Fanfic: Growing Into More, Sam/Dean/Mary
Title: Growing Into More
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean/Mary
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,112
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any characters.
Summary: Mary's always wanted to feel connected to something. She's finally figured out that she's been waiting for her boys.
Warnings: Consensual incestuous threesome, non-graphic sex, late night stream-of-consciousness writing.
Notes: bloodnfire wanted Sam/Dean/Mary and...this came out. It's not the PWP you were probably hoping for and I hope maybe I can get that to you too, but there is...this.
Beta: riveryklown
Hugging one of the motel’s pillows to her chest, she curls up into a sitting position against the wall. Mary stares at the remote control sitting next to her on the bed and picks it up, flicking through the channels of the television. Smiling briefly to herself, she can’t help but think that she’s settling in quite well for a time-displaced girl sharing a small room with the grown sons she hasn’t even given birth to yet.
Dean’s on the other side of the miniscule space, working on the laptop-something that she doesn’t think she’ll ever get the hand of, no matter how long she’s here-and, not for the first time, she takes the time to watch him. She memorizes each of his features, the lines of his face, assigning them to different people. He had her mother’s eyes, but that nose was all John.
His name hurts. It’s like there are two different John Winchesters, one she loved with all of her heart, and another one for whom she will never feel anything but rage and hatred. The confusion swirls in her stomach and she wonders if she will ever be able to look at her John without thinking of these boys, imagining their damaged hearts.
She thinks if she could see their hearts, they’d be as broken as every other heart in their family.
Dean looks over his shoulder, and she blushes lightly at being caught staring. He half-smiles at her, the kind she recognizes when he’s humoring her and doesn’t know what to say. Shutting the screen of the laptop, he stretches and stands. “Sam should be back from the library soon,” he says. “Then we can go get some food.”
Mary nods as he comes over and sits at the edge of the bed. “It’s okay, I can wait for him.”
“Yeah, well, for someone so tall, he moves fucking slow.” It makes her laugh and he grins at her, corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. She wonders if he got that from John too.
She must look too long because Dean ducks his head slightly. “You look at me a lot,” he says as if he’s unsure about the words even leaving his mouth.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Before he can tell her not to apologize, she hurries on. “I’m just trying to figure out who you look like the most.”
He seems surprised by that. “Yeah? What do you think?”
His body relaxes, but his eyes remain curious, alert, so she shifts towards the end of the bed, closer to him. The first thing she says is, “You’ve got Mom’s eyes.” She’s not sure what to say next-she doesn’t want to insult him by calling his features feminine, but he doesn’t look much like her father. And it feels like their thing. John isn’t allowed.
“Yeah?” He looks oddly pleased at that and she smiles. “I’ve always kind of thought I looked like you?”
Eyes widening hopefully, she says, “And that’s…you’re okay with that?” Sometimes, she looks at him and can see exactly how he’s her son. Other times, it’s like staring at a lost part of herself, and Mary can’t see how she has anything to do with them at all. Those are the worst parts.
He nods slowly, swallowing hard. “Of course. You’re so beautiful.”
There’s a glow of warmth inside of her and she can do nothing but smile. The lashes, the freckles, the way the sun sometimes caught his hair-they were all pieces of her that she had left with him, whether he had ever realized it or not. And his lips, full and plush. Those aren’t John’s. They belong to her.
Leaning forward, she kisses him softly, feeling his gasp against her lips. He looks at her with an uncertainty that worries her, and for a long minute, she fears that she’s ruined everything. Then, shakily, he leans down again and presses his lips against hers, both tender and firm. His hands hold the small of her back and she can’t tell which one of them is shaking.
Time has long ago stopped meaning anything for her, and the kisses could go on for years, millennia passing, stars dying, the world ending and being reborn around them as if it even matters anymore. As if anything but her boys ever mattered to begin with. They never go deeper than the gentle press of lips against lips and she traces his stubble with the pads of her thumbs.
When the door opens, she sees Sam before Dean does. Her oldest son freezes against her at the look on Sam’s face-shock, confusion, jealousy, and more than a bit hurt. Mary knows everything. It was hard to hide the way they were around each other. Even John has never looked at her like that, and they orbit each other like the other is essential to everything and that without each other, the world ends. Maybe it does. Perhaps that’s that point to everything. That’s what matters.
In a realization that can only be defined as stark clarity, Mary feels like she knows everything in the world. There is no greater purpose than for her to be here right now with her boys. It’s a revelation that strikes her as practically divine, and she smiles to herself, ducking her face to hide the wisdom behind her curls.
This is where she’s supposed to be. Her entire life clicks into place and she knows that she was born solely for the purpose of giving the world these men, of giving them to each other. It feels bigger than anything she’s ever even contemplated, and she feels fulfilled in her smallness. They are everything. Not just to her. Not just to each other.
They are everything.
She gives Dean a kiss on the cheek before standing and walking towards Sam. Taking his hand, she pulls him a few steps farther into the room. He comes obediently, flinching slightly at the sound of the door as she closes it behind him. Eyes darting from her over to Dean, the logical part of Sam wars with the instinctual. There isn’t a possibility that this feels wrong to him, and that feels wrong.
Resting a hand on his chest is all it takes for him to look down at her, catching her gaze. She smiles up at him. “I can’t reach you.”
There’s hardly a second of debate before he leans down far enough that she can stand high, kissing him on a mouth that is familiar in a way that Dean’s is not. He catches on sooner than his brother, holding her hips to keep him within reach, devouring her with a passion that both thrills and settles her.
Physically, there’s not as much as Sam that belongs to her. They are beyond that subtle trick of genetics, nature far more present in their internal world than outer. She may never know what it is, but she knows they are the same in so many ways that count more than hair color and height. There’s a large piece of Sam’s soul that is her remaining in him.
The rest of him, of course, is Dean. She’s lucky to even have her part between them, but it’s there, and it’s opening larger with every heartbeat. Not that heartbeats have ever really mattered much to the Winchesters.
Settling back on the floor, she squeezes his hand, her own dwarfed in his as she guides him back to the bed where Dean is waiting, his mouth hanging open as if he can’t quite comprehend this. She sits down next to him and kisses him as Sam settles behind her.
Without letting go of Sam’s hand, she buries her head against Dean’s neck, letting them talk silently as they do. The conversation isn’t a long one and soon Sam is smoothing her hair away and kissing the back of her neck as Dean captures her lips. It’s almost symbiotic, or at least she hopes they need her as much as she needs them.
Her free hand threads itself through Dean’s short hair as she turns her face back to Sam. He bites softly at her bottom lip as Dean reaches around her to push off the jacket Sam never removed. Enraptured, she watches as they kiss each other, knowing that if there is such a thing as love-real, true, absolute, world-ending love-that she’s watching it right now.
They undress around her, cocooning her between them. Mary feels safe and wanted, and that feeling only intensifies as Sam lays her down on the bed, kissing her sweetly as Dean unbuttons her shirt. There’s a barely contained passion behind Sam’s eyes and it terrifies her how much she needs that, how she wants to make both of them shatter so she can put them back together correctly for once.
Sam’s arms are strong, but it’s Dean that startles a gasp out of her as he removes her jeans and panties in a single motion. Her boys trade places, Dean’s tongue searching out her own as Sam’s deft fingers unhook her bra, lips sucking at the tender flesh of her breasts.
Sam moans against her skin and she can feel Dean jacking him off, slowly, his hand sliding between Sam and the soft skin of Mary’s leg. It ignites a fervor in her youngest and his teeth graze her nipple, causing a shudder to rock down her body as goosebumps erupt over her skin. Dean’s empty hand cradles her head and she stares so deep within his eyes that it feels like coming undone for the first time.
The pressure and warmth of Sam’s hands sliding over her hips keeps her from falling open, too bare and cracked to settle again. Her entire life has been about settling, taking the few things that the world allowed her, lost to every other chance. Everything has always been a build up to this moment, appreciating this for all the chances in the world that everyone has ever passed up, every maybe that has formed to give them this moment that defies all possibilities.
Something so perfect could only come from loss.
They cover her, surround her, touch her and each other until she’s half out of her mind with things she is only starting to understand, too close to the truth of everything to not surge forward, to ignore the heed of sense and reason holding her back from things that no one should ever know.
Only their constant pressure around her keeps from sailing over the edge, and she uses them for balance as she takes each step towards the edge, each shuddering breath that could be her last, that could be the last of everything. She knows that everything that ever was hangs in this moment. How could it not?
The importance of everything comes flooding back to her as Sam kisses her, then Dean, his tongue overtaking his brother’s mouth. These two are all that’s left, alpha and omega, and she created them. They came from her and she came to them. It humbles her to be part of their majesty.
Limbs tangle, hands exploring until there is no separation. Breath inhaling breath, they form together in a way that is unmistakable, inseparable. They are part of each other in a way that bloodline can never dictate, and for Mary swears that there is one heart that the three of them are sharing.
When she screams out, it echoes in the heavens and as her vision darkens, a light appears. It says everything that anyone in the world has ever said, she hears the sighs and calls and murmurs of everything and it’s love. The answer seems simple once you know it.
Her ragged gasping for air settles her back on the bed, each boy panting over her. A hand runs down each of their backs, soothing the taught muscles, skin slick with sweat.
Mary has always thought that running from everything was the answer, that she could only find what she was looking for by leaving everything she knew and seeking it out. Staring at the ceiling, she thinks that she was doing it wrong all along. The way to get through everything is to appreciate what you have. It’s your only hope.
Each of her sons rests his head against her chest and as she strokes their heads, she smiles as they clasp hands on top of her stomach. Mary kisses each of their heads softly, faintly humming a familiar song under her breath as they cling tightly to her.
For now, she belongs to them.
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean/Mary
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,112
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any characters.
Summary: Mary's always wanted to feel connected to something. She's finally figured out that she's been waiting for her boys.
Warnings: Consensual incestuous threesome, non-graphic sex, late night stream-of-consciousness writing.
Notes: bloodnfire wanted Sam/Dean/Mary and...this came out. It's not the PWP you were probably hoping for and I hope maybe I can get that to you too, but there is...this.
Beta: riveryklown
Hugging one of the motel’s pillows to her chest, she curls up into a sitting position against the wall. Mary stares at the remote control sitting next to her on the bed and picks it up, flicking through the channels of the television. Smiling briefly to herself, she can’t help but think that she’s settling in quite well for a time-displaced girl sharing a small room with the grown sons she hasn’t even given birth to yet.
Dean’s on the other side of the miniscule space, working on the laptop-something that she doesn’t think she’ll ever get the hand of, no matter how long she’s here-and, not for the first time, she takes the time to watch him. She memorizes each of his features, the lines of his face, assigning them to different people. He had her mother’s eyes, but that nose was all John.
His name hurts. It’s like there are two different John Winchesters, one she loved with all of her heart, and another one for whom she will never feel anything but rage and hatred. The confusion swirls in her stomach and she wonders if she will ever be able to look at her John without thinking of these boys, imagining their damaged hearts.
She thinks if she could see their hearts, they’d be as broken as every other heart in their family.
Dean looks over his shoulder, and she blushes lightly at being caught staring. He half-smiles at her, the kind she recognizes when he’s humoring her and doesn’t know what to say. Shutting the screen of the laptop, he stretches and stands. “Sam should be back from the library soon,” he says. “Then we can go get some food.”
Mary nods as he comes over and sits at the edge of the bed. “It’s okay, I can wait for him.”
“Yeah, well, for someone so tall, he moves fucking slow.” It makes her laugh and he grins at her, corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. She wonders if he got that from John too.
She must look too long because Dean ducks his head slightly. “You look at me a lot,” he says as if he’s unsure about the words even leaving his mouth.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Before he can tell her not to apologize, she hurries on. “I’m just trying to figure out who you look like the most.”
He seems surprised by that. “Yeah? What do you think?”
His body relaxes, but his eyes remain curious, alert, so she shifts towards the end of the bed, closer to him. The first thing she says is, “You’ve got Mom’s eyes.” She’s not sure what to say next-she doesn’t want to insult him by calling his features feminine, but he doesn’t look much like her father. And it feels like their thing. John isn’t allowed.
“Yeah?” He looks oddly pleased at that and she smiles. “I’ve always kind of thought I looked like you?”
Eyes widening hopefully, she says, “And that’s…you’re okay with that?” Sometimes, she looks at him and can see exactly how he’s her son. Other times, it’s like staring at a lost part of herself, and Mary can’t see how she has anything to do with them at all. Those are the worst parts.
He nods slowly, swallowing hard. “Of course. You’re so beautiful.”
There’s a glow of warmth inside of her and she can do nothing but smile. The lashes, the freckles, the way the sun sometimes caught his hair-they were all pieces of her that she had left with him, whether he had ever realized it or not. And his lips, full and plush. Those aren’t John’s. They belong to her.
Leaning forward, she kisses him softly, feeling his gasp against her lips. He looks at her with an uncertainty that worries her, and for a long minute, she fears that she’s ruined everything. Then, shakily, he leans down again and presses his lips against hers, both tender and firm. His hands hold the small of her back and she can’t tell which one of them is shaking.
Time has long ago stopped meaning anything for her, and the kisses could go on for years, millennia passing, stars dying, the world ending and being reborn around them as if it even matters anymore. As if anything but her boys ever mattered to begin with. They never go deeper than the gentle press of lips against lips and she traces his stubble with the pads of her thumbs.
When the door opens, she sees Sam before Dean does. Her oldest son freezes against her at the look on Sam’s face-shock, confusion, jealousy, and more than a bit hurt. Mary knows everything. It was hard to hide the way they were around each other. Even John has never looked at her like that, and they orbit each other like the other is essential to everything and that without each other, the world ends. Maybe it does. Perhaps that’s that point to everything. That’s what matters.
In a realization that can only be defined as stark clarity, Mary feels like she knows everything in the world. There is no greater purpose than for her to be here right now with her boys. It’s a revelation that strikes her as practically divine, and she smiles to herself, ducking her face to hide the wisdom behind her curls.
This is where she’s supposed to be. Her entire life clicks into place and she knows that she was born solely for the purpose of giving the world these men, of giving them to each other. It feels bigger than anything she’s ever even contemplated, and she feels fulfilled in her smallness. They are everything. Not just to her. Not just to each other.
They are everything.
She gives Dean a kiss on the cheek before standing and walking towards Sam. Taking his hand, she pulls him a few steps farther into the room. He comes obediently, flinching slightly at the sound of the door as she closes it behind him. Eyes darting from her over to Dean, the logical part of Sam wars with the instinctual. There isn’t a possibility that this feels wrong to him, and that feels wrong.
Resting a hand on his chest is all it takes for him to look down at her, catching her gaze. She smiles up at him. “I can’t reach you.”
There’s hardly a second of debate before he leans down far enough that she can stand high, kissing him on a mouth that is familiar in a way that Dean’s is not. He catches on sooner than his brother, holding her hips to keep him within reach, devouring her with a passion that both thrills and settles her.
Physically, there’s not as much as Sam that belongs to her. They are beyond that subtle trick of genetics, nature far more present in their internal world than outer. She may never know what it is, but she knows they are the same in so many ways that count more than hair color and height. There’s a large piece of Sam’s soul that is her remaining in him.
The rest of him, of course, is Dean. She’s lucky to even have her part between them, but it’s there, and it’s opening larger with every heartbeat. Not that heartbeats have ever really mattered much to the Winchesters.
Settling back on the floor, she squeezes his hand, her own dwarfed in his as she guides him back to the bed where Dean is waiting, his mouth hanging open as if he can’t quite comprehend this. She sits down next to him and kisses him as Sam settles behind her.
Without letting go of Sam’s hand, she buries her head against Dean’s neck, letting them talk silently as they do. The conversation isn’t a long one and soon Sam is smoothing her hair away and kissing the back of her neck as Dean captures her lips. It’s almost symbiotic, or at least she hopes they need her as much as she needs them.
Her free hand threads itself through Dean’s short hair as she turns her face back to Sam. He bites softly at her bottom lip as Dean reaches around her to push off the jacket Sam never removed. Enraptured, she watches as they kiss each other, knowing that if there is such a thing as love-real, true, absolute, world-ending love-that she’s watching it right now.
They undress around her, cocooning her between them. Mary feels safe and wanted, and that feeling only intensifies as Sam lays her down on the bed, kissing her sweetly as Dean unbuttons her shirt. There’s a barely contained passion behind Sam’s eyes and it terrifies her how much she needs that, how she wants to make both of them shatter so she can put them back together correctly for once.
Sam’s arms are strong, but it’s Dean that startles a gasp out of her as he removes her jeans and panties in a single motion. Her boys trade places, Dean’s tongue searching out her own as Sam’s deft fingers unhook her bra, lips sucking at the tender flesh of her breasts.
Sam moans against her skin and she can feel Dean jacking him off, slowly, his hand sliding between Sam and the soft skin of Mary’s leg. It ignites a fervor in her youngest and his teeth graze her nipple, causing a shudder to rock down her body as goosebumps erupt over her skin. Dean’s empty hand cradles her head and she stares so deep within his eyes that it feels like coming undone for the first time.
The pressure and warmth of Sam’s hands sliding over her hips keeps her from falling open, too bare and cracked to settle again. Her entire life has been about settling, taking the few things that the world allowed her, lost to every other chance. Everything has always been a build up to this moment, appreciating this for all the chances in the world that everyone has ever passed up, every maybe that has formed to give them this moment that defies all possibilities.
Something so perfect could only come from loss.
They cover her, surround her, touch her and each other until she’s half out of her mind with things she is only starting to understand, too close to the truth of everything to not surge forward, to ignore the heed of sense and reason holding her back from things that no one should ever know.
Only their constant pressure around her keeps from sailing over the edge, and she uses them for balance as she takes each step towards the edge, each shuddering breath that could be her last, that could be the last of everything. She knows that everything that ever was hangs in this moment. How could it not?
The importance of everything comes flooding back to her as Sam kisses her, then Dean, his tongue overtaking his brother’s mouth. These two are all that’s left, alpha and omega, and she created them. They came from her and she came to them. It humbles her to be part of their majesty.
Limbs tangle, hands exploring until there is no separation. Breath inhaling breath, they form together in a way that is unmistakable, inseparable. They are part of each other in a way that bloodline can never dictate, and for Mary swears that there is one heart that the three of them are sharing.
When she screams out, it echoes in the heavens and as her vision darkens, a light appears. It says everything that anyone in the world has ever said, she hears the sighs and calls and murmurs of everything and it’s love. The answer seems simple once you know it.
Her ragged gasping for air settles her back on the bed, each boy panting over her. A hand runs down each of their backs, soothing the taught muscles, skin slick with sweat.
Mary has always thought that running from everything was the answer, that she could only find what she was looking for by leaving everything she knew and seeking it out. Staring at the ceiling, she thinks that she was doing it wrong all along. The way to get through everything is to appreciate what you have. It’s your only hope.
Each of her sons rests his head against her chest and as she strokes their heads, she smiles as they clasp hands on top of her stomach. Mary kisses each of their heads softly, faintly humming a familiar song under her breath as they cling tightly to her.
For now, she belongs to them.