hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow - SN fic - PG
Title: hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. title from “Down in the Valley.” I haven’t a clue who wrote it.
Warnings: AU; incest; a bit twisty. May not make sense.
Pairings: John/Mary, Sam/Jessica
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 680
Point of view: third
There’s danger in the satin of her touch, such a danger-if only he can remember…
Sam has no memories of his mother until he’s twenty-three. He can’t recall the feel of her hands or her voice crooning lullabies or her scent. He doesn’t remember how her hair glowed in sunlight or her eyes lit up whenever Dean showed her one of his drawings.
He doesn’t remember.
The first time Sam saw Jessica, something flashed through him, white-hot and raw, and he ached, inside and out.
He thought it was lust.
It wasn’t.
John kissed Mary like she was fragile and soft, like he’d die if he didn’t. He held her tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her face and her head, trying to keep her forever.
She was destined to leave, not that he ever knew it. And not that he’d believe it if he had.
Dean remembers. Everything is imbedded in his mind.
He wishes he could forget.
Jessica was beautiful, with long golden hair and shining hazel eyes. She fit with him, encouraged him, laughed at his stupid jokes and didn’t mock him for his idiosyncrasies.
She was lewd and crass and made the best pancakes he’d ever had. She was funny and sweet and accepted him as he was.
She was a lie, not that he ever knew it. And not that he would’ve believed it if he’d learned.
He first laid eyes on her in a park. She was standing in a sunbeam, face towards the sky, looking more angelic than human. She breathed in time with the breeze blowing from the east, and she met his eyes with a smile.
John never looked back. Mary sometimes wished he would.
Dean thinks back, sometimes. Not that often and never for long. It doesn’t change anything, nothing gets better-it’s useless to regret what is and mourn what was.
Useless. Waste of time and energy and thoughts better spent elsewhere.
He remembers, though, when the world wasn’t this way.
John loved Mary with everything in him, so completely that he couldn’t see where he ended and she began. He was happy, those six years they had. Happiest he’d ever been his whole life.
But like always before, his happiness ended in blood and fire.
Dean looks at Jessica and sees Mama. He knows what’s coming, but Sam’s not ready to believe.
Not yet. If Dean had his way(not that he ever has, or ever will, and he’s fine with that, really he is) Sam wouldn’t have to deal with it, ever.
But it’s not up to Dean. He can just be there, like always.
Two fires Dean’s dragged him out of. Two fires where beautiful blondes who loved him died. Two fires set by the same damned thing, and Sam doesn’t know why.
Dean does. He wishes so hard he didn’t.
Dad whispers a secret in his ear, and it’s not a secret at all. A golden-eyed shadow has been telling him for years.
Mama told him, face sad.
Jessica told him, bearing weary.
Missouri told him, eyes hard and accusing. What do you think you’re doing, boy? she’d demanded in his head.
Dean has an answer, but not one she’d want, so he says nothing.
My favorite, it says, showing Sam the truth.
Sam refuses to believe.
Dean never had that luxury.
Take your brother outside, Dad said. Fast as you can. Don’t look back.
Dean never has.
Good boy, it said, smirk of fire curling as its lip. Best of all my children.
Rage coursed through him, giving strength. With his mother’s smile on his face, Dean pulled the Colt’s trigger.
It wasn’t lust, that sunny day, the first time Sam ever saw her. It was recognition, deep in his gut.
Dean looks at her and knows.
When he leads Sam from the apartment into the night, her smile is his mother’s.
Second chance, baby boy, he hears in his mind, driving towards Jericho, Sam sitting shotgun for the first time in years. Use it well.
I will, he swears.