SPN FIC - Angel
I'm in somewhat of a holding pattern until I see what Show is going to fling at us tomorrow night. But in the meantime there's this little bit of a thing.
CHARACTERS: Mary and baby!Dean
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: The Song Remains the Same
LENGTH: 310 words
ANGEL
By Carol Davis
She bought it because it was cute.
It only cost twenty-five cents - and it wasn't even her money. She went out for a walk carrying nothing but her house keys, but halfway down the block something bright caught her eye: a quarter, lying on the grass. Three blocks further along, she found the yard sale.
She was meant to have the little figurine, she supposes. Was led to it, if you believe in that kind of thing.
John doesn't. Believe in that kind of thing.
But she does.
She spends a lot of time in the rocking chair, tipping it gently back and forth by pushing her bare toes against the floor, her arms curled protectively around the gift that ties her to John Winchester more securely than words ever could. Her baby's eyes are closed while he nurses, more often than not, but hers remain open. More often than not, they're fixed on her yard sale purchase.
She bought it because it was cute - that's what she tells people. That's what she told John. It's a sweet thing to keep on a shelf in a baby's room, because of what it implies: the angels are watching over her son.
This one is, at least.
If she were to look across the room at it and see its dark eyes move, she would not be surprised.
It's not, she thinks. Not cute. Not at all.
Her son peers up at her through half-focused eyes and frowns. He's aware of her discomfort, or maybe he's just dismayed that she's stopped humming. "It's all right, love," she croons to him, and strokes his silken hair away from his face. "It's all right."
She wishes, as she rocks, that she could believe in what she says.
That all is well.
And that angels watching over her son is a good and hopeful thing.
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Mary and baby!Dean
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: The Song Remains the Same
LENGTH: 310 words
ANGEL
By Carol Davis
She bought it because it was cute.
It only cost twenty-five cents - and it wasn't even her money. She went out for a walk carrying nothing but her house keys, but halfway down the block something bright caught her eye: a quarter, lying on the grass. Three blocks further along, she found the yard sale.
She was meant to have the little figurine, she supposes. Was led to it, if you believe in that kind of thing.
John doesn't. Believe in that kind of thing.
But she does.
She spends a lot of time in the rocking chair, tipping it gently back and forth by pushing her bare toes against the floor, her arms curled protectively around the gift that ties her to John Winchester more securely than words ever could. Her baby's eyes are closed while he nurses, more often than not, but hers remain open. More often than not, they're fixed on her yard sale purchase.
She bought it because it was cute - that's what she tells people. That's what she told John. It's a sweet thing to keep on a shelf in a baby's room, because of what it implies: the angels are watching over her son.
This one is, at least.
If she were to look across the room at it and see its dark eyes move, she would not be surprised.
It's not, she thinks. Not cute. Not at all.
Her son peers up at her through half-focused eyes and frowns. He's aware of her discomfort, or maybe he's just dismayed that she's stopped humming. "It's all right, love," she croons to him, and strokes his silken hair away from his face. "It's all right."
She wishes, as she rocks, that she could believe in what she says.
That all is well.
And that angels watching over her son is a good and hopeful thing.
* * * * *