SPN Fic: Replacing Mary (Gen, PG13)
I wrote this because it is what happens when someone puts a challenge to me like "secrets" after Kripke has messed with me to this deep a degree. And because I'm evil. Let me know what y'all think.
Title: Replacing Mary
Author:
dodger_winslow
Challenge: spn_challenges #18: Secrets
Genre: Gen, AU
Word Count: 1,333 (which, I think, means I'm only half evil)
Rating: PG13
Warnings: "off story" character death
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I'm just stalking them for a while.
Summary: Some secrets are more damning than others.
Replacing Mary
His secret was that he’d never loved her. He only married her because of his sons.
He was a good man. A gentle man, a strong man. But he wasn’t an honest man, either with himself or with her. Despite that, he did the best he could by her: provided a good home, a good life. He was always there when she needed him, always available when she wanted him.
But he didn’t love her.
The only woman he’d ever loved was their mother. Mary. He’d loved her in a way that possessed him, heart and mind and body and soul; and it wasn’t in him to ever love another after her murder. But his sons needed a mother, and he needed a safe place for them to grow to men; so when they met as people do, he courted her and bedded her and married her as if he was any other man, and she was any other woman, and their life together would be like any other life.
In that, he tried his best to be honest. He tried to give her a normal life, a real life … or at least one that looked real to the touch and the taste and the feel. It was only in the sensing of it that someone might see how unreal their life together had been over the years. How much the way his hands moved on her body had always been an artifice. How much the way he lay with her in the night and kissed her in the morning was nothing more than habits practiced until they were well learned.
His oldest never accepted her the way he should have. Dean loved Mary as much as his father had, and no one would ever replace her in his eyes. Like his father, he tried at first: tried to let her move into his heart, tried to let her become what he had lost.
But there was no room in his heart for her, and there was no one who could be to him what he has lost.
As the years passed, Dean became distant. Cold. Unfeeling. He lost interest in anything that wasn’t specifically about him. He began acting out, causing problems both inside the home and out. His father tried to help him, tried to make him see they had to move on and live again; but Dean wouldn’t take to the yoke, wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t capitulate and do what his father needed him to do.
By the time he was fifteen, he and his father couldn’t speak without taking the words to blows. He left home before he was legal to drive, stealing John’s Impala, driving it away into the night. They only heard from him once after that. He called from St. Louis where he was living. He told his father he was sorry, and that he wished it could have turned out differently.
That was the only time she ever saw John cry. He told her he’d lost his son: that Dean was gone now, and what was left of the boy he’d been wasn’t something his mother would have recognized.
Three days later, the St. Louis police called to tell them Dean was dead. He’d been shot by a police officer responding to a disturbance call. He’d nearly killed a woman with a baseball bat - someone he’d only just met - and they found out later that he’d been killing women for years. Beating them, brutalizing them, murdering them when they failed to love him for who he was.
His father took the news like it was something he was expecting. He listened as if he’d always known it would come to this, always known he’d lose those he loved to violence the same way he’d lost Mary so very long ago.
Unlike his brother, however, John’s youngest took to her in ways she’d never dared hope he would. Sam loved her as much as his father and brother loved Mary, and no one would ever replace her in his eyes.
He was everything she could have asked for in a child: bright, sweet, loyal, strong, intelligent, gifted. He grew up protected by her, nurtured by her, loved by her. In return for her devotion to his youngest son, John gave her everything he promised he would: the life she wanted, the future she wanted, the love she wanted, from his son, if not from him.
Sam went to Stanford, became a lawyer, went into politics. He was a good man. A gentle man, a strong man. But he wasn’t an honest man in the way such men are never honest.
Like all sons, he needed a mother and a safe place to grow to a man. She gave him that and more; every action she took, taken on his behalf; every choice she made, made with his future in mind.
When Sam met a girl as people do, he courted her and bedded her and would have married her as if he was any other man and she was any other woman and their life together would be like any other life. But when Jess left him without warning - without so much as a note, just vanishing one night while he was away campaigning, taking her things and his, stealing his car and disappearing into the night as his brother had done to his father years before - Sam came to her with his grief; and she comforted him as any mother would comfort a child from whom the future had been taken.
His father watched from the shadows, distant. Cold. Unfeeling. He’d lost interest in anything that wasn’t specifically about him years ago. He’d begun acting out, causing problems both inside the home and out.
Sam tried to help his father, but John wouldn’t take to the yoke, wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t capitulate and do what his son needed him to do. It was an election year, and Sam resented the kind of press his father was generating. By the time he became a Senator, Sam and his father couldn’t speak without taking the words to blows.
John left home before Sam took office, and they only heard from him once after that. He called from St. Louis where he was living. He told Sam he was sorry, and that he wished it could have turned out differently.
That was the only time she ever saw Sam cry. He told her he’d lost his father: that John was gone now, and what was left of the man he’d been wasn’t something he even recognized.
She comforted him as she had since he was a babe in arms; being there for him as she had been since he started looking to her as the source of everything he would become. He loved her, and he always had. His mother was the only one he’d ever truly loved. Her, not Mary. And he loved her in a way that possessed him, heart and mind and body and soul.
When she looked at Sam, she saw him as he was: special in ways no one but her really understood. Not even him. Not even his father.
He would rule the world one day, and it would come to pass because she found his father when she did, when John’s sons needed a mother, and John needed a safe place for them to grow to men. It would come to pass because when she and John met as people do, she’d courted him and bedded him and married him as if he was any other man and she was any other woman and their life together would be like any other life.
John’s secret was that he’d never loved her. He only married her because of his sons. Her secret was that she’d never loved John either. She only married him because of his son.
She had plans for his son, and all the other children like him.
-finis-
Title: Replacing Mary
Author:
dodger_winslow
Challenge: spn_challenges #18: Secrets
Genre: Gen, AU
Word Count: 1,333 (which, I think, means I'm only half evil)
Rating: PG13
Warnings: "off story" character death
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I'm just stalking them for a while.
Summary: Some secrets are more damning than others.
Replacing Mary
His secret was that he’d never loved her. He only married her because of his sons.
He was a good man. A gentle man, a strong man. But he wasn’t an honest man, either with himself or with her. Despite that, he did the best he could by her: provided a good home, a good life. He was always there when she needed him, always available when she wanted him.
But he didn’t love her.
The only woman he’d ever loved was their mother. Mary. He’d loved her in a way that possessed him, heart and mind and body and soul; and it wasn’t in him to ever love another after her murder. But his sons needed a mother, and he needed a safe place for them to grow to men; so when they met as people do, he courted her and bedded her and married her as if he was any other man, and she was any other woman, and their life together would be like any other life.
In that, he tried his best to be honest. He tried to give her a normal life, a real life … or at least one that looked real to the touch and the taste and the feel. It was only in the sensing of it that someone might see how unreal their life together had been over the years. How much the way his hands moved on her body had always been an artifice. How much the way he lay with her in the night and kissed her in the morning was nothing more than habits practiced until they were well learned.
His oldest never accepted her the way he should have. Dean loved Mary as much as his father had, and no one would ever replace her in his eyes. Like his father, he tried at first: tried to let her move into his heart, tried to let her become what he had lost.
But there was no room in his heart for her, and there was no one who could be to him what he has lost.
As the years passed, Dean became distant. Cold. Unfeeling. He lost interest in anything that wasn’t specifically about him. He began acting out, causing problems both inside the home and out. His father tried to help him, tried to make him see they had to move on and live again; but Dean wouldn’t take to the yoke, wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t capitulate and do what his father needed him to do.
By the time he was fifteen, he and his father couldn’t speak without taking the words to blows. He left home before he was legal to drive, stealing John’s Impala, driving it away into the night. They only heard from him once after that. He called from St. Louis where he was living. He told his father he was sorry, and that he wished it could have turned out differently.
That was the only time she ever saw John cry. He told her he’d lost his son: that Dean was gone now, and what was left of the boy he’d been wasn’t something his mother would have recognized.
Three days later, the St. Louis police called to tell them Dean was dead. He’d been shot by a police officer responding to a disturbance call. He’d nearly killed a woman with a baseball bat - someone he’d only just met - and they found out later that he’d been killing women for years. Beating them, brutalizing them, murdering them when they failed to love him for who he was.
His father took the news like it was something he was expecting. He listened as if he’d always known it would come to this, always known he’d lose those he loved to violence the same way he’d lost Mary so very long ago.
Unlike his brother, however, John’s youngest took to her in ways she’d never dared hope he would. Sam loved her as much as his father and brother loved Mary, and no one would ever replace her in his eyes.
He was everything she could have asked for in a child: bright, sweet, loyal, strong, intelligent, gifted. He grew up protected by her, nurtured by her, loved by her. In return for her devotion to his youngest son, John gave her everything he promised he would: the life she wanted, the future she wanted, the love she wanted, from his son, if not from him.
Sam went to Stanford, became a lawyer, went into politics. He was a good man. A gentle man, a strong man. But he wasn’t an honest man in the way such men are never honest.
Like all sons, he needed a mother and a safe place to grow to a man. She gave him that and more; every action she took, taken on his behalf; every choice she made, made with his future in mind.
When Sam met a girl as people do, he courted her and bedded her and would have married her as if he was any other man and she was any other woman and their life together would be like any other life. But when Jess left him without warning - without so much as a note, just vanishing one night while he was away campaigning, taking her things and his, stealing his car and disappearing into the night as his brother had done to his father years before - Sam came to her with his grief; and she comforted him as any mother would comfort a child from whom the future had been taken.
His father watched from the shadows, distant. Cold. Unfeeling. He’d lost interest in anything that wasn’t specifically about him years ago. He’d begun acting out, causing problems both inside the home and out.
Sam tried to help his father, but John wouldn’t take to the yoke, wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t capitulate and do what his son needed him to do. It was an election year, and Sam resented the kind of press his father was generating. By the time he became a Senator, Sam and his father couldn’t speak without taking the words to blows.
John left home before Sam took office, and they only heard from him once after that. He called from St. Louis where he was living. He told Sam he was sorry, and that he wished it could have turned out differently.
That was the only time she ever saw Sam cry. He told her he’d lost his father: that John was gone now, and what was left of the man he’d been wasn’t something he even recognized.
She comforted him as she had since he was a babe in arms; being there for him as she had been since he started looking to her as the source of everything he would become. He loved her, and he always had. His mother was the only one he’d ever truly loved. Her, not Mary. And he loved her in a way that possessed him, heart and mind and body and soul.
When she looked at Sam, she saw him as he was: special in ways no one but her really understood. Not even him. Not even his father.
He would rule the world one day, and it would come to pass because she found his father when she did, when John’s sons needed a mother, and John needed a safe place for them to grow to men. It would come to pass because when she and John met as people do, she’d courted him and bedded him and married him as if he was any other man and she was any other woman and their life together would be like any other life.
John’s secret was that he’d never loved her. He only married her because of his sons. Her secret was that she’d never loved John either. She only married him because of his son.
She had plans for his son, and all the other children like him.
-finis-