Fic: Who Laid to Rest (Mary/Ellen, PG13, 1/1)
Finally, and thanks to insmallpackages a Christmas story.
title: Who Laid to Rest
rating: pg13 for language
length: 4,060 words
summary: prompt #241 Mary/Ellen victorious
AU: Mary Winchester and Ellen Harvelle meet in a graveyard on Christmas Eve. Two women with secrets, looking for someone to trust.
Many thanks to destina for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Who Laid to Rest
"Now this," Mary muttered as she tossed another shovelful of dirt out of the grave, "this is a Christmas Eve to remember." There was a hollow thunk as she finally hit the pine top of Billy Angel’s coffin and she took a moment to wipe the sweat off her forehead with the back of one dirty hand and another to adjust the miner's lamp she'd knocked out of position doing it. "Oh yeah, there’s nothing like spending the last few hours of December 24th clearing six feet of New Mexico off a murderous son of a bitch who won’t stay..."
The temperature in the hole dropped suddenly. "Shit!"
The coffin was rotten enough two good jabs with the blade of the shovel got through it. She pried out pieces of the lid to expose grinning bone and strips of gristle and the remains of a buckskin jacket, then tossed the shovel up out of the grave. The box of kosher salt was down in the hole with her, the container of gasoline up on the edge - she dumped the salt over the body, but as she grabbed for gasoline the temperature dropped a little further. She felt rather than saw the sweep of a spectral bowie knife and ducked as the blade split the air where her arm had been.
"Son of a bitch!" She had no room to maneuver and Angel’s ghost was on his way back, knife extended...
The familiar roar of a shotgun made her ears ring and the spectral form blew apart all around her.
"He won't stay gone long." A woman’s voice, deeper than most, pointed out the obvious up in the darkness of the graveyard. "I’ve got your back, but I’d get the bastard lit up quick if I were you."
The gas was in an old dish soap bottle, one of the big ones, easier to squirt down in among the bones when only the upper third of the coffin was uncovered. Easier to only uncover the upper third, digging on her own. Six by six by four was pretty much impossible without a backhoe.
"Incoming! On your right!"
He’d materialized in too close! Too close to duck, too close to avoid, too close for the woman with the shotgun to get another shot off! Mary twisted, felt a line of fire across her shoulder, and fell to the left as Angel blew apart in another blast of rock salt.
A tanned hand with broken fingernails and a scrape across one knuckle reached down into the hole. Mary grabbed hold, kicked the toe of her right boot into the dirt, and found herself a second later sprawled on the brittle grass. She dug her matches out of her pocket, twisted, sat up, and dropped a lit match between her feet down into the grave.
The remains of Billy Angel ignited with a gratifying whoosh.
Pulling off the lamp, Mary stood and backed away from the edge of the grave and the rising heat. She turned to see a woman about her own age, not very tall but with the kind of solid muscle that suggested she was no stranger to hard physical work. All things considered, probably no stranger to shovels in graveyards at midnight, Mary realized.
"You okay?" the stranger asked. "How badly did he get you?"
"He didn’t..." And then she realized he had, that the line still burned across the back of her left shoulder. She twisted, could see the blood on the shirt but not the actual wound. "It doesn’t feel too deep."
"Awkward place though." The stranger closed her eyes for a moment, sighed, and when she opened them had clearly come to a decision. "I can help clean the grave dirt out of it, tape it up." Shifting the shotgun, she held out her hand. "Ellen Harvelle. I had Billy Angel on my dance card for tomorrow night."
"And tonight?"
"I just got into town. Was driving by, scouting the place out. Saw him heading for you."
Realizing the other woman’s hand was still out, Mary took it. Again. "Mary Winchester. I don’t suppose you’ve got a shovel..."
"In my trunk. But I’ve got a better idea. Wait here."
About the time Mary figured she’d been ditched and had better start shoveling, Ellen came back with a bag of empty beer cans and a worn pair of men’s boots. "The law’s going to know this grave has been disturbed no matter what we do so..." Wearing a pair of latex gloves, she piled the cans at the head of the grave, scuffed out the prints she and Mary had left, and made several deep indentations in the loose dirt with the boots. "...we let local law enforcement blame local vandals. Hunt smarter."
Mary grinned. "Hunt smarter."
Ellen had left her car - a big Buick - tucked just out of sight by the old cemetery’s gate. Mary had hidden hers a little better, a little further on.
"I’ll get the first aid kit."
"Wha...? Oh, the shoulder. Look, I’ve had worse. In fact..." About to suggest that this be where they part ways - two hunters chance met in a graveyard weren't friends, and sure Ellen had probably saved her life but she had to get back to the motel room - Mary froze at the sight of a pale face staring sleepily out the Buick’s back window.
Ellen whirled around and yanked the door open, then turned back to face Mary holding a toddler, no more than two if she was any judge.
"Jo, my daughter." The statement was half a warning, half an offering. Half this is where I draw my line, half see how much I've decided to trust you. Mary understood both halves better than Ellen had any reason to believe.
"She was sleeping when I stopped," Ellen added, shifting Jo to her other hip.
Jo was wearing pajamas covered in little Christmas trees and the crankiest expression Mary’d seen for years. One small hand clutched at her mother’s T-shirt while the other held a threadbare stuffed rabbit. Her white-blonde hair stuck up in half a dozen directions and her enormous blue eyes watched Mary with suspicion.
Wait. They just got into town... "You’re going to spend the night in the car."
"Not the first time."
"It’s Christmas Eve."
Ellen's chin rose and her brows drew in. "I got it covered. Your shoulder..."
"Listen, I’ve got a room." Mary spoke quickly, needing to get it out before her own defense mechanisms kicked in. "It’s got two beds. And light. Better light if you want to look at my shoulder."
"I don’t know..."
Mary understood her hesitation. One thing to save another hunter. One thing to offer to patch her up. One thing to offer trust at the side of the road. Another thing entirely to trust enough to share space especially when you’re responsible for another life. "I’ve got to get back. My boy’s waiting for me."
Ellen’s eyes widened.
"He’s six." She twisted to look at the blood running down her arm. "So, I need to clean up a bit..."
***
"What's the password?"
Mary leaned against the door and grinned, "Dean Winchester is awesome." She straightened as she heard the chain pull off and the chair pushed away and, finally, the dead bolt snapped back.
Dean opened the door slowly, cautiously as she'd taught him, being careful that the movement didn't disturb the salt line. He peered out the crack one last time, making sure it was her, then opened it all the way. "You didn't take as long as you said," he declared, stepping back out of the way.
"I had some help." She stepped over the salt line and turned to gesture Ellen in. "This is Ellen Harvelle and Jo."
"Joe?" Brows drew in over brilliant green eyes as Dean matched Jo suspicious stare for suspicious stare. "He looks like a girl."
"He is a girl." Mary set her duffel down and reached behind Ellen -- weighed down with Jo and three bulging bags -- to close the door. "Ellen is a hunter, like me, and she helped me tonight. Her and Jo didn't have a place to stay for Christmas so I brought them here." She took a deep breath. She'd promised Dean she'd never lie to him and while she might never make mother of the year, that promise, at least, she'd kept. "And, Ellen needs to look at my shoulder."
Dean's eyes widened. "You got hurt? Mom! You said it was just a salt and burn! Let me see!"
"All right, come here." She steadied him as he climbed up onto the chair so he'd be high enough to get a good look at her shoulder, then turned around, presenting the wound. Small fingers touched her skin - skin she'd cleaned off with a wet-wipe in the graveyard because so far she'd managed to avoid returning to him covered in blood even if it meant basic first aid in some pretty scuzzy gas station bathrooms.
"It doesn't look so bad I guess."
"Told you."
She turned as he jumped down off the chair, too long sleeves of his Superman pajamas flapping and asked, peering up at Ellen and Jo, "Is she heavy?"
"A little bit," Ellen admitted.
"I asked for a baby brother for Christmas."
The corner's of Ellen's mouth twitched and she glanced over at the small artificial tree set up on the dresser, three presents already under it, one of them clearly wrapped by a six year old. "Did you?"
"Mom said Santa doesn't bring baby brothers."
"Not generally, no."
He sighed deeply, as if having another adult's confirmation had finally dashed his hopes. "Okay then, fine," he muttered, rubbed his nose on his sleeve and asked, "Can I hold her?"
"I don't know if she'll..." Ellen's eyes widened as Jo leaned out of her arms, reaching for Dean. After a quick glance over at Mary, she carefully handed Jo down.
The two women watched as Jo wrapped her legs around Dean's waist, curled one arm around Dean's neck, and patted him on the face with the other hand, babbling excitedly. Dean's eyes widened, his knees buckled, and he sank to the floor. Jo shrieked with laughter, untangled herself, and ran for the bathroom with Dean in close pursuit.
"It's okay, he's good with babies," Mary said as Ellen started to follow. "He's been asking for a baby brother for three years now. Last summer he said to a friend..."
She paused as the water started running, stopped, and Dean said, "Nuh uh, that's the hot. You can play with the cold. Just don't get wet. "
"...he said, if you know everything do you know where Mom can get me a baby brother. Bo-- the friend sprayed beer all over the front porch."
Ellen paused, first aid kit half out of the bag, and Mary bit her lip, appalled by how much she'd nearly given away. She wasn't used to being so at ease with another person.
After a moment, Ellen said, "That friend happen to be Bobby Singer?"
Mary let out a breath she didn't remember holding. "Yeah. That'd be him."
"Bobby is," Ellen started. Stopped.
Mary laughed, feeling the weight lift off her shoulders. "Yeah, he is."
By the time Dean and Jo emerged from the bathroom hand in hand, both of them in wet pajamas, Jo's hair sticking up in pale blonde spikes where Dean had used a towel on it, Mary's shoulder was taped and bandaged.
"All right, you..." She crossed to Dean's drawer and pulled out a pair of dry pajamas as Ellen scooped up her daughter. "Santa doesn't come if you're not asleep, so change, and into bed."
"Jo can sleep with me," Dean announced, throwing the top to his Superman PJ's on the floor and pulling Batman over his head. "Because you're big and you'll crush her."
"I'll crush her?"
"When you roll over. I won't." He kicked off his bottoms, pulled the dry ones on and looked hopefully up at her. "Please."
Mary stared at the amount of bare ankle showing under the pajama bottoms. His father had been a tall man and Dean was growing so fast...
"Mom?"
She shook herself free of memories and what ifs. "Sure, baby. If Ellen says it's all right." Dean never asked for much, probably spent as much time trying to take care of her as she did of him so...
Dean ducked his chin and looked up at Ellen through his lashes. Heart-rending at six, Mary knew that by sixteen the same expression would be heart-breaking - and have a certain amount of influence over other organs she most definitely did not want to think about in reference to her baby boy.
"Can Jo sleep in my bed, Ellen? Please? She's almost as good as a little brother."
Ellen glanced over at Mary, who spread her hands. Finally, she nodded. "All right, but you have to help me build a fort so she won't roll off the bed."
The fort was a marvel of structural engineering, pillows and rolled sweaters boxing Jo in on three sides.
"This side here," Ellen said as she laid Jo on the mattress and patted the open edge. "This is where you go. I'm counting on you to keep her safe."
Dean drew himself up to his full height. "I can do that!" he said. "I can! I promise!" Beaming proudly, he scrambled up onto the bed and laid down on his side facing the baby, one hand rubbing small circles on her stomach. Jo yawned, wrapped a chubby hand around Dean's thumb, and closed her eyes.
"Remember she's not Mr. Ruggles," Mary cautioned as she pulled up the covers and kissed Dean good night.
"Mo-om!"
"Teddy-bear," she explained to Ellen's raised brows, adding as she brushed fine brown hair back off Dean's forehead. "And he's far too grownup for a teddy-bear now."
"Mostly," Dean admitted sleepily. He turned his head. "Other cheek."
Mary kissed him as directed, then reached out and turned off the light between the beds. "Love you."
"You too, Mom."
The only light in the room now spilled out of the bathroom and under the curtains but being a hunter, meant, if nothing else, a more than passing familiarity with low light levels. Mary laid a finger against her lips then made her way to the tiny kitchenette and pulled a carton of eggnog out of the small fridge. Ellen grinned, rummaged in one of her bags, and triumphantly raised a mickey of rum.
By the time they finished the first drink, both kids were sound asleep and it was safe to talk quietly.
"...killed both my parents, took over my father's body, then snapped John's neck. The yellow eyed bastard tried to get me to trade the future for John's life, but I was already pregnant with Dean and I couldn't. I couldn't trade the life of my unborn child to bring my husband back. Who could? Besides, if there's one thing you learn early, growing up in a hunter family, its that what's dead should stay dead." She poured two more glasses of nog and waited while Ellen topped them up with the rum. "Well, that and nothing will mess you up faster than making deals with demons. " Her laugh sounded a little shaky even to her ears and had no humor in it. "Dean may be too young to hunt, but he knows that much already." She emptied half the glass and added, "John didn't even know I was pregnant. I'd just found out that afternoon and I hadn't had a chance to tell him."
"You've been hunting on your own ever since?"
"I've got cousins but..." Mary shrugged, and scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. The dim light was making them water. "They don't want me to hunt -- because of Dean. They don't get that I'm hunting for Dean. Because the yellow-eyed demon not only took his grandparents and his daddy but that son of a bitch had a plan and my baby was a part of it. So yeah, I hunt on my own. While Dean's in school, I do research and try make enough to money to hit the road in the summer . We've got a small apartment in Mitchell, South Dakota - it's in the most supernaturally inert county I could find, I don't want this shit coming home with me, you know. I work in the diner and Dean's in first grade and his life's as normal as it can be, I guess. He's got friends but already he has to lie to them so he's really only got me and..." She stopped and stared at her glass. "Wow. Good rum. I don't think I've ever talked so much about myself..."
"It's not the rum," Ellen said softly. "It's because you can. My Bill," she continued before Mary could respond, "he was a stubborn man. Thought he could do everything himself. Went after a demon - should've been a two man job but..." She sighed, the sound so familiar that Mary reached out without thinking and took the other woman's hand. Ellen's fingers curled around hers as she continued. "By the time the Lewis County sheriff's department brought me in to identify the body, there wasn't much to identify. Coyotes had got to whatever the demon had left behind. I miss him so much, so very much but when he didn't come home I thought... I mean, at least he's dead. " She emptied her glass. "You know?"
"I know," Mary said softly. In their line of work there were so many things worse than being dead.
"Jo wasn't quite a year old when it happened. She won't know any more of her daddy than Dean will."
"She'll know you," Mary told her. "She'll know how to fight, how to stand up for those who can't. She'll know she can make the world a better, a safer place. She'll know what sacrifice means. It won't make up for not having a daddy..." Still holding Ellen's hand, Mary glanced over to see that Dean had kicked the blankets off one leg and his bare foot was the most precious thing she'd ever seen. "No, it won't make up for not having a daddy," she repeated, turning her attention back to Ellen, "but it's something. And they've got us."
Ellen's fingers tightened. "Yeah. They've got us."
"All right." Mary put her empty glass down, wiped her eyes again - stupid light - pulled her hand free and stood. "Christmas morning comes early with a six year old. I can help put together a stocking for Jo if you don't have..."
"I have some things but, she's two and..."
"And Dean will need her to have a stocking, trust me." She got her duffel bag from by the door. "That boy is aching for something to take care of. I think he only started asking for a brother because I told him we couldn't have a puppy in our apartment and he knows we can have kids there."
"If he had a little brother, he'd have someone he could talk to."
Mary looked up from pulling Dean's stocking - already bulging with candy and small toys -- out from under her shotgun. Ellen was staring at the kids, a machete in one hand and in the other a knit hat with teddy-bear ears, her expression as besotted as Mary figured hers had been a moment before.
"Precious," she said softly.
Ellen nodded.
They didn't talk much after that. Mary slipped back out to the car to get the big, red firetruck she'd hidden under the false bottom in the Impala's trunk and returned to find Ellen had somehow managed to pull an enormous stuffed elephant out of the diaper bag.
"Squishes small," she explained with a grin.
When Mary stripped down and pulled on pajamas - nightgowns were for women who slept without a bowie knife under the pillow - Ellen did the same, trading glimpses of breasts, of thighs, of bellies, of curves, of scars...
Mary rinsed the glasses while Ellen used the bathroom. Ellen tided the room while Mary did.
Turned out, Ellen slept on the left side of the bed. Mary'd always slept on the right. It was only a double so they were close enough to feel body heat, close enough it took a bit of an effort not to touch.
Lying on her back, staring up through the dark at the ceiling, Mary listened to Jo and Dean and Ellen breathe and tried to remember the last time she'd slept with so many people around her. Tried to remember, as her fingers patted patterns against the cheap motel blanket, the last time it hadn't just been her and Dean.
"I've been thinking," Ellen said quietly, so quietly that if Mary hadn't been listening so intently she might have missed it, "about how too many hunters are stubborn asses like my Bill who think they need to go it alone. About how we could use a place where we could come together and share information and get patched up and get help and not have to watch every damn word out of our mouths while we try to come down from putting our lives between the world and the dark."
"You want hunters to gather there'd better be liquor so, like a bar?"
"Yeah, like a bar. For hunters. It's not the sort of thing a person could do alone but I've been thinking that the right kind of person - of people - could run that kind of place and make a home of it too. Lot's of kids grow up in apartments over their parent's business. There'd be no moving around and our kind of kids, well, they'd have people they didn't have to lie to. I'm thinking it'd make it easier for them out in the world."
"Community." Mary breathed the word out.
"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. Where the people who run the place, make the rules."
"And if one of those people has to hunt? Has to find and kill a specific demon?"
Ellen took so long to answer, Mary was afraid she'd thought the people running this imaginary bar would stop hunting. Finally, she let out a long breath and said, "Well, there'll be a community, won't there? That person can find someone to watch her back and know while she's gone that she has a home to come back to and her boy'd be safe. And if no one takes her serious, bars can be closed and she still has someone to watch her back."
"Sounds like you've thought of everything."
"Been thinking about it for a while. Just needed..." Mary felt the bed shift as Ellen shrugged. "I was thinking, maybe this place'd have a yard. Got a yard, might as well get a puppy."
Mary slid her left hand across the covers until she found Ellen's right, then she linked their fingers together. "I like the way you think," she said, lightly stroking the other woman's palm with her thumb. "You thought of a name for this place?"
"Just tonight I was just thinking maybe..." She could hear the smile in Ellen's voice. "...something riffing off Billy Angel."
"Angels Watching Over Us?"
"Little wordy but can't argue with the sentiment."
"Mom?"
Mary tightened her grip before Ellen could pull away. "Yes, Dean?"
"Go to sleep or Santa won't come!"
"Sorry, baby." Mary listened to Dean's breathing even out, to Jo's soft sputter on the exhale, to Ellen sleeping beside her and finally closed her eyes. The bright light of day usually threw flaws into sharp relief, but if any day could sustain dreams whispered in the darkness, if any day could take hope and turn it to truth...
...it would be Christmas.
Angels watching, she thought as she went to sleep. And maybe, if only just for tonight, fear not.
title: Who Laid to Rest
rating: pg13 for language
length: 4,060 words
summary: prompt #241 Mary/Ellen victorious
AU: Mary Winchester and Ellen Harvelle meet in a graveyard on Christmas Eve. Two women with secrets, looking for someone to trust.
Many thanks to destina for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Who Laid to Rest
"Now this," Mary muttered as she tossed another shovelful of dirt out of the grave, "this is a Christmas Eve to remember." There was a hollow thunk as she finally hit the pine top of Billy Angel’s coffin and she took a moment to wipe the sweat off her forehead with the back of one dirty hand and another to adjust the miner's lamp she'd knocked out of position doing it. "Oh yeah, there’s nothing like spending the last few hours of December 24th clearing six feet of New Mexico off a murderous son of a bitch who won’t stay..."
The temperature in the hole dropped suddenly. "Shit!"
The coffin was rotten enough two good jabs with the blade of the shovel got through it. She pried out pieces of the lid to expose grinning bone and strips of gristle and the remains of a buckskin jacket, then tossed the shovel up out of the grave. The box of kosher salt was down in the hole with her, the container of gasoline up on the edge - she dumped the salt over the body, but as she grabbed for gasoline the temperature dropped a little further. She felt rather than saw the sweep of a spectral bowie knife and ducked as the blade split the air where her arm had been.
"Son of a bitch!" She had no room to maneuver and Angel’s ghost was on his way back, knife extended...
The familiar roar of a shotgun made her ears ring and the spectral form blew apart all around her.
"He won't stay gone long." A woman’s voice, deeper than most, pointed out the obvious up in the darkness of the graveyard. "I’ve got your back, but I’d get the bastard lit up quick if I were you."
The gas was in an old dish soap bottle, one of the big ones, easier to squirt down in among the bones when only the upper third of the coffin was uncovered. Easier to only uncover the upper third, digging on her own. Six by six by four was pretty much impossible without a backhoe.
"Incoming! On your right!"
He’d materialized in too close! Too close to duck, too close to avoid, too close for the woman with the shotgun to get another shot off! Mary twisted, felt a line of fire across her shoulder, and fell to the left as Angel blew apart in another blast of rock salt.
A tanned hand with broken fingernails and a scrape across one knuckle reached down into the hole. Mary grabbed hold, kicked the toe of her right boot into the dirt, and found herself a second later sprawled on the brittle grass. She dug her matches out of her pocket, twisted, sat up, and dropped a lit match between her feet down into the grave.
The remains of Billy Angel ignited with a gratifying whoosh.
Pulling off the lamp, Mary stood and backed away from the edge of the grave and the rising heat. She turned to see a woman about her own age, not very tall but with the kind of solid muscle that suggested she was no stranger to hard physical work. All things considered, probably no stranger to shovels in graveyards at midnight, Mary realized.
"You okay?" the stranger asked. "How badly did he get you?"
"He didn’t..." And then she realized he had, that the line still burned across the back of her left shoulder. She twisted, could see the blood on the shirt but not the actual wound. "It doesn’t feel too deep."
"Awkward place though." The stranger closed her eyes for a moment, sighed, and when she opened them had clearly come to a decision. "I can help clean the grave dirt out of it, tape it up." Shifting the shotgun, she held out her hand. "Ellen Harvelle. I had Billy Angel on my dance card for tomorrow night."
"And tonight?"
"I just got into town. Was driving by, scouting the place out. Saw him heading for you."
Realizing the other woman’s hand was still out, Mary took it. Again. "Mary Winchester. I don’t suppose you’ve got a shovel..."
"In my trunk. But I’ve got a better idea. Wait here."
About the time Mary figured she’d been ditched and had better start shoveling, Ellen came back with a bag of empty beer cans and a worn pair of men’s boots. "The law’s going to know this grave has been disturbed no matter what we do so..." Wearing a pair of latex gloves, she piled the cans at the head of the grave, scuffed out the prints she and Mary had left, and made several deep indentations in the loose dirt with the boots. "...we let local law enforcement blame local vandals. Hunt smarter."
Mary grinned. "Hunt smarter."
Ellen had left her car - a big Buick - tucked just out of sight by the old cemetery’s gate. Mary had hidden hers a little better, a little further on.
"I’ll get the first aid kit."
"Wha...? Oh, the shoulder. Look, I’ve had worse. In fact..." About to suggest that this be where they part ways - two hunters chance met in a graveyard weren't friends, and sure Ellen had probably saved her life but she had to get back to the motel room - Mary froze at the sight of a pale face staring sleepily out the Buick’s back window.
Ellen whirled around and yanked the door open, then turned back to face Mary holding a toddler, no more than two if she was any judge.
"Jo, my daughter." The statement was half a warning, half an offering. Half this is where I draw my line, half see how much I've decided to trust you. Mary understood both halves better than Ellen had any reason to believe.
"She was sleeping when I stopped," Ellen added, shifting Jo to her other hip.
Jo was wearing pajamas covered in little Christmas trees and the crankiest expression Mary’d seen for years. One small hand clutched at her mother’s T-shirt while the other held a threadbare stuffed rabbit. Her white-blonde hair stuck up in half a dozen directions and her enormous blue eyes watched Mary with suspicion.
Wait. They just got into town... "You’re going to spend the night in the car."
"Not the first time."
"It’s Christmas Eve."
Ellen's chin rose and her brows drew in. "I got it covered. Your shoulder..."
"Listen, I’ve got a room." Mary spoke quickly, needing to get it out before her own defense mechanisms kicked in. "It’s got two beds. And light. Better light if you want to look at my shoulder."
"I don’t know..."
Mary understood her hesitation. One thing to save another hunter. One thing to offer to patch her up. One thing to offer trust at the side of the road. Another thing entirely to trust enough to share space especially when you’re responsible for another life. "I’ve got to get back. My boy’s waiting for me."
Ellen’s eyes widened.
"He’s six." She twisted to look at the blood running down her arm. "So, I need to clean up a bit..."
***
"What's the password?"
Mary leaned against the door and grinned, "Dean Winchester is awesome." She straightened as she heard the chain pull off and the chair pushed away and, finally, the dead bolt snapped back.
Dean opened the door slowly, cautiously as she'd taught him, being careful that the movement didn't disturb the salt line. He peered out the crack one last time, making sure it was her, then opened it all the way. "You didn't take as long as you said," he declared, stepping back out of the way.
"I had some help." She stepped over the salt line and turned to gesture Ellen in. "This is Ellen Harvelle and Jo."
"Joe?" Brows drew in over brilliant green eyes as Dean matched Jo suspicious stare for suspicious stare. "He looks like a girl."
"He is a girl." Mary set her duffel down and reached behind Ellen -- weighed down with Jo and three bulging bags -- to close the door. "Ellen is a hunter, like me, and she helped me tonight. Her and Jo didn't have a place to stay for Christmas so I brought them here." She took a deep breath. She'd promised Dean she'd never lie to him and while she might never make mother of the year, that promise, at least, she'd kept. "And, Ellen needs to look at my shoulder."
Dean's eyes widened. "You got hurt? Mom! You said it was just a salt and burn! Let me see!"
"All right, come here." She steadied him as he climbed up onto the chair so he'd be high enough to get a good look at her shoulder, then turned around, presenting the wound. Small fingers touched her skin - skin she'd cleaned off with a wet-wipe in the graveyard because so far she'd managed to avoid returning to him covered in blood even if it meant basic first aid in some pretty scuzzy gas station bathrooms.
"It doesn't look so bad I guess."
"Told you."
She turned as he jumped down off the chair, too long sleeves of his Superman pajamas flapping and asked, peering up at Ellen and Jo, "Is she heavy?"
"A little bit," Ellen admitted.
"I asked for a baby brother for Christmas."
The corner's of Ellen's mouth twitched and she glanced over at the small artificial tree set up on the dresser, three presents already under it, one of them clearly wrapped by a six year old. "Did you?"
"Mom said Santa doesn't bring baby brothers."
"Not generally, no."
He sighed deeply, as if having another adult's confirmation had finally dashed his hopes. "Okay then, fine," he muttered, rubbed his nose on his sleeve and asked, "Can I hold her?"
"I don't know if she'll..." Ellen's eyes widened as Jo leaned out of her arms, reaching for Dean. After a quick glance over at Mary, she carefully handed Jo down.
The two women watched as Jo wrapped her legs around Dean's waist, curled one arm around Dean's neck, and patted him on the face with the other hand, babbling excitedly. Dean's eyes widened, his knees buckled, and he sank to the floor. Jo shrieked with laughter, untangled herself, and ran for the bathroom with Dean in close pursuit.
"It's okay, he's good with babies," Mary said as Ellen started to follow. "He's been asking for a baby brother for three years now. Last summer he said to a friend..."
She paused as the water started running, stopped, and Dean said, "Nuh uh, that's the hot. You can play with the cold. Just don't get wet. "
"...he said, if you know everything do you know where Mom can get me a baby brother. Bo-- the friend sprayed beer all over the front porch."
Ellen paused, first aid kit half out of the bag, and Mary bit her lip, appalled by how much she'd nearly given away. She wasn't used to being so at ease with another person.
After a moment, Ellen said, "That friend happen to be Bobby Singer?"
Mary let out a breath she didn't remember holding. "Yeah. That'd be him."
"Bobby is," Ellen started. Stopped.
Mary laughed, feeling the weight lift off her shoulders. "Yeah, he is."
By the time Dean and Jo emerged from the bathroom hand in hand, both of them in wet pajamas, Jo's hair sticking up in pale blonde spikes where Dean had used a towel on it, Mary's shoulder was taped and bandaged.
"All right, you..." She crossed to Dean's drawer and pulled out a pair of dry pajamas as Ellen scooped up her daughter. "Santa doesn't come if you're not asleep, so change, and into bed."
"Jo can sleep with me," Dean announced, throwing the top to his Superman PJ's on the floor and pulling Batman over his head. "Because you're big and you'll crush her."
"I'll crush her?"
"When you roll over. I won't." He kicked off his bottoms, pulled the dry ones on and looked hopefully up at her. "Please."
Mary stared at the amount of bare ankle showing under the pajama bottoms. His father had been a tall man and Dean was growing so fast...
"Mom?"
She shook herself free of memories and what ifs. "Sure, baby. If Ellen says it's all right." Dean never asked for much, probably spent as much time trying to take care of her as she did of him so...
Dean ducked his chin and looked up at Ellen through his lashes. Heart-rending at six, Mary knew that by sixteen the same expression would be heart-breaking - and have a certain amount of influence over other organs she most definitely did not want to think about in reference to her baby boy.
"Can Jo sleep in my bed, Ellen? Please? She's almost as good as a little brother."
Ellen glanced over at Mary, who spread her hands. Finally, she nodded. "All right, but you have to help me build a fort so she won't roll off the bed."
The fort was a marvel of structural engineering, pillows and rolled sweaters boxing Jo in on three sides.
"This side here," Ellen said as she laid Jo on the mattress and patted the open edge. "This is where you go. I'm counting on you to keep her safe."
Dean drew himself up to his full height. "I can do that!" he said. "I can! I promise!" Beaming proudly, he scrambled up onto the bed and laid down on his side facing the baby, one hand rubbing small circles on her stomach. Jo yawned, wrapped a chubby hand around Dean's thumb, and closed her eyes.
"Remember she's not Mr. Ruggles," Mary cautioned as she pulled up the covers and kissed Dean good night.
"Mo-om!"
"Teddy-bear," she explained to Ellen's raised brows, adding as she brushed fine brown hair back off Dean's forehead. "And he's far too grownup for a teddy-bear now."
"Mostly," Dean admitted sleepily. He turned his head. "Other cheek."
Mary kissed him as directed, then reached out and turned off the light between the beds. "Love you."
"You too, Mom."
The only light in the room now spilled out of the bathroom and under the curtains but being a hunter, meant, if nothing else, a more than passing familiarity with low light levels. Mary laid a finger against her lips then made her way to the tiny kitchenette and pulled a carton of eggnog out of the small fridge. Ellen grinned, rummaged in one of her bags, and triumphantly raised a mickey of rum.
By the time they finished the first drink, both kids were sound asleep and it was safe to talk quietly.
"...killed both my parents, took over my father's body, then snapped John's neck. The yellow eyed bastard tried to get me to trade the future for John's life, but I was already pregnant with Dean and I couldn't. I couldn't trade the life of my unborn child to bring my husband back. Who could? Besides, if there's one thing you learn early, growing up in a hunter family, its that what's dead should stay dead." She poured two more glasses of nog and waited while Ellen topped them up with the rum. "Well, that and nothing will mess you up faster than making deals with demons. " Her laugh sounded a little shaky even to her ears and had no humor in it. "Dean may be too young to hunt, but he knows that much already." She emptied half the glass and added, "John didn't even know I was pregnant. I'd just found out that afternoon and I hadn't had a chance to tell him."
"You've been hunting on your own ever since?"
"I've got cousins but..." Mary shrugged, and scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. The dim light was making them water. "They don't want me to hunt -- because of Dean. They don't get that I'm hunting for Dean. Because the yellow-eyed demon not only took his grandparents and his daddy but that son of a bitch had a plan and my baby was a part of it. So yeah, I hunt on my own. While Dean's in school, I do research and try make enough to money to hit the road in the summer . We've got a small apartment in Mitchell, South Dakota - it's in the most supernaturally inert county I could find, I don't want this shit coming home with me, you know. I work in the diner and Dean's in first grade and his life's as normal as it can be, I guess. He's got friends but already he has to lie to them so he's really only got me and..." She stopped and stared at her glass. "Wow. Good rum. I don't think I've ever talked so much about myself..."
"It's not the rum," Ellen said softly. "It's because you can. My Bill," she continued before Mary could respond, "he was a stubborn man. Thought he could do everything himself. Went after a demon - should've been a two man job but..." She sighed, the sound so familiar that Mary reached out without thinking and took the other woman's hand. Ellen's fingers curled around hers as she continued. "By the time the Lewis County sheriff's department brought me in to identify the body, there wasn't much to identify. Coyotes had got to whatever the demon had left behind. I miss him so much, so very much but when he didn't come home I thought... I mean, at least he's dead. " She emptied her glass. "You know?"
"I know," Mary said softly. In their line of work there were so many things worse than being dead.
"Jo wasn't quite a year old when it happened. She won't know any more of her daddy than Dean will."
"She'll know you," Mary told her. "She'll know how to fight, how to stand up for those who can't. She'll know she can make the world a better, a safer place. She'll know what sacrifice means. It won't make up for not having a daddy..." Still holding Ellen's hand, Mary glanced over to see that Dean had kicked the blankets off one leg and his bare foot was the most precious thing she'd ever seen. "No, it won't make up for not having a daddy," she repeated, turning her attention back to Ellen, "but it's something. And they've got us."
Ellen's fingers tightened. "Yeah. They've got us."
"All right." Mary put her empty glass down, wiped her eyes again - stupid light - pulled her hand free and stood. "Christmas morning comes early with a six year old. I can help put together a stocking for Jo if you don't have..."
"I have some things but, she's two and..."
"And Dean will need her to have a stocking, trust me." She got her duffel bag from by the door. "That boy is aching for something to take care of. I think he only started asking for a brother because I told him we couldn't have a puppy in our apartment and he knows we can have kids there."
"If he had a little brother, he'd have someone he could talk to."
Mary looked up from pulling Dean's stocking - already bulging with candy and small toys -- out from under her shotgun. Ellen was staring at the kids, a machete in one hand and in the other a knit hat with teddy-bear ears, her expression as besotted as Mary figured hers had been a moment before.
"Precious," she said softly.
Ellen nodded.
They didn't talk much after that. Mary slipped back out to the car to get the big, red firetruck she'd hidden under the false bottom in the Impala's trunk and returned to find Ellen had somehow managed to pull an enormous stuffed elephant out of the diaper bag.
"Squishes small," she explained with a grin.
When Mary stripped down and pulled on pajamas - nightgowns were for women who slept without a bowie knife under the pillow - Ellen did the same, trading glimpses of breasts, of thighs, of bellies, of curves, of scars...
Mary rinsed the glasses while Ellen used the bathroom. Ellen tided the room while Mary did.
Turned out, Ellen slept on the left side of the bed. Mary'd always slept on the right. It was only a double so they were close enough to feel body heat, close enough it took a bit of an effort not to touch.
Lying on her back, staring up through the dark at the ceiling, Mary listened to Jo and Dean and Ellen breathe and tried to remember the last time she'd slept with so many people around her. Tried to remember, as her fingers patted patterns against the cheap motel blanket, the last time it hadn't just been her and Dean.
"I've been thinking," Ellen said quietly, so quietly that if Mary hadn't been listening so intently she might have missed it, "about how too many hunters are stubborn asses like my Bill who think they need to go it alone. About how we could use a place where we could come together and share information and get patched up and get help and not have to watch every damn word out of our mouths while we try to come down from putting our lives between the world and the dark."
"You want hunters to gather there'd better be liquor so, like a bar?"
"Yeah, like a bar. For hunters. It's not the sort of thing a person could do alone but I've been thinking that the right kind of person - of people - could run that kind of place and make a home of it too. Lot's of kids grow up in apartments over their parent's business. There'd be no moving around and our kind of kids, well, they'd have people they didn't have to lie to. I'm thinking it'd make it easier for them out in the world."
"Community." Mary breathed the word out.
"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. Where the people who run the place, make the rules."
"And if one of those people has to hunt? Has to find and kill a specific demon?"
Ellen took so long to answer, Mary was afraid she'd thought the people running this imaginary bar would stop hunting. Finally, she let out a long breath and said, "Well, there'll be a community, won't there? That person can find someone to watch her back and know while she's gone that she has a home to come back to and her boy'd be safe. And if no one takes her serious, bars can be closed and she still has someone to watch her back."
"Sounds like you've thought of everything."
"Been thinking about it for a while. Just needed..." Mary felt the bed shift as Ellen shrugged. "I was thinking, maybe this place'd have a yard. Got a yard, might as well get a puppy."
Mary slid her left hand across the covers until she found Ellen's right, then she linked their fingers together. "I like the way you think," she said, lightly stroking the other woman's palm with her thumb. "You thought of a name for this place?"
"Just tonight I was just thinking maybe..." She could hear the smile in Ellen's voice. "...something riffing off Billy Angel."
"Angels Watching Over Us?"
"Little wordy but can't argue with the sentiment."
"Mom?"
Mary tightened her grip before Ellen could pull away. "Yes, Dean?"
"Go to sleep or Santa won't come!"
"Sorry, baby." Mary listened to Dean's breathing even out, to Jo's soft sputter on the exhale, to Ellen sleeping beside her and finally closed her eyes. The bright light of day usually threw flaws into sharp relief, but if any day could sustain dreams whispered in the darkness, if any day could take hope and turn it to truth...
...it would be Christmas.
Angels watching, she thought as she went to sleep. And maybe, if only just for tonight, fear not.