Post 'Devil's Trap' ficlet
Title: Hovering
Author: Mariana O'Connor
Fandom:Supernatural
Character: John
Rating: G
Spoilers: All of Season 1 - but mostly Devil's Trap and a mention of Dead Man's Blood
Pairing: John/Mary
Disclaimer: I do not own John, Mary, Dean or Sam Winchester - although I do have a picture of them, but that's not really them, unless it comes to life. But no - not mine, never were, never will be.
Summary: After the events of Devil's Trap John Winchester has a conversation which helps him make a decision... I would make this more interesting - but, y'know spoilers an' all.
It was dark. He noticed that first, the utter darkness of it all. Nothing there but nothingness, oppressive, destructive - but at least it wasn’t hell. Even nothing was preferable to the pain he had been living in for over twenty years. It wasn’t heaven, he knew that, but it wasn’t hell. He was surprised at that really: he had thought that he would burn in everlasting torment, but this absence of anything, it was relief.
He breathed, only he did not, because there was nothing to breathe. It must have been a reflex, his spirit imitating in death what his body had found necessary in life.
He felt as though he was floating, waiting for something. There was a feeling of anticipation, but he was not sure what he was anticipating. Something inside him told him it was not going to be something bad, a tingle up his spine he had not felt in years, not since Sammy was born. He could remember, standing outside the delivery room pacing up and down waiting to hear; Dean asleep in a hospital chair.
Those chairs had been uncomfortable, felt like they were breaking his back, and yet Dean had been able to sleep there, no tossing or turning, he had just sat down and gone to sleep. Anywhere, anytime, like a cat - it was strange, but he could always sleep wherever he chose, immediately comfortable. He himself had never had that luxury: insomnia, restless nights, even before Mary’s…
Sam too, had had to adjust before he could sleep somewhere. At first it had to be a bed, before he learnt how to sleep in the car. From what he could tell of recent times he had been losing sleep again: genetic insomnia.
The tingling increased and there was a warm prickle on the back of his neck - he was being watched. He turned in the nothingness, unaware of up or down, the only directions now given were behind and forward and even those he was unsure of.
“John.” Mary. He stared, he opened his mouth, but she would not let him talk, “this isn’t death.” He looked around. If this was not death then what was it? Too vivid for a dream, too peaceful to be living. “You’re a coward, you know that?” She told him and he was taken aback. Of all the conversations he had planned for with her, this was the last he had expected. “You can’t abandon them now. They need you to be there.”
He remembered - a crash, the colt, Dean… he remembered Dean pleading, the demon inside him. The echo of a feeling: a glass cage, looking out and seeing everything. He remembered Sam, stubborn Sam, so like him, unlike his brother. He would be able to finish it, as Dean had not. But even strong, impulsive Sam had not been able to pull that trigger.
“I can’t start again,” he heard himself say. “It’s too much.” Too much pain, too much grief, too much destruction, he could not do it. Another twenty years. Only one bullet left, and then they would be out of chances. If only Sam had pulled the trigger.
“You can’t let them go through this without you.” She told him. “They need you.”
“Why?” They had each other, that was enough; he had made it enough. He had known from the beginning that this would take his life. He was willing to let that happen, why could they not just have accepted it?
“They are my children too,” she reminded him, as if he needed any reminding, every time he looked at them he knew that they were her, all he had left, “and I will not let you abandon them now.” Her face was set. He knew that look, remembered how she had told him that he had better propose already because she wanted an August wedding and there had to be enough time to plan it.
“I can’t…” face them. She reached out and touched his face with one hand, so warm, so real, as though she were really here with him. “I can’t…” survive any more.
“You can,” His eyes closed as she stroked her hand down his face. “You’re stronger than this.”
“Am I?” he asked, slowly, his voice seeming far away. He had forgotten what strength was. Sammy was strong, Dean was strong, but he knew that that was Mary in them, not him.
“You are strong.” She reiterated. He opened his eyes and looked at her again, still as beautiful as he remembered, as beautiful as their wedding day, all in white and a smile that lit up the room. He had been so lucky, but everything had to balance out.
“Mary… I’m dead.”
“A car-crash kill John Winchester?” she asked teasingly. “Really?” He could feel his pride bristling at the implications of her words. He looked at her and he could see the amusement in her eyes before she looked away from him and her face changed, became sad, longing. “They hurt so much. Help them.” She looked at him and he could see Dean again, bleeding in front of him begging him not to let him die, to fight.
“I’m tired.”
“I know. But you can’t rest just yet. It’s only just beginning, John… and you need to be there to finish it.” He looked at her. “Fight for them… not for me anymore - I don’t need it.” She paused, smiling sadly. “Please, fight for them.” He nodded.
“I miss you.”
“I know.”
The words echoed as the darkness became real and he felt gravity pull him down once more.
Author: Mariana O'Connor
Fandom:Supernatural
Character: John
Rating: G
Spoilers: All of Season 1 - but mostly Devil's Trap and a mention of Dead Man's Blood
Pairing: John/Mary
Disclaimer: I do not own John, Mary, Dean or Sam Winchester - although I do have a picture of them, but that's not really them, unless it comes to life. But no - not mine, never were, never will be.
Summary: After the events of Devil's Trap John Winchester has a conversation which helps him make a decision... I would make this more interesting - but, y'know spoilers an' all.
It was dark. He noticed that first, the utter darkness of it all. Nothing there but nothingness, oppressive, destructive - but at least it wasn’t hell. Even nothing was preferable to the pain he had been living in for over twenty years. It wasn’t heaven, he knew that, but it wasn’t hell. He was surprised at that really: he had thought that he would burn in everlasting torment, but this absence of anything, it was relief.
He breathed, only he did not, because there was nothing to breathe. It must have been a reflex, his spirit imitating in death what his body had found necessary in life.
He felt as though he was floating, waiting for something. There was a feeling of anticipation, but he was not sure what he was anticipating. Something inside him told him it was not going to be something bad, a tingle up his spine he had not felt in years, not since Sammy was born. He could remember, standing outside the delivery room pacing up and down waiting to hear; Dean asleep in a hospital chair.
Those chairs had been uncomfortable, felt like they were breaking his back, and yet Dean had been able to sleep there, no tossing or turning, he had just sat down and gone to sleep. Anywhere, anytime, like a cat - it was strange, but he could always sleep wherever he chose, immediately comfortable. He himself had never had that luxury: insomnia, restless nights, even before Mary’s…
Sam too, had had to adjust before he could sleep somewhere. At first it had to be a bed, before he learnt how to sleep in the car. From what he could tell of recent times he had been losing sleep again: genetic insomnia.
The tingling increased and there was a warm prickle on the back of his neck - he was being watched. He turned in the nothingness, unaware of up or down, the only directions now given were behind and forward and even those he was unsure of.
“John.” Mary. He stared, he opened his mouth, but she would not let him talk, “this isn’t death.” He looked around. If this was not death then what was it? Too vivid for a dream, too peaceful to be living. “You’re a coward, you know that?” She told him and he was taken aback. Of all the conversations he had planned for with her, this was the last he had expected. “You can’t abandon them now. They need you to be there.”
He remembered - a crash, the colt, Dean… he remembered Dean pleading, the demon inside him. The echo of a feeling: a glass cage, looking out and seeing everything. He remembered Sam, stubborn Sam, so like him, unlike his brother. He would be able to finish it, as Dean had not. But even strong, impulsive Sam had not been able to pull that trigger.
“I can’t start again,” he heard himself say. “It’s too much.” Too much pain, too much grief, too much destruction, he could not do it. Another twenty years. Only one bullet left, and then they would be out of chances. If only Sam had pulled the trigger.
“You can’t let them go through this without you.” She told him. “They need you.”
“Why?” They had each other, that was enough; he had made it enough. He had known from the beginning that this would take his life. He was willing to let that happen, why could they not just have accepted it?
“They are my children too,” she reminded him, as if he needed any reminding, every time he looked at them he knew that they were her, all he had left, “and I will not let you abandon them now.” Her face was set. He knew that look, remembered how she had told him that he had better propose already because she wanted an August wedding and there had to be enough time to plan it.
“I can’t…” face them. She reached out and touched his face with one hand, so warm, so real, as though she were really here with him. “I can’t…” survive any more.
“You can,” His eyes closed as she stroked her hand down his face. “You’re stronger than this.”
“Am I?” he asked, slowly, his voice seeming far away. He had forgotten what strength was. Sammy was strong, Dean was strong, but he knew that that was Mary in them, not him.
“You are strong.” She reiterated. He opened his eyes and looked at her again, still as beautiful as he remembered, as beautiful as their wedding day, all in white and a smile that lit up the room. He had been so lucky, but everything had to balance out.
“Mary… I’m dead.”
“A car-crash kill John Winchester?” she asked teasingly. “Really?” He could feel his pride bristling at the implications of her words. He looked at her and he could see the amusement in her eyes before she looked away from him and her face changed, became sad, longing. “They hurt so much. Help them.” She looked at him and he could see Dean again, bleeding in front of him begging him not to let him die, to fight.
“I’m tired.”
“I know. But you can’t rest just yet. It’s only just beginning, John… and you need to be there to finish it.” He looked at her. “Fight for them… not for me anymore - I don’t need it.” She paused, smiling sadly. “Please, fight for them.” He nodded.
“I miss you.”
“I know.”
The words echoed as the darkness became real and he felt gravity pull him down once more.