Out Damn Spot
Out Damn Spot
She scrubbed at her jeans and let out a heavy sigh as she gave up on them. “Those were my favorite.” She said softly, hoping her father didn’t hear. Of course, it was worse than that. Her mother did.
“Mary! I can’t believe I just heard those words from your lips. Do you think those jeans were worth the lives of those people?” Her mother demanded.
Mary took a deep breath and bit her lip to keep her rebellious yes from echoing across the laundry room. It wasn’t true, she didn’t think it would, but if her mother and father were going to pick her up from school because of a hunt they should have at least brought her some clothes that wouldn’t get spoiled in the fighting. Or that she wouldn’t care if they did. She’d planned on wearing them Sunday afternoon to the picnic John had asked her to.
She tried not to think too much about it. She really liked John. He was nice and handsome, strong but without the overbearing protectiveness that her father had. He seemed to think she walked on water, which was nice considering the always present disappointment that seemed to be her mother’s view of her. Oh, her mother loved her alright, but she was always just this side of fast enough or strong enough or smart enough.
Someday, she’d get out from under them though. She thought maybe John would be the one to do that. John Winchester would marry her someday and they’d have a family and settle down in a pretty little house with a white picket fence that wasn’t covering the buried protective sigils or where the trees and bushes didn’t have to have some sort of protective powers. She’d have a normal life. A safe life. John would never know about the world her family walked in.
“No Mom.” She said, her voice sounded petulant even to her but she couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just wish you’d have brought my other clothes when you picked me up.” She said, words that would be closer to acceptable to her mother.
“Relax Deanie.” Her father said, coming into the room. He looked down at the mess that still covered Mary’s jeans. “The girl has a good point. We can’t keep buying her nice clothes and getting made at her for ruining them on the hunt.” He kissed the back of Mary’s head and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her father might not always be what she wanted, but there was no question that he did what he thought was best for her.
“Tell you what. We’ll get up in the morning, go have breakfast and hit the range.” Her face fell slightly, but then he smiled at her. “When we get done I’ll go shopping with you. We’ll replace these, and you can get yourself a duffle and pack for when Mom and I have to grab some gear for you.”
“Thank you Daddy.” She said, her smile wide and warm as she wrapped an arm around his waist and hugged him close.
“Well, now that you’ve got that settled…” Her father had already walked out before her mother dumped the rest of the clothes into the small sink Mary had been working in. “See if you can do anything with the rest of these. You might get new jeans but your father and I won’t.”
She watched her mother walk out and took a calming breath, trying to think of John. It wasn’t working this time. She stared down at the other clothes and then grabbed for the soap and the scrub brush. She’d get out what blood she could. After all, there would be other hunts and blood stained jeans were still just as good at a grave digging as any other.
Blood washed over her hands and she damned her English teacher for making them read Shakespeare this year. She understood Lady Macbeth far better than her peers. She would wash the jeans and their shirts and get as much of the stains out as possible, but there was no way to get rid of the residual from it. There was no way to remove the blood from her life, from her lifestyle. She kept hoping, but sometimes she knew that it was just ignorant hope. Hunting was in her blood and it would follow her to her grave.