There's a Hole In You and Me Part I
November 2nd, 1983
Lawrence, Kansas
Mary takes Dean to say goodnight to his brother exactly like every other night, and just like every night, Dean lays a careful kiss on Sam’s forehead. Sam’s big dark eyes never leave his brother’s face - Dean is always the most interesting thing in the room.
John appears in the doorway, fresh out of his work clothes, in a rumpled US Marine Corps t- shirt. He was working late tonight, even missed dinner, and Dean runs into his arms like he hasn’t seen his dad in weeks. Mary doesn’t hold back a smile at the kid’s incessant enthusiasm, the way energy bubbles forth even when he’s half asleep on his feet.
It’s just past 8, which means past bedtime, so John takes Dean to brush his teeth and hear a
story before lights out.
Mary heads upstairs with a “be right up” from John. She checks the locks on the doors and windows on her way, a quick scan of the back yard and the usual pause to listen for any telltale strange noises, any crackling cold spots or rattling breath. Nothing. Like every night. She falls asleep almost instantly; nothing like a six month old baby and a four year old kid to provide the perfect, bone deep satisfied exhaustion.
The baby monitor wakes her, the sound of little Sammy’s cries metallic and distorted by the static.
“John?”
He’s not in the bed beside her and she sighs, blinking sleepily as she rolls out. He fell asleep in his chair. Again. He usually wakes himself up in the middle of the night, cold and uncomfortable, and crawls into bed to warm himself against her and then deny it ever
happened.
Mary rubs her eyes as she makes her way through the dark house to the nursery. John’s already there, facing away from the door and leaning over the crib.
“Is he hungry?” Mary asks. It sounds like he’s stopped crying.
“Shhh,” John answers.
“Okay,” she says, turning away. If John can get him back to sleep, there’ll be no argument from her.
She starts to head back to bed, but something stops her. Something’s not right.
The dim light they have at the end of the hall is flickering, buzzing lightly. Mary tamps down the gut reaction to grab some salt and a shotgun, instead walking steadily to the lamp and tapping it lightly. It stops flickering. Mary sighs.
From this end of the hallway, she can hear the TV from downstairs. John must’ve been watching when he fell asleep, not bothering to turn it off when he went up to handle Sammy.
She goes downstairs to turn it off and freezes.
John’s snoring in his chair.
Mary yells for Sam as she scrambles back up the stairs, down the hall, mind screaming faster, faster and finally into the nursery.
The man she’d mistaken for John is still there, still standing next to her son, and now she can see that he’s holding something out over Sam’s face.
The man is holding his slit wrist over her baby’s mouth, and there’s a steady drip, drip, drip of blood going straight between Sam’s tiny pink lips.
Mary screams, reaching for her gun, for her knife, for anything. She’s in her nightgown and her hands are empty, her mind a roaring blank.
The man turns at the sound of her scream and his eyes are as yellow as Mary knew they’d be, and the only thing she can think is “this is it, this is the moment, it’s finally here.”
He motions at her and suddenly there’s a deep gash along her stomach, not deep enough to be fatal but definitely serious. Another gesture and gravity inverts; she’s being dragged up the wall and onto the ceiling and she can’t stop screaming for John.
Yellow Eyes laughs and Mary’s going to kill him the second she gets herself off the ceiling. She shakes her arm, willing her bracelet to fall lower on her wrist where she can reach it. Almost... almost... there. It’s barely anything, but maybe if she can hold him off, she can -
He’s turning back to Sam, and then John is bursting into the room and Mary realizes he can’t see the demon. Yellow Eyes grins up at her and puts a finger to his lips and Mary finds she can’t scream, can’t even whimper.
John looks around, taking in the quiet room and Sam’s gurgles. He walks over to his son slowly, so slowly, as Yellow Eyes steps just out of his way.
Mary tries to scream, lungs burning, stomach wound a clean, near-blinding pain. She writhes and the blood soaks through her nightgown and starts to drip.
It drips inches from Sammy’s head and finally, finally John sees. He looks up and they stare at each other for a moment, Mary trying to break through Yellow Eyes’ grip, John frozen in terror.
He screams her name, voice hoarse with sleep or fear, screams “No,” and Mary’s eyes are burning with tears. This is it, she’s going to die and that demon is going to take her son and John will never, ever forgive her for this. He’ll know what she was and he’ll know why their son was taken and he’ll know it was all her fault.
The thought kicks her into action and she shakes her wrist again, and by some miracle the bracelet falls perfectly, the protection charm landing directly in her palm just as Yellow Eyes flicks his fingers again.
The ceiling bursts into flame around Mary as she closes her eyes and mumbles the spell. It’s a quick one, and it’s not strong enough to hurt the demon, but it is enough to free her. She falls to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs and clothes, rolling into a defensive stance.
“John, take Sam now,” Mary orders, and John stares at her. “Do it now!”
John grabs him and runs out of the room. She can hear him handing the baby to Dean and telling him to go outside as she reaches behind the dresser, deep enough that it’s out of the way of small hands and curious husbands. The shotgun may not kill the demon, but iron in the shot might hurt him some.
He’s grinning at her as she backs out of the burning room, and she unloads her weapon into him, satisfied to see the smile wiped off his face. She turns and runs, almost knocking John off his feet as he climbs the stairs three at a time.
“Let’s go,” she calls, and he yells his assent.
It’s only later, after the fire department has put out the flames and Dean is asleep in Mrs. Rosewood’s guest bedroom, that reality starts to sink in. No more home, no more safety, no more family. Not if she wants to keep them alive.
***
Part II
Lawrence, Kansas
Mary takes Dean to say goodnight to his brother exactly like every other night, and just like every night, Dean lays a careful kiss on Sam’s forehead. Sam’s big dark eyes never leave his brother’s face - Dean is always the most interesting thing in the room.
John appears in the doorway, fresh out of his work clothes, in a rumpled US Marine Corps t- shirt. He was working late tonight, even missed dinner, and Dean runs into his arms like he hasn’t seen his dad in weeks. Mary doesn’t hold back a smile at the kid’s incessant enthusiasm, the way energy bubbles forth even when he’s half asleep on his feet.
It’s just past 8, which means past bedtime, so John takes Dean to brush his teeth and hear a
story before lights out.
Mary heads upstairs with a “be right up” from John. She checks the locks on the doors and windows on her way, a quick scan of the back yard and the usual pause to listen for any telltale strange noises, any crackling cold spots or rattling breath. Nothing. Like every night. She falls asleep almost instantly; nothing like a six month old baby and a four year old kid to provide the perfect, bone deep satisfied exhaustion.
The baby monitor wakes her, the sound of little Sammy’s cries metallic and distorted by the static.
“John?”
He’s not in the bed beside her and she sighs, blinking sleepily as she rolls out. He fell asleep in his chair. Again. He usually wakes himself up in the middle of the night, cold and uncomfortable, and crawls into bed to warm himself against her and then deny it ever
happened.
Mary rubs her eyes as she makes her way through the dark house to the nursery. John’s already there, facing away from the door and leaning over the crib.
“Is he hungry?” Mary asks. It sounds like he’s stopped crying.
“Shhh,” John answers.
“Okay,” she says, turning away. If John can get him back to sleep, there’ll be no argument from her.
She starts to head back to bed, but something stops her. Something’s not right.
The dim light they have at the end of the hall is flickering, buzzing lightly. Mary tamps down the gut reaction to grab some salt and a shotgun, instead walking steadily to the lamp and tapping it lightly. It stops flickering. Mary sighs.
From this end of the hallway, she can hear the TV from downstairs. John must’ve been watching when he fell asleep, not bothering to turn it off when he went up to handle Sammy.
She goes downstairs to turn it off and freezes.
John’s snoring in his chair.
Mary yells for Sam as she scrambles back up the stairs, down the hall, mind screaming faster, faster and finally into the nursery.
The man she’d mistaken for John is still there, still standing next to her son, and now she can see that he’s holding something out over Sam’s face.
The man is holding his slit wrist over her baby’s mouth, and there’s a steady drip, drip, drip of blood going straight between Sam’s tiny pink lips.
Mary screams, reaching for her gun, for her knife, for anything. She’s in her nightgown and her hands are empty, her mind a roaring blank.
The man turns at the sound of her scream and his eyes are as yellow as Mary knew they’d be, and the only thing she can think is “this is it, this is the moment, it’s finally here.”
He motions at her and suddenly there’s a deep gash along her stomach, not deep enough to be fatal but definitely serious. Another gesture and gravity inverts; she’s being dragged up the wall and onto the ceiling and she can’t stop screaming for John.
Yellow Eyes laughs and Mary’s going to kill him the second she gets herself off the ceiling. She shakes her arm, willing her bracelet to fall lower on her wrist where she can reach it. Almost... almost... there. It’s barely anything, but maybe if she can hold him off, she can -
He’s turning back to Sam, and then John is bursting into the room and Mary realizes he can’t see the demon. Yellow Eyes grins up at her and puts a finger to his lips and Mary finds she can’t scream, can’t even whimper.
John looks around, taking in the quiet room and Sam’s gurgles. He walks over to his son slowly, so slowly, as Yellow Eyes steps just out of his way.
Mary tries to scream, lungs burning, stomach wound a clean, near-blinding pain. She writhes and the blood soaks through her nightgown and starts to drip.
It drips inches from Sammy’s head and finally, finally John sees. He looks up and they stare at each other for a moment, Mary trying to break through Yellow Eyes’ grip, John frozen in terror.
He screams her name, voice hoarse with sleep or fear, screams “No,” and Mary’s eyes are burning with tears. This is it, she’s going to die and that demon is going to take her son and John will never, ever forgive her for this. He’ll know what she was and he’ll know why their son was taken and he’ll know it was all her fault.
The thought kicks her into action and she shakes her wrist again, and by some miracle the bracelet falls perfectly, the protection charm landing directly in her palm just as Yellow Eyes flicks his fingers again.
The ceiling bursts into flame around Mary as she closes her eyes and mumbles the spell. It’s a quick one, and it’s not strong enough to hurt the demon, but it is enough to free her. She falls to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs and clothes, rolling into a defensive stance.
“John, take Sam now,” Mary orders, and John stares at her. “Do it now!”
John grabs him and runs out of the room. She can hear him handing the baby to Dean and telling him to go outside as she reaches behind the dresser, deep enough that it’s out of the way of small hands and curious husbands. The shotgun may not kill the demon, but iron in the shot might hurt him some.
He’s grinning at her as she backs out of the burning room, and she unloads her weapon into him, satisfied to see the smile wiped off his face. She turns and runs, almost knocking John off his feet as he climbs the stairs three at a time.
“Let’s go,” she calls, and he yells his assent.
It’s only later, after the fire department has put out the flames and Dean is asleep in Mrs. Rosewood’s guest bedroom, that reality starts to sink in. No more home, no more safety, no more family. Not if she wants to keep them alive.
***
Part II