Though, the pain had reseeded to nothingness and now she stood on the front lawn of her former home; watching her Husband cry and her boys not knowing what to do. Sammy is crying. The poor thing is so terrified, and Dean is looking up at both Father and Brother, trying to be Daddy’s brave little soldier.
Mary can just hear her father’s voice ringing in her ears; “There isn’t a retirement plan for a Hunter,” and damn the man but he was right! It was, however, her own fault that her babies didn’t have a mother. She knew when she made that deal…she knew….damn but did that hurt. She knew ghosts could still have feelings, but they let said feelings overwhelm them and that’s when they became problems. That’s when she or another Hunter went to salt and burn the corps.
Her body was gone; and yet here she is. She is still dressed in the sheer, cotton undergarment. Her long blond hair is mussed with sleep. The blood isn’t there though and for that she is grateful. She doesn’t want her boys to see her like that. After all, Poor Sammy will probably have nightmares all of his life from the flashes his small brain were able to save in his databanks.
Not cool!
She walk-floated over to the Impala; She and John had sex for the first time in the back seat of that car. It saw them on camping trips and the drive-in-movies. Dean was even born in that same back seat where he had been conceived and wasn’t that something grand to think about?
He was quiet now. He is a lively boy and Mary cannot bear to see her son lost like this. He needs to be held, he needs a shoulder to cry on too. Sammy is too young to know this; he is too little to share. He’ll grow and John will teach him.
“Daddy?” Dean has come to his senses, “is Sammy all right? Is he hungry and that’s why he’s crying?” and isn’t he such a sweet heart. Mary runs unseen fingers through blond hair and it looks as if the wind has picked up and is ruffling it for her. Dean doesn’t feel his Mother’s presence. Mary knows that it just keeps the family grieving and they can never move on in life. She doesn’t want that for them, but she’s a Hunter, a Wife and a Ghost. John will make sure that Sammy and Dean will always grieve her death.
She sighs and rolls her eyes; men.
John is a Military Man, he knows what he has to do and he’ll do it no matter what. He is in action now. He calls over a police officer, asks for a card; John informs him that he has to get his boys to a Motel and in bed. It’s late. Dean is yawning; Sammy has quieted down but is still whimpering. Mary is there though. She knows that she can’t leave yet, not yet.
John bundles them into the Impala. He is thankful that he forgot to take the car seat out of the Impala. He buckles Sammy in and Dean takes his place beside his brother. “Buckle up,” John say’s because that’s what a parent should say and so he does. Dean obeys.
Mary floats into the front seat. As far as she can tell her boys haven’t picked up on her presence. But they don’t know what their mother did before she married John. He has some idea, but not enough to go off of. She isn’t sure what he’s planning. All he knows is that somehow, he has to kill whoever took her.
Her ten years were up. Mary knew it the day she had Sammy. She knew it was close and she had merely been waiting for the Demon to show up. She didn’t think the death would be so horrible though and that her family would now be so broken up over it. She didn’t know what she had thought paying up would have been like; but burning on the ceiling of her Baby’s nursery….that wasn’t exactly what she had planned.
The Impala parked in front of the Blue Harmony Motel on the outskirts of Lawrence. John paid for a room and hustled their children into the room. Sammy was given some water, it wasn’t much but there was nothing they could do. In fact, John had been blessed to have also left his wallet in the car along with Sammy’s car seat.
Mary just shook her head at her husband’s daftness; At least they had a roof over their heads. She was afraid that it wouldn’t last for long. Dean had Sammy lying on the middle of the bed. Some how he remembered that Sammy could accidentally roll over and get hurt if he was very close to an edge; Dean even put a pillow barrier on one side and then laid down on the other - closest to the door, as if he was a shield for Sammy.
John just sat on the other bed; watching Dean and Sammy trail off to sleep. He was a wreck and he wasn’t thinking. Mary knew that much of her husband to wish she was corporeal enough to tell him what for.
Instead, she floated over to Dean and laid her hand on his chubby cheek. She closed her eyes, and then she was there. Dean’s dream land was their home, before it burnt up. Specifically, the nursery.
Dean was there, playing with Sammy. How they were having the same dream was beyond her, but that really didn’t matter.
“Dean, baby,” she called out.
Dean stopped humming Metalica and turned to her.
“Mommy!” and then he’s in her arms - hugging her close, not wanting Mommy to go away too soon. Sammy watched them quietly from the bouncer. He smiles at them and coos as all babies do at this age.
“Mommy,” Dean doesn’t move and she holds him close, “are you really dead?”
“Yes dear,” she replied quietly, but happily, “I don’t want you to morn me forever though,”
“When will you come back?” Dean looks up at her, heavy tears rain from bright green eyes. Mary smiles at Dean and wipes the water away with her thumb.
“I won’t be coming back,” she is going to tell the truth because it will be hard enough as it is with John raising them and sometimes he forgets that he isn’t a Sergeant at a Military Base. He’s a father and it doesn’t compute.
“Where are you going?” Dean asks. Sammy makes more cooing noises and Mary walks Dean over. They sit down on the rag-woven carpet rug she’d spent nine months making, and she picks Sammy out of the Bouncer to hold. Dean cuddles up close.
“I am going to Heaven,” Mary said with a smile.
“Can we come too?” Dean asks, to him it’s the most innocent thing in the world. He doesn’t know much, all he knows is that being with Mommy is going to make everything else be all right.
She shakes her head; “You can’t, not for a very long while,”
“Why not?” Dean asked.
“Because, you’re not dead, you are dreaming and I am giving you one last look at me before I go into the light,” Mary explained.
“What about Daddy?” Dean lent against her, his arms almost around her middle.
“He’ll be all right,” She kissed them both on the forehead and the dreamscape changed to one of a large field.
“Can you do something for me, Dean?” She hands Sammy over to Dean’s waiting arms.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded.
“You be happy,” and then she was gone and he and Sammy were alone in the field. Dean blinked, but he didn’t want to wake up, at least here, they were safe.
“Come on Sammy, lets go see what we can see,” and he slowly walks amongst wild flowers.
John, on the other hand, doesn’t know of the interaction between his Wife and children. He is sitting on the bed still, head in his hands. He promises himself not to cry. He won’t. He has to be strong for Dean and Sammy.
“John…” the voice so familiar and he’s looking up.
“Mary…?”
“Don’t do this to yourself, John,” she is giving him a sharp look.
“Don’t do what?” he questioned though he knew what she wanted.
“Don’t go after my killer, he isn’t worth it,” she looks pointed at the boys, “They need a stable life, John,”
“Mary…”
“John?” she cocks her head at him, as she always had done in life. She flickers in and out, as if she were a picture on an old television set from the sixties.
“Mary…” and is that all he can say? Apparently so.
“Promise me, John,” she is going away, but she needs it. She needs to hear it.
“Okay Mary…”
And then she is gone and he is crying all over again.
THE END