dear_mun | momchester finally made a bb account

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momchester finally made a bb account

You know they're just icons, right? [Mary brushes her hair out of her eyes and stares unimpressed into the... wherever it is she's looking.] There's really no need to obsess.

[She rolls her eyes and scoffs in an... incredibly teenage way.]

I don't even know why you made this account. It's not like there's a point. [squaring her shoulders determinedly, self-consciously aware that she looks a little silly.] My life will be way too boring for you to write anything about and that's just fine with me. Got it?

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[That smile, Christ. When was the last time he saw it? Before he left work that day? At dinner? At any rate, it's been too damn long and his heart aches a little at its brilliance.

John returns the smile with a growing grin, and he can slowly feel himself slipping back into that old, cocky role he tended to play when she got like this. It's nice, like a worn old pair of jeans, comfortable and familiar.]

I guess that means you think you're always right?

[He has absolutely no problem following her order. Please, lead the way Mary.]

[She backs up, beckoning him over to a sink.]

What makes you think I'm always like this?

[He walks over to the sink, yanking up the sleeve of his horrifically injured arm. Leaning on the counter, he presents his arm with a "do your worst" look.]

I do know you. I could be cheating. Or maybe I'm just a good judge of character.

[She gives him a Look at that. Yanking up your sleeve, really? You could rinse it for five seconds and avoid an infection.

But fine. Since he's going to make it into a Thing, she can play that game.]

If you know my dad, I wouldn't say that.

[Bless him and all that, but man. The guy could be unpleasant. She draws near and grabs the nearest piece of cloth - a dishrag - and runs it under water with one hand, without looking away.]

I expected you to complain a lot more. [Turning off the sink one-handed and picking up the rag.] You know. Hunters.

[As she draws near it occurs to her to wonder oh god is she flirting with a man her father's age? What on Earth? But the more she looks at him, the more that sense of familiarity grows, until she finds herself studying him with every passing glance and every word from his mouth.]

Hey, I didn't choose to know your dad. He's a jackass, probably feels the same about me.

[He shrugs. He won't apologize when it's the truth,]

Well? Are you going to nurse me or not?

[All the smirking. John's so distracted by her (she's close enough to smell her, and it's like he's been transported back to high school for a second), that he doesn't notice her looking and listening closer.]

Hey!

[That's only okay when Mary says it. Jeez.

But the slight to her father aside, she has to fight a twitching smile at his jerkass remark and, for a second, she forgets everything she's curious about. She forgets it all in his smile, for just a second.

The moment passes, and she wonders who he is. It's on the tip of her tongue, really.]

Listen, you, I'm just trying to keep you from getting tetanus or something. Didn't anyone ever tell you basic things about weapons safety?

[She takes his hand unnecessarily, holding it in place gently, and dabs once at the cut just to be a brat. Then she spots something- a very familiar scar on his arm.

Her heart stops.]

It's true, and you know it. He's an unfriendly S.O.B., and that's being nice. But I guess he's got a reason.

[It really does explain a lot in retrospect, that the Campbells were hunters. Samuel was always so agitated when John had to come over, probably scared he's see something he had no business seeing. Probably thought John couldn't protect his daughter, either.

He wonders what Samuel would say if he saw John today. Would he be impressed, or just as mad for screwing over his grandkids? Either way, John would be lying if he said rubbing his hunting successes in his father-in-law's face wouldn't be awesome.]

[Yeah, whatever the hell you just said? Mary didn't hear a word.

She's dropped the rag and is tracing the scar on his arm, the one John brought back from Vietnam. The one she touched gently sometimes, used to kiss when he worried that she'd have some stupid problem with what the war did to him. Staring. Her heart pounding in her throat, roaring in her ears as every piece clicks into place. It's his left hand that she's holding. She can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring on her palm.

Her voice comes out as a roughed whisper.]

Oh my god. [She forces herself to look up, stunned beyond words. Horrified, really, and grieved that this happened to John.] John.

[John is instantly snapped out of his thoughts by the feel of her fingers along that scar. He looks down, startled, and sees the horror in her eyes. He doesn't panic, though, not until she says his name.

He yanks back his arm and hastily rolls down his sleeve.]

Who?

[What's the use of denying it? Mary's not stupid.]

Don't.

[Almost snapped, but it's transparently emotional. The recognition in her eyes and inside her is almost overpowering as she looks at him anew, seeing him almost for the first time and kicking herself that she didn't see it before.

He looks so different. But still so incredibly, unmistakably...]

John.

[She reaches out tentatively to brush her fingertips against his cheek. Shy, searching.]

[He groans wearily, and confirms the accusation.]

Yeah.

[Easily dodging her grasp, he turns and sinks into the chair he'd been sitting in before.

Well fuck, what now? He doesn't even want to think about it.]

[Excuse Mary for a minute, she's a little shell-shocked. Having, you know, learned some horrifying things about her life.

She has enough presence of mind to pull up a chair right in front of him, close enough to reach out and grab his left hand half-frantically, examining his wedding ring. Staring again, eyes prickling hotly with tears. Because it's obvious, isn't it?]

It was me.

[John nods, grasping the hand prying at his left. He needs the anchor now, that wonderful skin-to-skin contact.]

I kind of went crazy without you there. [He can't even look in her eyes, admit what he did. Their feet will have to do, then.] I saw you die.

Oh my god.

[It's all she can think to say. Jesus, what the hell else is there? Everything, even the most basic premise - they got married, she had children - is new, but with everything else...]

I'm- I'm so sorry.

[And she knows suddenly that it's her fault. That stupid deal, that stupid stupid thing she did- how she would have done better, she has no idea, but she's convinced that somehow she should have been able to make it right without making a deal that mysterious and sketchy.

Because it had to be the deal. Why else would it want her? When else would she meet it?

Suddenly Mary is overwhelmed by so much guilt that it's all she can do to not sink to the floor and scream. Then she thinks of something worse.]

Who's Dean? I mean... really?

Mary, Mary, it's okay. You've got nothing to be sorry about, baby.

[It's almost a relief to call her that, to address her the way he always has. It's fucked up with her being so young, but he needs it right now.

He reaches out to cup her face and leans far enough over so he can kiss her forehead. He means for it to calm her down, but he's not really sure what to do with her like this.]

He's our son. Our oldest. Sammy's the younger one.

[Named for your parents, if you'll notice.]

[As strange as it is, as weird and fucked up and jarring as it is to see him old and grizzled, he touches her exactly the way he used to, talks to her how he used to, presses that familiar kiss to her forehead that she's so used to she can't help but calm down.]

Dean... god. No wonder he lost it.

[She shakes her head, his hands still touching her, and looks a little harder at him. There's something in his eyes - something she always saw there, at least a little - that reminds her of her father. He's such a hunter now, he wears it like it fits.]

I- I can't believe we have two boys. [Her voice cracks into a pained whisper.] John, please tell me you didn't.

[Raise them in the life.]

I had to.

[His grip on her hand tightens, almost like he's terrified she'll pull away when he confesses.]

I had to watch you die, Mary. He was hurting other families like ours. The son of a bitch had to pay. And he did, baby. Dean shot him right between the fucking eyes.

[It does feel wrong, cursing so freely in front of Mary. He never used to, but John's filters were shot years ago.]

Edited 2012-01-21 09:47 (UTC)

[The satisfaction of knowing that the bastard got what was coming to him is second to the complete and utter heartbreak of seeing John talk like a hunter while looking at her so plaintively. So lovingly.

It hurts.]

But- [This is the opposite of everything she's ever wanted. She can't help the tears that finally start falling and she can't stop herself from touching him, touching his face, feeling the stubble and scars- stroking a thumb over his cheek. Just to reassure that he's real when her vision blurs with tears.] -I didn't want that for them. That's my worst nightmare.

[John has Mary in his arms the moment the tears start falling. He clings to her tight and strokes a hand through her hair in a piss-poor attempt to calm her down. He feel like crying himself, but he needs to keep it together. For her.]

I didn't know. I never knew.

[He squeezes his eyes shut hard-he won't fucking cry-and presses his lips into her hair. Since he found out, he'd suspected she'd hate what he did, he just never thought he'd have to face it.]

Edited 2012-01-21 10:16 (UTC)

[The shock of being in his arms - his and not his at the same time - has her next breath escaping as a sob, and she cries into his shoulder for a minute.]

I know, I know you didn't. I never wanted you to know. Never. I'm so sorry, I-

[Her fault, all of it. Her parents, her... husband?, her children, oh god.]

[John shakes his heard, cutting off whatever her next words would be.]

Please don't say that. It's not your fault, it was his.

[They just sit like that for the next few minutes, Mary crying and John whispering reassurances into her hair.

However, John slowly comes to a realization in those few minutes. Slowly, but surely, he comes to notice every inch of he body pressed up against his. As does his body.

He needs to untangle her from his body, quickly, but she's still hurting so bad. What the hell can he do now?]

[It feels nice, so nice to feel John around her, it really does. She can curl up in his lap and cry on him and no matter what the years have done to him, he feels the same when he holds her and sounds the same whispering those same loving things to her. It helps that she's keeping her face buried into him, not opening her eyes, because then she'd have to deal with him being older than her father was.

She's still hurting, badly, but it helps to accept anew that she can't tell him the whole truth. It's a mixed blessing that his memories of that night are still garbled, that he doesn't remember having his neck snapped. So for now she's content with staying there, pressed tight against him and just breathing. Hearing his heart beating in his chest. It's soothing.]

[It does feel nice, too nice. Part of John never wants her to leave, just see what happens. The other half is mildly sickened by his other thoughts, and needs her to move now. She's still a kid, for fuck's sake.

He'll make her move soon, but first he wants to savor the sensation of her body on his. It's been too long since he even touched her, since they've kissed, since anything really. He needs this.]

Mary?

[Her face is still sort of. Buried in him. She turns her head so she can talk.]

Yes?

[He was going to tell her it was time to get up (before he involuntarily gave himself away), but when she turns her face towards his, he has to kiss her.

So he does.]

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minifridge - 2012-01-21 11:16 (UTC) - Expand

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