(ooc: timed to early Friday morning)She would never be able to explain the sickening feeling that rushed through her when she heard the television on downstairs. John would have never left it on, but maybe this time he had. She hoped to God he had. Mary's muscles were tense as she walked down the stairs. A sharp, intense pang of panic hit her like
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He still wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't dead, but slowly he was getting used to just...being here.
Currently, John was walking down the street (or rather, hobbling with the temporary help of a cane), sipping a cup of strong coffee from the cafe and taking stock of the street. He'd walked this route every morning he'd been able to take to his feet, keeping limber and learning the lay of the land...
He wasn't entirely sure he was seeing her as he caught sight of her in the middle of the street. For an instant, his gut went to instinct and his hand drifted towards the Colt, which had been waiting for him in his room. Slim, white, pale, ghost or shade came instantly to mind...
But he knew those slim lines. He knew that soft gold hair. He recognized those features and that thin white nightgown...
He couldn't breathe and swore his heart stopped beating. His hand froze and fell away from his weapon, and although he knew better, although he knew it had to be a ghost and he had to be careful, for a second he could feel nothing but hope and agony and feelings he'd lost touch with since the night he'd watched his house...and his wife...burn.
"...Mary?"
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"John?" She took in the way he looked. He looked older than she last seen him. Older and somehow sadder. And then there was the fact he had a beard, which didn't look bad on him, but was different.
She was trying to keep herself in control. The panic, guilt, and worry that was swimming inside her had been kept at bay as best as possible, but now John was here. Mary didn't think twice as she hurried over to him.
"What happened?" He was clearly injured, which didn't make any sense. Her brow furrowed and she reached out to gently touch the side of his face with her finger tips.
Her lips pressed together as she fought the sting in her eyes. Her eyes went soft and apologetic and held a frighten look she only would let her husband see. "John. I've.. Sammy. There was someone in Sammy's room and I tried to get to him but when I opened the door I came here and... I can't find the boys."
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She looked just the way she had the night she'd died.
"He's...he's fine." he choked out, his voice hoarse and thick with pain. "He's..."
With one shaking hand, he reached out and laid it on her shoulder...slim, delicate, but solid and warm. Real...it was real beneath his touch.
He knew he should explain first, he should go for his gun and make sure she wasn't a spirit, he should do the logical and correct thing. He'd trained for this, this was all he knew anymore.
But instead, he hauled her close and pressed his face to her neck, eyes shut as she filled his lungs and fit into his arms...and proved that he was dead. He had to be, because this couldn't happen. This could never be real outside of his own personal version of Heaven.
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But the moment John took her in his arms and she felt his warmth envelop her, all her worries went from a raging storm to a dull roar. He was solid against her. John always had the ability to reassure her just by holding her in his arms. He made things simpler.
She closed her eyes, the tears she had been fighting back escaped from the pressure, and she stayed close against him. "I don't understand." She murmured. The thoughts of her boys circled quietly in the back of her mind, but she trusted John.
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He drew back, pressing his forehead against hers for a moment. He was shaking, from head to toe, a fine trembling he couldn't stop. He couldn't let her go, and he couldn't pull back more than he had, didn't know if he ever really wanted to. It was so hard to think when she was this close and this real after so many nights where all he had was the memory of her...
"I know this may be hard to understand," he rasped, opening his eyes to meet hers with a short, almost pained laugh, "and I know how this sounds, but...well, Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore."
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The cool cobblestone against her bare feet was enough to confirm she wasn't dreaming. Apart from knowing that, she had no idea where she was or how she got there. Sammy's nursery never used to open up to a street. Something in the far back recesses of her mind echoed the words 'portal' and 'dimensions', but it was a part of her than she had greatly suppressed for so many years.
"Then where are we?" Mary looked at John for answers, "Where are our boys?"
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He trailed off, smiling sadly as he took her hand and pressed it to his cheek, then turned and pressed a kiss to her palm.
"I'm not the same man you still got sleeping in front of the TV back home."
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They were in a place that wasn't just not Kansas, it wasn't her world. Was it a spell that had sent them there? Sam and Dean were grown up. How grown up? She took some comfort in the fact that at least, whoever she had seen in Sammy's nursery, they hadn't hurt her son. She had already realized John was different, but by how much?
"You're older.. like the boys." She suddenly felt left behind, but pushed the feeling away because she knew it was selfish.
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"It's been over twenty years for me." he whispered. "Twenty years since the night..." He trailed off, lowering his gaze as he tried to squeeze the words out past the sudden lump in his throat.
"Mary, I think you've just been taken from the night that you died."
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She was dead. John wouldn't make something like that up and someone, thinking back to the man she had caught a glimpse of in Sammy's room, it made sense.
"Twenty years..." She had missed out on over twenty years of her boys' lives. Missed so many moments with John.
Her eyes searched his face as they deepened in heaviness, tears now forming without a fight at the corner of her eyes. Her forehead creased and she felt as if she were going to throw up.
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Holding her tight, John wept silently against her even as he tried to comfort her, and apologized between breaths for not being strong enough to save her.
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She stayed in his arms for a long time, taking whatever comfort she could from his strong frame. She couldn't imagine what it would be like not to be held like this, or to have his scent around her, but she would, wouldn't she?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Mary wanted to ask how, but she didn't, couldn't, bring John to relive it right now. Something deep inside of her didn't want to know the answer either.
"Can I see them?" Her voice was quiet against him. "Can I see our boys?"
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"Sure...sure, let me just...send the boys a note." he sniffed, drawing out his blackberry and tossing off a quick message. "Meantime, let's get you back to the hotel and changed. There's a big one here, everyone who shows up gets accommodations of their own." He paused, flashing her a small smile as he slid an arm around her shoulders, drawing her against his side to kiss her temple. He couldn't stop touching her now, didn't think he could ever make himself stop.
"Though I'm hopin' you got put in my room 'stead of your own, honestly."
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That, and finally seeing John smile - that smile that she had fallen in love with when she had been younger - gave her something positive to focus on. John's smile brought out a smile of her own on Mary's lips.
Mary leaned up on the balls of her feet and kissed John's cheek. She'd have kissed his lips, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop herself from kissing him more than once and she wanted so desperately to see Sam and Dean. She knew John said they were safe, but the anxiety from just moments ago made Mary need to see if for herself.
"Who else is going to make sure you eat three meals a day?" It was Mary's way of saying she hoped the same thing. Since they'd been married, Mary hadn't spent much time under a separate roof from John. It would be strange to do so now, especially knowing what would happen when she returned home.
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