It had been...
Title: One Month
Characters: Dean, Sam, Mary
Rating: G
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 2205
Summary: Wee!chesters. What if John had interrupted the yellow eyed demon instead of Mary? This picks up one month after his death in the fire.
It had been a month. One month since she last smiled at her husband. One month since she last smiled without being so completely on the verge of tears. A month since her eldest son had spoken so much as a word. And not even a month since she’d put her husband in the ground.
Her hand rested on her baby’s head, brushing his hair back gently as she kissed him good night.
“Mommy?”
On Dean’s fourth birthday John and Mary had become mom and dad. Dean announcing that he was a big boy now and big boys did not use words like mommy and daddy. She clenched her jaw, holding back the sob that threatened to tear from her throat. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, before turning back to her son.
“Yes, Dean?”
“What about the angels?”
“What about them?”
“Aren’t they watching over me?”
Mary froze, but she recovered quickly, “Of course they are, Sweetheart.”
And she sits down on the edge of the bed, her arm automatically going around him as he took up the space next to her. She pulled him onto her knee, placing a kiss on his crown, her hand on the side of his head, his ear over her heart.
“Of course they are,” she repeated, though in her heart she could no longer be certain, she could not take the angels away from Dean, “And Daddy’s watching out for you too.”
_o_O~O~O_o_
Dean sat on the steps of the front porch hugging his knees to himself. The sun beat down on his face. Eyes at a slant. The crisp December air made him shiver. But he didn’t move. He didn’t want to be inside. It was Sammy’s feeding time and Dean resented the closeness that he shared with their mother.
Dad wasn’t there to play with him anymore. But being mad at his little brother made him feel bad on the inside, and he knew it wasn’t Sammy’s fault. He was just a baby. Not that that made him feel any better.
And staying at this stupid house made him feel worse. He didn’t like how his mom’s friend Carol treated him like he was a puppy, with her baby-talk. And he hated the way Carol’s husband kept looking at his mom.
“Dean, honey. Come inside. It’s too cold out here,” he twisted around on the spot to look at her, framed in the doorway. Sammy in her arms. Love and tears in her voice. He didn’t have to look in her eyes to know how sad she was, but he did anyway.
He sprung to his feet, his arms wrapping around her legs. Mary shifted Sam into one arm, letting her free hand rest at the nape of her eldest son’s neck. The brush of her thumb as soft as his skin.
“We’ll be alright,” she whispered.
_o_O~O~O_o_
Mary knelt, placing her hand upon the stone slab. Its surface smooth and cold like the ring on her finger. The corners of her lips twitching as she followed the groove of his name with her fingers. She stopped at the ‘W’, a tremor taking hold. She pressed her palm flat against it, “I’m sorry,” her voice cracked.
***
Dean sat with Sammy on the floor, building a tower, which Sammy took great pleasure in knocking down before Dean could put the last block in place, clapping his pudgy little hands together. Dean pointedly crossed his arms over his chest, full pout on his lips.
“Dean,” his mother said in a warning tone, though not harsh.
And for a moment he scowled at his brother in defiance, Sammy flapping his arm up and down, a building block in his hand. A grin lit up Dean’s face, he re-built the tower almost hastily, “Sammy look,” and he waited for those expectant eyes to return to him before knocking the blocks over himself with a glimmer of mischief in his own as Sammy giggled.
Mary shook her head moving back into the kitchen, avoiding Carol’s eyes. She knew what was coming.
“Mary I don’t think you’re ready to…”
“Ready? Ready to what? To take on the world without my husband? No, I don’t think I am. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. But I can’t just wait here. “
“But, Mary, where would you go?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Christmas is just ‘round the corner...”
“All the more reason to go. I know you mean well but I...I can’t stay here. Not here,” not in Lawrence, and not with the yellow eyed demon out there.
Being kept did not sit well with her. She was still a Campbell after all. With the insurance, and what little money she and John had managed to save, they would be set for a couple of months at the least.
“When?” Carol asked giving in to Mary’s resolve. She knew her well enough to know that Mary was not one for changing her mind once it was set.
“Tomorrow.”
---
The light turned red as the Impala pulled up. Mary took a look at her boys in the rear view mirror. Dean’s arm held protectively around his baby brother, like the night of the fire. Sammy nestled into his side sound asleep. Dean was just pretending.
“We have to make a stop,” she said quietly, returning her attention to the road as the light became green.
---
The car crawled along the grass, unkempt, and almost level with the windows, smoothing out a path. Mary stopped the car just in front of the abandoned old house. The headlights unkind, stressing every line and wrinkle. She cut the engine.
“I want to come with you.”
“Dean,” she turned to face him, “I need you to stay here with your brother. Keep him safe. Can you do that for me?”
Dean simply nodded. He would do whatever his mother asked of him. A small smile reaching her lips, she cupped his cheek before getting out of the car, retrieving a duffel from the trunk. She sighed, running a hand back through her hair. There was no two ways about this. Tears welled in her eyes. She would do everything within her power to keep her boys safe.
“Oh, John.”
Mary swallowed the lump in her throat.
Dean watched her from his window as she approached the front steps.
Sammy slept on.
---
The floorboards shifted under her weight, groaning with every step. Though it’d been in the family for years, she herself had only ever been to the house once before, though she couldn’t quite remember when. But this time she knew why. Supplies.
Mary walked into what would have been the dining room, the table all that remained. She set the bag upon it, opening it up almost surgically. She let her fingertips run over each weapon with careful consideration, pausing when she felt leather. She removed her father’s journal, turning it over in her hands. She shuddered at the memory of the demon’s kiss, her chest tightening.
---
It was quiet. Too quiet. The only audible sound Sammy’s breathing and the low buzz of cicadas beyond the confines of the car. Dean pulled Sammy closer. He wished his mom had let him help. He didn’t like the dark. Not that he was scared. He was just worried about his baby brother. Yeah. That was it.
---
Through half-shut eyes he watched her pour a line of salt across the foot of the door, and along the window ledge. Opening one eye a little wider just to make sure. He couldn’t quite figure it out, but he guessed it was important.
The question was burning on the tip of his tongue. But his mom thought he was sleeping, so he rolled over. Mary sat down on the bed, running her fingers through his hair, her voice soft as she sang.
Dean’s last thoughts, before surrendering to sleep, of some guy named Jude, and a girl with golden hair.
_o_O~O~O_o_
Sammy’s first word was Dean. The word he hears most. Constant and true. His big brother had glowed with a pride that could rival that of any father. But not John. That he could miss such a precious event...that he would never again be there to witness the boys growing up? It made her heart ache.
Dean was trying to teach Sammy to say some more words in the back seat of the Impala. She watched them for a moment. Guilt set heavily upon her chest. It had been too long since she last just sat with her youngest son.
Tearing her eyes away from her boys she turned back to the door, but she didn’t flinch.
It figured he’d already have it open, leaning back against its frame. This was the fifth house she’d been to in the last two days.
“Well, well. If it isn’t little Mary Campbell.”
“It’s Winchester.”
“Right. Heard about that. What would your Daddy say?”
“Well I’d imagine he wouldn’t be pleased with the manner in which you chose to speak to his daughter.”
He pushed himself away from the door, stalking towards her.
Dean hadn’t liked the look in the man’s eyes, he leapt from the car and raced forward as the man approached her. He stopped a few yards behind her, and he shouted as loud as he could, “Leave my mommy alone!” his little hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Cute kid. Feisty. Just like his mother.”
“Leave him out of this. Dean, honey, go back to the car.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but her look was pleading. Crestfallen, he obeyed.
“I came here-”
“I know why you’re here, Mary. And I can’t help you.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Look the thing you’re after, it knows how to cover its tracks. It doesn’t want to be found.”
_o_O~O~O_o_
Cowards. They were all cowards. But they were right, though it made her stomach turn. The trail grew colder every day. And she grew restless. It wasn’t fair to the boys.
She was afraid to ask Dean what he wanted for Christmas. Afraid of what he might say. He hadn’t even asked for a Christmas tree.
They were in Lincoln, Nebraska. Mary had rented out a house. Dean was sitting on the couch, he had his baby brother’s full attention as he told him a story, pausing every so often to ask Sammy if he could say a certain word. Sometimes he would. Other’s he simply urged his brother on, “More, more”. Sammy liked “more” and “juice” and “reach” and “Dean”. Dean was always there to anticipate his every need. Sammy slumped down, his head against Dean’s tummy, his eyes heavy with sleep.
“Dean, honey, it’s time for bed.”
Dean jumped down from the couch, and Sammy started at the loss of contact requesting, “Finish.”
Dean shook his head, “Tomorrow Sammy,” and he rushed past his mother to the bathroom to brush his teeth like a good boy.
Mary pulled Sammy up into her arms, carrying him through to the make-shift nursery. He fell into her, sleep taking over, and she rubbed his back gently before setting him down. She kissed him softly on the cheek. Knowing Dean was watching from the hall, she turned, taking his hand as she got to the door, “Your turn.”
Mary smoothed the sheets down as she tucked her eldest son in, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand caressing the side of his cheek, “You’re a good big brother,” pride battling against the sorrow in her voice.
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Why do we lay down salt everywhere?”
Mary held her breath for a second and she looked down, she had known this was coming. She wasn’t going to lie.
“It’s for protection.”
“Protection from what?”
She exhaled, “From the thing that killed your father.”
_o_O~O~O_o_
Christmas morning. Dean leapt up out of bed, not even bothering to rub at his eyes, and raced to the living room, stopping at the couch. His mother was sat on the coffee table, half a dozen neatly wrapped boxes now lay beneath the tree.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” her smile weary, arms held out.
He went to her, tears welling in his eyes as his chin came to rest on her shoulder, one hand gentle on his back, his bottom lip trembling. She pulled back, “Dean, what’s wrong?”
“I-I th-thought that if I was good and didn’t ask for anything that the angels would send Daddy back to us...”
“Oh, Dean,” and she pulled him back into her arms with a fierceness. Her lips twitching at the corners as she swallowed her own tears, “Oh, Dean,” she barely whispered, afraid her voice would break, her heart already in shreds, “I wish they would too.”
“D-did I do so-something wrong? Maybe I didn’t try hard enough, I could be better, Mommy,”
“Oh, Dean, sweetie, no. You did nothing wrong. You’re a good boy. Such a good boy-”
“But -”
“But nothing. You did nothing wrong, do you hear me? Don’t ever let Mommy hear you say that ever again. Promise me?”
“I promise, Mommy.”
Mary closed her eyes, holding her baby as tight as she could, “I love you, sweetie,” she said with all that she had, kissing the top of his head.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“I don’t want the angels watching over me anymore,” and Mary gave him an extra squeeze.
“Let’s go wake up your brother.”
Characters: Dean, Sam, Mary
Rating: G
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 2205
Summary: Wee!chesters. What if John had interrupted the yellow eyed demon instead of Mary? This picks up one month after his death in the fire.
It had been a month. One month since she last smiled at her husband. One month since she last smiled without being so completely on the verge of tears. A month since her eldest son had spoken so much as a word. And not even a month since she’d put her husband in the ground.
Her hand rested on her baby’s head, brushing his hair back gently as she kissed him good night.
“Mommy?”
On Dean’s fourth birthday John and Mary had become mom and dad. Dean announcing that he was a big boy now and big boys did not use words like mommy and daddy. She clenched her jaw, holding back the sob that threatened to tear from her throat. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, before turning back to her son.
“Yes, Dean?”
“What about the angels?”
“What about them?”
“Aren’t they watching over me?”
Mary froze, but she recovered quickly, “Of course they are, Sweetheart.”
And she sits down on the edge of the bed, her arm automatically going around him as he took up the space next to her. She pulled him onto her knee, placing a kiss on his crown, her hand on the side of his head, his ear over her heart.
“Of course they are,” she repeated, though in her heart she could no longer be certain, she could not take the angels away from Dean, “And Daddy’s watching out for you too.”
_o_O~O~O_o_
Dean sat on the steps of the front porch hugging his knees to himself. The sun beat down on his face. Eyes at a slant. The crisp December air made him shiver. But he didn’t move. He didn’t want to be inside. It was Sammy’s feeding time and Dean resented the closeness that he shared with their mother.
Dad wasn’t there to play with him anymore. But being mad at his little brother made him feel bad on the inside, and he knew it wasn’t Sammy’s fault. He was just a baby. Not that that made him feel any better.
And staying at this stupid house made him feel worse. He didn’t like how his mom’s friend Carol treated him like he was a puppy, with her baby-talk. And he hated the way Carol’s husband kept looking at his mom.
“Dean, honey. Come inside. It’s too cold out here,” he twisted around on the spot to look at her, framed in the doorway. Sammy in her arms. Love and tears in her voice. He didn’t have to look in her eyes to know how sad she was, but he did anyway.
He sprung to his feet, his arms wrapping around her legs. Mary shifted Sam into one arm, letting her free hand rest at the nape of her eldest son’s neck. The brush of her thumb as soft as his skin.
“We’ll be alright,” she whispered.
_o_O~O~O_o_
Mary knelt, placing her hand upon the stone slab. Its surface smooth and cold like the ring on her finger. The corners of her lips twitching as she followed the groove of his name with her fingers. She stopped at the ‘W’, a tremor taking hold. She pressed her palm flat against it, “I’m sorry,” her voice cracked.
***
Dean sat with Sammy on the floor, building a tower, which Sammy took great pleasure in knocking down before Dean could put the last block in place, clapping his pudgy little hands together. Dean pointedly crossed his arms over his chest, full pout on his lips.
“Dean,” his mother said in a warning tone, though not harsh.
And for a moment he scowled at his brother in defiance, Sammy flapping his arm up and down, a building block in his hand. A grin lit up Dean’s face, he re-built the tower almost hastily, “Sammy look,” and he waited for those expectant eyes to return to him before knocking the blocks over himself with a glimmer of mischief in his own as Sammy giggled.
Mary shook her head moving back into the kitchen, avoiding Carol’s eyes. She knew what was coming.
“Mary I don’t think you’re ready to…”
“Ready? Ready to what? To take on the world without my husband? No, I don’t think I am. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. But I can’t just wait here. “
“But, Mary, where would you go?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Christmas is just ‘round the corner...”
“All the more reason to go. I know you mean well but I...I can’t stay here. Not here,” not in Lawrence, and not with the yellow eyed demon out there.
Being kept did not sit well with her. She was still a Campbell after all. With the insurance, and what little money she and John had managed to save, they would be set for a couple of months at the least.
“When?” Carol asked giving in to Mary’s resolve. She knew her well enough to know that Mary was not one for changing her mind once it was set.
“Tomorrow.”
---
The light turned red as the Impala pulled up. Mary took a look at her boys in the rear view mirror. Dean’s arm held protectively around his baby brother, like the night of the fire. Sammy nestled into his side sound asleep. Dean was just pretending.
“We have to make a stop,” she said quietly, returning her attention to the road as the light became green.
---
The car crawled along the grass, unkempt, and almost level with the windows, smoothing out a path. Mary stopped the car just in front of the abandoned old house. The headlights unkind, stressing every line and wrinkle. She cut the engine.
“I want to come with you.”
“Dean,” she turned to face him, “I need you to stay here with your brother. Keep him safe. Can you do that for me?”
Dean simply nodded. He would do whatever his mother asked of him. A small smile reaching her lips, she cupped his cheek before getting out of the car, retrieving a duffel from the trunk. She sighed, running a hand back through her hair. There was no two ways about this. Tears welled in her eyes. She would do everything within her power to keep her boys safe.
“Oh, John.”
Mary swallowed the lump in her throat.
Dean watched her from his window as she approached the front steps.
Sammy slept on.
---
The floorboards shifted under her weight, groaning with every step. Though it’d been in the family for years, she herself had only ever been to the house once before, though she couldn’t quite remember when. But this time she knew why. Supplies.
Mary walked into what would have been the dining room, the table all that remained. She set the bag upon it, opening it up almost surgically. She let her fingertips run over each weapon with careful consideration, pausing when she felt leather. She removed her father’s journal, turning it over in her hands. She shuddered at the memory of the demon’s kiss, her chest tightening.
---
It was quiet. Too quiet. The only audible sound Sammy’s breathing and the low buzz of cicadas beyond the confines of the car. Dean pulled Sammy closer. He wished his mom had let him help. He didn’t like the dark. Not that he was scared. He was just worried about his baby brother. Yeah. That was it.
---
Through half-shut eyes he watched her pour a line of salt across the foot of the door, and along the window ledge. Opening one eye a little wider just to make sure. He couldn’t quite figure it out, but he guessed it was important.
The question was burning on the tip of his tongue. But his mom thought he was sleeping, so he rolled over. Mary sat down on the bed, running her fingers through his hair, her voice soft as she sang.
Dean’s last thoughts, before surrendering to sleep, of some guy named Jude, and a girl with golden hair.
_o_O~O~O_o_
Sammy’s first word was Dean. The word he hears most. Constant and true. His big brother had glowed with a pride that could rival that of any father. But not John. That he could miss such a precious event...that he would never again be there to witness the boys growing up? It made her heart ache.
Dean was trying to teach Sammy to say some more words in the back seat of the Impala. She watched them for a moment. Guilt set heavily upon her chest. It had been too long since she last just sat with her youngest son.
Tearing her eyes away from her boys she turned back to the door, but she didn’t flinch.
It figured he’d already have it open, leaning back against its frame. This was the fifth house she’d been to in the last two days.
“Well, well. If it isn’t little Mary Campbell.”
“It’s Winchester.”
“Right. Heard about that. What would your Daddy say?”
“Well I’d imagine he wouldn’t be pleased with the manner in which you chose to speak to his daughter.”
He pushed himself away from the door, stalking towards her.
Dean hadn’t liked the look in the man’s eyes, he leapt from the car and raced forward as the man approached her. He stopped a few yards behind her, and he shouted as loud as he could, “Leave my mommy alone!” his little hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Cute kid. Feisty. Just like his mother.”
“Leave him out of this. Dean, honey, go back to the car.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but her look was pleading. Crestfallen, he obeyed.
“I came here-”
“I know why you’re here, Mary. And I can’t help you.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Look the thing you’re after, it knows how to cover its tracks. It doesn’t want to be found.”
_o_O~O~O_o_
Cowards. They were all cowards. But they were right, though it made her stomach turn. The trail grew colder every day. And she grew restless. It wasn’t fair to the boys.
She was afraid to ask Dean what he wanted for Christmas. Afraid of what he might say. He hadn’t even asked for a Christmas tree.
They were in Lincoln, Nebraska. Mary had rented out a house. Dean was sitting on the couch, he had his baby brother’s full attention as he told him a story, pausing every so often to ask Sammy if he could say a certain word. Sometimes he would. Other’s he simply urged his brother on, “More, more”. Sammy liked “more” and “juice” and “reach” and “Dean”. Dean was always there to anticipate his every need. Sammy slumped down, his head against Dean’s tummy, his eyes heavy with sleep.
“Dean, honey, it’s time for bed.”
Dean jumped down from the couch, and Sammy started at the loss of contact requesting, “Finish.”
Dean shook his head, “Tomorrow Sammy,” and he rushed past his mother to the bathroom to brush his teeth like a good boy.
Mary pulled Sammy up into her arms, carrying him through to the make-shift nursery. He fell into her, sleep taking over, and she rubbed his back gently before setting him down. She kissed him softly on the cheek. Knowing Dean was watching from the hall, she turned, taking his hand as she got to the door, “Your turn.”
Mary smoothed the sheets down as she tucked her eldest son in, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand caressing the side of his cheek, “You’re a good big brother,” pride battling against the sorrow in her voice.
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Why do we lay down salt everywhere?”
Mary held her breath for a second and she looked down, she had known this was coming. She wasn’t going to lie.
“It’s for protection.”
“Protection from what?”
She exhaled, “From the thing that killed your father.”
_o_O~O~O_o_
Christmas morning. Dean leapt up out of bed, not even bothering to rub at his eyes, and raced to the living room, stopping at the couch. His mother was sat on the coffee table, half a dozen neatly wrapped boxes now lay beneath the tree.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” her smile weary, arms held out.
He went to her, tears welling in his eyes as his chin came to rest on her shoulder, one hand gentle on his back, his bottom lip trembling. She pulled back, “Dean, what’s wrong?”
“I-I th-thought that if I was good and didn’t ask for anything that the angels would send Daddy back to us...”
“Oh, Dean,” and she pulled him back into her arms with a fierceness. Her lips twitching at the corners as she swallowed her own tears, “Oh, Dean,” she barely whispered, afraid her voice would break, her heart already in shreds, “I wish they would too.”
“D-did I do so-something wrong? Maybe I didn’t try hard enough, I could be better, Mommy,”
“Oh, Dean, sweetie, no. You did nothing wrong. You’re a good boy. Such a good boy-”
“But -”
“But nothing. You did nothing wrong, do you hear me? Don’t ever let Mommy hear you say that ever again. Promise me?”
“I promise, Mommy.”
Mary closed her eyes, holding her baby as tight as she could, “I love you, sweetie,” she said with all that she had, kissing the top of his head.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“I don’t want the angels watching over me anymore,” and Mary gave him an extra squeeze.
“Let’s go wake up your brother.”