Supernatural Fic
Title: And The Wind Cries Mary
Author: Sparrow
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Mary Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I just like to play in this fandom. Kripke owns it otherwise. Jimi Hendrix owns the song 'And The Wind Cries Mary', I'm just borrowing it.
Warning/Author Notes: Slight spoilers for 'All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1'. I also wish to thank sierraphoenix for the wonderful beta!
Summary: A What If look at Mary Winchester.
She was fifteen when she first started noticing she could feel other people's emotions, and it took her another year to realize she could push those feelings onto them.
Seventeen and jaded against the world was when she first met the man with yellow eyes. He whispered words in her ear, making promises that he would help her if she helped him. She didn't believe him, couldn't even read him; nobody could keep those kinds of promises. She walked away.
It was only two weeks later when she did believe him, when the house that held the man that called himself her father burned to the ground. A man that would no longer touch her that way ever again.
After all the jacks are in their boxes,
And the clowns have all gone to bed,
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street,
Footprints dressed in red.
And the wind whispers Mary.
She was special he whispered. Play the Pied Piper for me, bring me my children back home came the request. She seduced men and women, brought them to her bed, gave them one last feeling, one last thrill in life, and walked away as the flames devoured them to bring them home.
Life continued this way. She was content in the role she had chosen to play, no longer innocent Mary, the girl everyone thought they knew; it was just a mask, and it seemed the Mary she was now was also a mask. A mask that was ripped off her face when he ordered her to kill a small child that would prove problematic in the future. She spent a week in the hospital for not obeying that order.
She knew what she had to do now. Faking her death was even harder, the shaman she visited said it would also dampen her abilities, abilities she had honed her whole life. Mary said it didn't matter as long as she could get away from him.
For the first time in four years, Mary Porter was free.
A broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life.
Somewhere a Queen is weeping,
Somewhere a King has no wife.
And the wind it cries Mary.
Mary was twenty-three when she first met John Winchester. He wore a smile that would launch a thousand ships. He brought her flowers and chocolates and slowly courted her. On her twenty-fourth birthday, he proposed to her; they married in February. It was on January twenty-fourth in the year of 1979 that Dean Winchester was brought into the world, kicking and screaming and breaking the hearts of nurses already.
Mary Winchester, formally Mary Porter, was a mother.
The firsts of Dean Winchester happened over four years: crawling, walking, words, teeth, potty training. Then Samuel Winchester came on May second in 1983.
A shiver went down her spine when she looked at Sam, as if her time would be short with him.
The traffic lights they turn blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed,
The tiny island sags downstream
'Cos the life that they lived is dead.
And the wind screams Mary.
Kisses goodnight, jokes exchanged, and then sleep. She woke up to Sam crying on the baby monitor. John isn't in bed, probably fell asleep in front of the T.V. again. Mary sleepily made her way to Sam's bedroom. She didn't think much of the flickering lights. Oh, John was there. She heard the television on, probably forgot to turn it off. So she walked down the stairs and saw John asleep in front of the television. Eyes widened. She ran back up the stairs, heading towards Sam’s room. Desperation flooded her body. "Sammy! Sammy!" She cried. Once in Sam’s room she stoped. "You." Mary Winchester screamed. A force pushed her against the wall; Mary strained against it, trying to break free. She glared at the man with yellow eyes, realization settled in her body as she went up and up and up, until she was on the ceiling. She knew what would come next. This was one of the demon's favourite ways to kill. Silently saying her goodbyes to her boys, her John, Mary Winchester finally made her peace with her past and was prepared.
"You always were my favourite, Mary, but then you had to go and leave. Not a smart move kiddo." The demon makes a vague slashing motion with his hand. Gasping, Mary feels the pain in her stomach.
She heard John. "Mary!? Mary! Mary!" She watched as John threw open the door and looked around. She watched as John walked up to Sam’s crib and looked down at him. "Hey, Sammy. Okay." Something red dripped onto the sheet in the crib by Sam’s head. Oh God! Don't look up John. Don't look up. John touched the liquid with his finger; the red continued to drip on his hand, and as he looked up he saw Mary on the ceiling. "No! Mary! "
Eyes wide, mouth gasping, Mary looked down at her husband and couldn't help but think how sorry she was that she had brought this into their home, to their children, and to her husband.
Then flames and darkness consumed her.
Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past,
And with this crutch, its old age and its wisdom
It whispers, "No, this will be the last."
And The Wind Cries Mary.
Author: Sparrow
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Mary Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I just like to play in this fandom. Kripke owns it otherwise. Jimi Hendrix owns the song 'And The Wind Cries Mary', I'm just borrowing it.
Warning/Author Notes: Slight spoilers for 'All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1'. I also wish to thank sierraphoenix for the wonderful beta!
Summary: A What If look at Mary Winchester.
She was fifteen when she first started noticing she could feel other people's emotions, and it took her another year to realize she could push those feelings onto them.
Seventeen and jaded against the world was when she first met the man with yellow eyes. He whispered words in her ear, making promises that he would help her if she helped him. She didn't believe him, couldn't even read him; nobody could keep those kinds of promises. She walked away.
It was only two weeks later when she did believe him, when the house that held the man that called himself her father burned to the ground. A man that would no longer touch her that way ever again.
After all the jacks are in their boxes,
And the clowns have all gone to bed,
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street,
Footprints dressed in red.
And the wind whispers Mary.
She was special he whispered. Play the Pied Piper for me, bring me my children back home came the request. She seduced men and women, brought them to her bed, gave them one last feeling, one last thrill in life, and walked away as the flames devoured them to bring them home.
Life continued this way. She was content in the role she had chosen to play, no longer innocent Mary, the girl everyone thought they knew; it was just a mask, and it seemed the Mary she was now was also a mask. A mask that was ripped off her face when he ordered her to kill a small child that would prove problematic in the future. She spent a week in the hospital for not obeying that order.
She knew what she had to do now. Faking her death was even harder, the shaman she visited said it would also dampen her abilities, abilities she had honed her whole life. Mary said it didn't matter as long as she could get away from him.
For the first time in four years, Mary Porter was free.
A broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life.
Somewhere a Queen is weeping,
Somewhere a King has no wife.
And the wind it cries Mary.
Mary was twenty-three when she first met John Winchester. He wore a smile that would launch a thousand ships. He brought her flowers and chocolates and slowly courted her. On her twenty-fourth birthday, he proposed to her; they married in February. It was on January twenty-fourth in the year of 1979 that Dean Winchester was brought into the world, kicking and screaming and breaking the hearts of nurses already.
Mary Winchester, formally Mary Porter, was a mother.
The firsts of Dean Winchester happened over four years: crawling, walking, words, teeth, potty training. Then Samuel Winchester came on May second in 1983.
A shiver went down her spine when she looked at Sam, as if her time would be short with him.
The traffic lights they turn blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed,
The tiny island sags downstream
'Cos the life that they lived is dead.
And the wind screams Mary.
Kisses goodnight, jokes exchanged, and then sleep. She woke up to Sam crying on the baby monitor. John isn't in bed, probably fell asleep in front of the T.V. again. Mary sleepily made her way to Sam's bedroom. She didn't think much of the flickering lights. Oh, John was there. She heard the television on, probably forgot to turn it off. So she walked down the stairs and saw John asleep in front of the television. Eyes widened. She ran back up the stairs, heading towards Sam’s room. Desperation flooded her body. "Sammy! Sammy!" She cried. Once in Sam’s room she stoped. "You." Mary Winchester screamed. A force pushed her against the wall; Mary strained against it, trying to break free. She glared at the man with yellow eyes, realization settled in her body as she went up and up and up, until she was on the ceiling. She knew what would come next. This was one of the demon's favourite ways to kill. Silently saying her goodbyes to her boys, her John, Mary Winchester finally made her peace with her past and was prepared.
"You always were my favourite, Mary, but then you had to go and leave. Not a smart move kiddo." The demon makes a vague slashing motion with his hand. Gasping, Mary feels the pain in her stomach.
She heard John. "Mary!? Mary! Mary!" She watched as John threw open the door and looked around. She watched as John walked up to Sam’s crib and looked down at him. "Hey, Sammy. Okay." Something red dripped onto the sheet in the crib by Sam’s head. Oh God! Don't look up John. Don't look up. John touched the liquid with his finger; the red continued to drip on his hand, and as he looked up he saw Mary on the ceiling. "No! Mary! "
Eyes wide, mouth gasping, Mary looked down at her husband and couldn't help but think how sorry she was that she had brought this into their home, to their children, and to her husband.
Then flames and darkness consumed her.
Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past,
And with this crutch, its old age and its wisdom
It whispers, "No, this will be the last."
And The Wind Cries Mary.