Fic - A Mother's Love
Title: A Mother's Love
Summary: Season 12 (speculative) future fic. She's their Mom, and yet these grown men are strangers to her. It takes a close encounter with the supernatural to change all of that.
Rating: R
Genre/Spoilers: Mary, Sam and Dean (gen). No spoilers - just speculation!
Warnings: Violence and blood, season 12 future fic, Mary POV, hurt!Sam.
Word Count: 3600+
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all the standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: A massive thank you to my wonderful and hard working beta harrigan. I've tinkered so all mistakes are mine. This was written for this years spn_summergen challenge for safiyabat. I used her prompts of BAMF!Sam, with a touch of brotherly banter.
Originally posted here
A Mother's Love
Samuel Campbell knew how to train and raise a hunter. So when Mary starts to awaken, long-forgotten instincts take over and she's already analysing the situation: she's sitting on a chair, her hands and feet bound, and there's a foul-smelling piece of material between her teeth that's tied tightly behind her head.
She jerks herself fully awake and scans the surroundings. She's in a barn, thin beams of dying sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wood. The floor is littered with straw, and it's stacked in tall bales around her. There's an old rusty tractor tucked into the far corner, and two massive wooden doors that are closed and probably bolted. But no guards, no guns, no monsters. She's alone.
Well, other than Sam, who's sitting in front of her; his head hanging low, hair matted with something dark. She can't see his face, but she can see the red stain of blood seeping across his gag where it winds behind his ear, and his hands and ankles are bound with rope to a wooden chair, just like her own.
Heart racing, she tries to call out, her voice muffled by the cloth between her lips. She looks around, searching for Dean, but it's just the two of them, and then it all comes back like a bad dream: the family road trip, a chance to get to know each other, learn how to be a family, and how it had all come crashing down.
It was Dean's idea to have a family vacation, and she can still see the glee in his eyes and that huge grin. Even as a grown man he was still trying to fix the broken things in her life, hoping that a few weeks sightseeing will fix what over thirty years of death has damaged.
Maybe in theory it was a good idea; uninterrupted quality time together. But while living in close quarters didn't seem to faze Sam and Dean, she was finding it claustrophobic being stuck with two large men she knows are her boys, but who are more like strangers to her than family, than blood.
Sam had supported Dean's idea, but he kept eyeing her like he thought she was going to disappear, or shift into some sort of monster; like this is some kind of trick or game that whatever brought her back wanted to play with them all.
She doesn't blame Sam either; she feels the same way: suspicious of everything, waiting for it to all come crashing down. Maybe they're not so different after all?
They were somewhere in Colorado in a motel room covered in flowers because that's what Dean thought she'd like, and he went to get some gas and 'supplies' and it was just her and Sam, her baby boy who's now six and a half feet tall, and it was an awkward silence. She still had so many questions. She knew she'd been dead, knew that something unnatural had brought her back. Oh yes, Mary knew first-hand just how possible that was. She shuddered to think that her boys were involved with the supernatural: something she never wanted for them. But they didn’t want to talk about that, not yet. It was almost like they needed, for just a little while anyway, to pretend that they were a normal family. And she was so desperate to give them something, to make up for all the years she hadn’t been there for them, that she just went along with it. There would be time to talk later, right?
So Sam had been sitting on a chair by the table, hands in his lap, and she was sitting on the edge of the bed, and they were talking stiltedly about the weather, when suddenly the door was kicked in and half a dozen men stormed into the room, followed by a dark-haired woman, gaze fixed icily on Sam.
Sam had launched into attack mode, throwing punches and screaming at Mary to get out of the room. But then one of the guys slammed a chair onto the back of Sam's head, and he went down hard and didn't get back up. She was frozen to the spot, like she was never a hunter, like she'd never had training. She held her hands up in surrender and yelled, “Please don't hurt him!” even though they already had.
Was that a motherly reaction? Or just a human one? She had no idea.
One guy stalked towards her like she was his prey, sniffing loudly as he started to nuzzle at her hair hanging loose over her shoulders. She spat in his face, stomped on his foot, and then shoved her shoulder heavily into his side, proud that she hadn't forgotten everything as she pushed her way past him.
It worked, but then there were two more guys, covered in tattoos and leather, hissing around razor sharp teeth that were definitely not human, and then it all went black.
She's breathing hard now, her heart racing. She shouts around the rag in her mouth, calling for Sam, and shuffles on her chair, trying to loosen the rope, just like her father taught her all those years before.
Vampires have teeth like that, don't they? It's been years, a lifetime really, since she walked away from a hunter's life. But here she is, back again, fearing for her life, living on the edge, and craving the stability of a normal and safe apple-pie life.
Sam groans, low and deep in the back of his throat, and she pauses, sitting statue still, as he raises his head, blood streaking down his neck and soaking the collar of his blue flannel shirt.
His eyes are open in slits and she watches him catalogue it all; the rope, the chair, the barn, the exits, the fact that they're alone, and it tears at something deep inside her, some hope she'd always held that her children would never have the childhood that she did.
Sam's eyes open wider, and then they settle on her and she watches the initial panic; fear and dread settling in those expressive eyes. He grits his teeth around the material in his mouth, and she's pretty sure he's trying to ask her if she's hurt.
They knocked her out, but other than a minor headache, she feels OK, so she nods her head. She tries to gesture at Sam's head, tries to ask if he's OK. Head wounds bleed a lot, right? That's a thing she feels she knows from her hunter's life, or maybe it was from a mother's life? Both were so long ago.
Sam nods, he's OK, but she's not sure if she can believe it. She doesn't know her son well enough to read his tells, or his eyes, or anything, really. Dean would know, but he's not here.
Sam flicks his gaze down at his hand. It looks like he's digging out some kind of a screw or nail from the wood in the chair, and she watches in awe as he pulls it out one-handed, moving it around his fingers until he positions it properly to start carving through the rope.
She can't ignore the pride she feels, but she doesn't know what to do with it. Her sons were supposed to go to college, get married, have nine-to-five jobs, and start their own families. They were supposed to be carefree and surrounded by a network of loved ones. They were supposed to be happy.
But as far as she can see, they're none of those things. They're hunters, and even though they're clearly good at it, even though they're still alive after years in the game, she feels like she's grieving them both, and the people she always dreamed they'd be.
Sam's clearly done this before, the screw sawing quickly through the rope. He looks calm and collected, like he has a plan and knows exactly what he's doing. She can't help but wonder when they learned these things. Did John become a hunter too? Did he train their boys like her father trained her?
Taking Sam's lead, she tries to do the same; fingers blindly searching for a nail, a screw, a sharp edge of wood. She finds something metal, and starts picking around it with her fingernail, trying to loosen it. By the time she's managed to get a finger around it, she hears Sam grunt. The rope around his right wrist has fallen to the ground, and Sam's untying the bloody material from around his head and mouth, and then he starts to untie his left arm.
“You OK?” His voice is gravelly but she nods, relief flooding through every vein in her body. They're going to make it out of here.
Then Sam's looming over her like a gentle giant, fingers carefully untying the rag from around her head. There's concern in his eyes as she licks her cracked lips, and moves her aching jaw around in circles. “Sam, I think they're vampires.”
He smiles a crooked half smile that she can't decide is sad or impressed. Maybe it's a bit of both, she wonders, as he unties the rope from around her hands and ankles.
“Yeah, I... er, we've come across this nest before. Well, part of it anyway. Kate's obviously had some time to extend her family.”
“Kate?” She asks, nudging for information as the final rope falls clear. Sam stands, grabbing the back of the chair as his knees suddenly unlock, his hands shaking. Her arms automatically reach out for him, but he doesn't fall. She looks up, trying to catch his gaze but he won't look at her, won't let her see this moment of weakness. John used to do the same damn thing.
“It was one of the last hunts we did together. With Dad.” Sam helps her to her feet. “Dad killed Kate's partner, Luther.”
Mary swallows hard. She had her suspicions, but it's hard to imagine her John as a hunter. He'd been so quiet and thoughtful after the war, but there were times when she would catch glimpses of a haunted man, of anger and fear bubbling underneath the surface. They didn't have a perfect marriage, far from it, but they were both fiercely protective of their family.
She's pretty sure this is the first time Sam has mentioned John since she was brought back. It was Dean that told her John was dead, died years ago, but no details. There was pain in his eyes when he said it, and when he'd changed the subject, Mary hadn't pressed him. Not yet. Sam has mentioned Stanford and Jess, but not much about his life as a hunter. She gets the impression that she's not the only Winchester who wanted a different life.
There's a loud clunk as the barn doors are unlocked, and Sam grabs her arm and pulls her to the back of the barn behind the tractor. He gestures silently for her to stay low and she does, watching him with fascination as he scans the area. There's an old tool box, and a few scraps of rusty barbed wire, and Sam picks up the longest section he can find.
“How about we get the fun started, huh?” It's a male voice, loud and booming, and completely unknown to Mary. “Maybe I'll start with the female, make you watch while I-”
The voice stops suddenly, and Mary realises he must have just noticed that they're no longer tied up to the chairs. She doesn't move a muscle, but she hears footsteps as he walks towards the tractor they're hiding behind.
Sam clenches his jaw, face suddenly stern and determined, and for a second it's like she's looking right at John. He couches low, fingers tapping a silent beat on his leg of his jeans, like he timing something. Then Sam dive rolls forward just as she catches a glimpse of the vampire's boots, hands fisting the two ends of the barbed wire as he shoots to his feet and wraps it around the vampire's neck and pulls.
It struggles, dropping the wicked looking bowie knife it was carrying, hands clawing at Sam, legs thrashing and kicking. Sam pulls harder, the muscles in his arms bulging as the barbed wire cuts further through the vampire's neck until eventually its head hits the ground, eyes blank and unseeing, the body slumping lifelessly to Sam's feet.
It's a horror show, and she has to remind herself that she's seen worse, it's just been a long time.
Sam breathes deeply, his chest rising and falling. He pulls at the barbed wire that's sunk deep into his palms and drops it to the floor. Without thought, Mary rushes forward and reaches for his hands. They're raw, flesh torn and bleeding steadily, and then she notices an old scar that runs across Sam's palm. It looks deep, the edges rippled and raised, and it clearly didn't have a chance to heal properly. Sam pulls his hands away without meeting her eyes, almost as if he's ashamed. She doesn't know if it's the old wound or the new ones that he wants to keep from her.
She's about to confront Sam about it when the barn doors bang again; there's footsteps, and lots of them. Sam picks up the bowie knife and then pushes them back behind the tractor.
“I know you're in here, Sam? You might have got out of those ropes but there's no way you made it out of this barn.” It's a female; Kate, Mary assumes, her voice full of cocky-confidence like she's already won the battle.
Sam signals for her to stay down, and then, without a sound, he's gone. But she's not going to let her boy face a nest of vampires alone. Sam might be a mystery to her, she might not know all the things a mother should know about her son, but nobody messes with Mary's family. Not again. Not after she let that yellow-eyed demon tear it all apart.
“Dean's on his way!” Kate calls, her voice echoing around the large barn. “You have no idea what kind of revenge I've been cooking up for you and your brother after what you did to my Luther.”
Kate's trying to draw Sam out, but Mary can't see anything from where she's crouched, so she quietly creeps to the front wheel of the tractor. She takes a quick look, palms sweaty and stomach full of knots.
She hears a dull thud, and then the head of a vampire rolls into her line of sight, all bloody and dead-eyed. There's some grunts and groans, the smack of skin on skin, and then Mary's grabbing the first thing she sees in the toolbox, a hammer, and with a determined breath she heads to the scene of the fight.
She's careful, her father's voice in her ear, telling her to find cover, all senses on high alert as she creeps closer. She ducks behind a tall stack of straw bales and sees Sam grit his teeth as he swipes the wicked-looking bowie knife through the vamp's neck, arterial spray everywhere. Then he kicks his leg out, like he instinctively knows there's another one at his back, knocking the vamp to the floor, before stabbing the blade in its neck. There are six other bodies scattered around him, his hands and face bloody, and he looks every bit the hunter she wishes he wasn't.
“Drop it!” Kate says to Sam, as she circles around him like he's the dangerous animal. Her back is to Mary, a gun held in her outstretched hands.
“Why would I do that?” Sam voice is cold and confident, chest puffed out as he stands impossibly taller. His lip is split, teeth stained crimson, but he has a fierce look in his eye that she remembers seeing in her own father; like he's an unstoppable force of nature. “My brother and I always did want to find you. We're not keen on unfinished business.”
Kate laughs. “Well, my family's a little bigger than last time; there's a whole farmhouse full of us. You really think you can take us all out with that little knife?”
Mary rushes towards Kate, tackling them both to the ground. She brings the hammer down, but Kate rolls away from the blow, and then shifts her weight. Before Mary knows what's happening her back is hitting the ground and Kate's hovering over her, straddling her hips and pinning her arms down. She can't move.
Kate lunges at her neck, sharp teeth scraping over Mary's skin, and she cries out in fear, knowing what lies ahead. But then Sam pulls Kate up by her hair, hands twisting it around, pulling harder and harder until Kate whimpers.
“My family's grown a little too, and no one gets to touch them.” At that, Sam tilts Kate's chin up and slices deep across her throat. Kate thrashes, but Sam keeps his grip on her hair, keeps sawing savagely, until finally her torso falls back onto the straw. Sam just stands there, chest heaving, until Mary places her hand on his shoulder. Then he opens his hands. The knife and the head both drop to the ground with a soft thud. He swallows deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sees all the blood.
She looks down at Kate's limp and lifeless body, at her razor sharp teeth and inhuman eyes. “You saved my life.”
She's shaking all over, the adrenaline rushing out of her system like a running tap. Then she pulls him close, burying her face into his shirt, and it surprises her how much she needs this. Sam seems just as stunned as she is, but then his arms fall around her until they're clinging tightly to each other.
Time stills for a moment, and all she can think is that the last time she held Sam this tightly, his whole body fit into the crook of her arm.
Arms still wrapped around each other for support or maybe because neither wants to let go, they walk towards the barn doors, over the bodies of half a dozen vamps that Sam took down with brute force, barbed wire and a bowie knife.
Sam pauses by the door, and then reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a Zippo lighter, and then tosses it at the straw bales. They ignite immediately, flames crackling as they spread quickly across the barn, smoke billowing in heavy black clouds.
“No loose ends this time.” Sam's fingers grip her tighter, like he's unwilling to let go, and she knows exactly how he feels.
It's dark by the time they get outside. But the lights are on in the large farmhouse in front of them, yellow paint peeling from the rotting wooden cladding. Dean bursts through the front door, hinges squeaking, a bloodstained machete in his hands as he jogs down the stairs, eyes wide and relieved as he sees them.
“You two OK?” Dean's eyes scan down her body, looking for an injury or a hair out of place, before shifting to Sam, focussing on the blood in his hair and around his neck. Dean probably figures Sam's palms are red-slick with vamp's blood. Mary hadn't realised that Sam was leaning on her until Dean gently clasps his hands around Sam's face, looking at his steadily swelling eye and fat lip, before turning his head to one side and looking at the wound on the back of his head.
“Dean, honestly, I'm fi-”
“Exactly how many handsome faces of mine are you seeing right now?” It's lighthearted, but there's something in his tone that makes her stare at the wound with critical eyes.
“Far too many.” Dean laughs it off like it's a joke they share, that apparently she's not in on. But she sees something in Dean's green eyes that he can't quite hide from her; brotherly concern.
Dean tucks his shoulder into Sam's armpit and it's like it was made to fit, like they're two pieces that make a whole. “Baby's parked half a mile down the road, think you can make it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really, there's no way I'm driving her down that pothole-riddled road with her new rims!”
“Hey, I just took out a nest of vamps! The least you could do is get the car.”
“What do you think I was doing in there, Sam? Taking the machete out for a walk?”
“At least you had a machete!”
She's so focussed on their banter that it takes Mary a moment to notice that Dean's looking at her. “What do you think, Mom? Think together we can get him outta here in one piece?”
She looks up at these heroic men in front of her, who work like a well-oiled team while bickering like children, who've faced death more times than she can imagine and have never backed down, who fight for each other and their family with a passion that leaves her breathless.
She looks up at these two incredible men, and she no longer sees strangers, she sees her baby boys.
“Absolutely!” She tucks herself under Sam's other shoulder, her hand gripping onto Dean's hand at Sam's lower back, and they walk together, step by step down the road; as a team, as a family.
The End