now it's the devil i love (Supernatural)
title: now it's the devil i love
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em.
fandom: Supernatural
characters: Mary Winchester, mentions of the rest of the family
rating: pg-13
warnings: vague SPOILERS for 2x21. & a dark-ish tint overall.
word count: 682
notes: this is my attempt at explaining a few things about Mama Winchester post AHBL. thanks to Mel for giving it a read over. for the Motherly Love fic challenge at loveforthefolks. & I've just realised that this might not be what they meant when they said 'something their kids would think of years later when they think of their mom as being quintessentially MOM.' Bother.
Three miscarriages. Three. Mary had seen the look on the doctor's face. She knew that he'd pulled John outside her room to tell him the statistics, the chances.
All Mary wanted was a baby. She wanted the feeling of a life growing inside her. The honor of bearing a child for John, who she loved more than she thought was possible. She'd been so close, so happy. Every time. But her own body had betrayed her, taking the one thing she wanted, needed, away from her.
John had held her hand in the hospital. He'd said 'We'll have our family. We'll get through this.' He just held on a little tighter with each loss. Mary was tired of losing. She didn't believe him when he said everything would be fine. But she knew a way to make it right.
She remembered her grandmother, the soft cadence of Grandmother's voice reading from the old books. Mary wasn't supposed to listen to the things Grandmother read, wasn't supposed to look in those books, but she had. She'd taken them under the covers with her as a child. Traced the thick leather bindings with her fingers and cut herself on the edges of the paper. Later, when she understood what the words meant, she stopped reading. There were no bedtime stories between those pages. Only things that sent a chill down Mary's spine.
She hadn't touched the books for years, but she knew exactly what she was looking for. Mary waited until John stopped looking at her as if she'd fall apart at any second, then climbed the attic stairs while he was at the garage. A few hours later she came back down with dust on her face and triumph in her eyes. Mary opened all the windows, and by the time John got home the smell of sulfur was hardly noticeable.
That night she took John to bed. He was hesitant, afraid she wasn't ready, not so soon. Mary rubbed against him, kissed him, begged with her lips and her tongue and her hands until he gave her what she wanted. When John came inside her, Mary moved with him. She worked him inside her as deep as he would go. She rested her head against John's shoulder and whispered words into his skin that burned her throat.
Afterwards Mary lay wrapped in the sheets, John a steady warm weight beside her. She took his hand in hers and rested them both low on her stomach. Soon.
Dean arrived a little over nine months later. John couldn't stop smiling. The doctor just shook his head and called Dean a miracle; Mary didn't correct him. Everything about her baby boy was absolutely perfect: he arrived right on time, he had ten little fingers and ten little toes. When she held him, Dean curled towards her and Mary felt complete.
She looked down into Dean's green eyes and knew that whatever payment came due, she would give ten times over. There was nothing in the world worth more than the life of her son.
Mary never expected Sammy. She'd only bargained for one baby, literally. And the debt for Dean had yet to be settled. But as the months passed by, she couldn't deny the feeling of having two children. John watched her belly swell with something close to awe; Dean crowded onto her rapidly shrinking lap, blonde head resting on her stomach. Mary ran her fingers through her son's hair and listened to him talk to the baby who, Dean assured her, was his little brother.
Sam Winchester was born a few months later. Dean curled beside her in the hospital bed; his head rested on her shoulder. Mary held Sammy close and pulled the blanket down from his face so he could see his big brother. John stood beside the bed. He carded his fingers through her hair over and over.
Mary couldn't think of one thing that could mar her happiness.
Six months later, staring at a pair of yellow eyes over her baby's crib, Mary thinks she should have known better.
- end