[fic] Too Much of Mary
Series: Supernatural
Title: Too Much of Mary
Genre: Angst
Rating: T
Warnings: Some major spoilers for the series. John tries but is still a fail father. headcanon
Summary: John's introspection on his eldest.
Mary called their eldest boy her little angel. Sung him Hey Jude instead of nursery rhymes, and never sent him to bed without saying she loved him. She promised him he'd be safe because angels were watching over him.
Dean sang Sam Hey Jude instead of nursery rhymes, and always made sure to tell him goodnight - even when they were sharing a single room at a ratty motel. He told him he'd be safe because he was watching over him.
John saw too much of Mary in Dean, and sometimes it was painful.
Everyone told him Mary would raise a fuss when he decided to move them to Lawrence. You don't just drop that in a spouse's lap and not get an argument, they said. But Mary's only question was how long they had to pack. She hummed and sang while placing their things in boxes. When he finally asked her why she wasn't upset, she squeezed his arm and told him, "We're together, that's what matters."
Everyone warned them Dean would raise a fuss when Sammy was born. Eldest children always do, they said. Too used to all the attention to accept right away that they had to share it. But Dean didn't fuss at all. From the first day they brought Sam home, Dean announced his intentions to be the best big brother ever. He never complained, never competed for attention. Later, older, he'd never raise a single complaint when he told them it was time to move again. Sam would fuss, and drag his feet, and complain. Then Dean would squeeze his brother's arm or shoulder and say, "We're together, that's all that matters."
John saw too much of Mary in Dean, and it worried him.
Mary when he'd first met her was charming and flirtatious. She was also sarcastic and rebellious - never afraid to bend the rules. She had a thousand smiles that ranged from sweet to wicked, but only a handful ever reached her eyes. The few times he caught her when she was serious, those eyes seemed too old - too haunted - for Mary's own good. He could practically count on one hand the times he'd seen her cry.
Dean, even as a child, was charming. (Flirtatious would come later, when he was older, and he saw that parallel, too.) He had his mother's thousand smiles, but almost none reached his eyes. His eyes were too old; too haunted for a mere boy. Unlike with Mary, he at least knew the reasons why. Before Fitchburg, before the Shtriga, Dean was a little rebellious - he'd roll his eyes if he repeated an order more than twice, he'd look grumpy over having to stay inside. He was sarcastic to others - Sam; other adults - but not to him. He almost never saw Dean cry.
It was Sam's nursery that had burned, but in his nightmares it was always his eldest that shared his wife's fate. John saw too much of Mary in Dean, and he had to change that.
Mary after the night they were going to run away - after her parents were both killed - was never quite the same. He always wished his memory of that night wasn't so hazy. She was still the woman he loved more than anything, but she was never quite as wild, never quite as willing to talk back to him. She was as fierce as a lioness when it came to protecting her family, but she was also less independent, more clingy - especially the final year. The two of them argued a lot about it during that time - the worst fight only mere days before that fateful night the demon came.
Dean after the Shtriga was never rebellious, he never talked back to him about a move or a job. Not even in his teens. The only exceptions involved Sam. He never out right argued, but if Sam wanted something, Dean would bend the rules. The few times he protested any decision was for Sam. He was fiercely protective of them both, and always willing to take a hit, strike, or bite in his or Sam's stead. There was a lack of independence, though. and at times he'd thought, but never said aloud, that his oldest boy was clingy.
There was too much of Mary in Dean. At times that made his words harsher than he meant. It made him push him harder than he did Sam. But it was painful to see, and it could only lead the son to the same fate as the mother, and he had to change that.
Dean's different when they come together again. Sam is saying "Yes, sir.", it's Dean that's saying, "Fuck you." He's not actually saying it, but he can hear it loud and clear anyhow. In the rebellious twist of his mouth and the flash of his eyes. Dean still has his mother's eyes - able to say a million things or slam shut like a fortress and say nothing at all.
Later, in the hospital, he doesn't have the time - or the words - for a lifetime worth of apologies. For how he tried to change Dean because his wife's ghost was all he saw when he didn't see a soldier. He's too late to make it right, and he can only make it more wrong by his last request. He makes it anyway.
And there's too much of Mary looking back from Dean's confused eyes, but for the first time since her death, he's alright with that. Far too late, he sees how long that very thing has been what kept him afloat. He didn't keep them together, that was all Dean. Too Much of Mary in Dean keeping him and Sam from going wrong and that's Sam's best shot now, too. And his apology can't make up for what he's put Dean through, how desperately he tried to make Dean into Not-Mary. How much stronger his eldest would be if he'd allowed him to embrace that Too Much of Mary part of him instead of trying to destroy it. He can only hope that with him out of the way time will heal the wounds he's caused. Let Dean understand who he really is without him around to interfere.
There's too much of Mary in Dean, but that's his greatest strength. And John hates himself more than words can say for not seeing that sooner.
Title: Too Much of Mary
Genre: Angst
Rating: T
Warnings: Some major spoilers for the series. John tries but is still a fail father. headcanon
Summary: John's introspection on his eldest.
Mary called their eldest boy her little angel. Sung him Hey Jude instead of nursery rhymes, and never sent him to bed without saying she loved him. She promised him he'd be safe because angels were watching over him.
Dean sang Sam Hey Jude instead of nursery rhymes, and always made sure to tell him goodnight - even when they were sharing a single room at a ratty motel. He told him he'd be safe because he was watching over him.
John saw too much of Mary in Dean, and sometimes it was painful.
Everyone told him Mary would raise a fuss when he decided to move them to Lawrence. You don't just drop that in a spouse's lap and not get an argument, they said. But Mary's only question was how long they had to pack. She hummed and sang while placing their things in boxes. When he finally asked her why she wasn't upset, she squeezed his arm and told him, "We're together, that's what matters."
Everyone warned them Dean would raise a fuss when Sammy was born. Eldest children always do, they said. Too used to all the attention to accept right away that they had to share it. But Dean didn't fuss at all. From the first day they brought Sam home, Dean announced his intentions to be the best big brother ever. He never complained, never competed for attention. Later, older, he'd never raise a single complaint when he told them it was time to move again. Sam would fuss, and drag his feet, and complain. Then Dean would squeeze his brother's arm or shoulder and say, "We're together, that's all that matters."
John saw too much of Mary in Dean, and it worried him.
Mary when he'd first met her was charming and flirtatious. She was also sarcastic and rebellious - never afraid to bend the rules. She had a thousand smiles that ranged from sweet to wicked, but only a handful ever reached her eyes. The few times he caught her when she was serious, those eyes seemed too old - too haunted - for Mary's own good. He could practically count on one hand the times he'd seen her cry.
Dean, even as a child, was charming. (Flirtatious would come later, when he was older, and he saw that parallel, too.) He had his mother's thousand smiles, but almost none reached his eyes. His eyes were too old; too haunted for a mere boy. Unlike with Mary, he at least knew the reasons why. Before Fitchburg, before the Shtriga, Dean was a little rebellious - he'd roll his eyes if he repeated an order more than twice, he'd look grumpy over having to stay inside. He was sarcastic to others - Sam; other adults - but not to him. He almost never saw Dean cry.
It was Sam's nursery that had burned, but in his nightmares it was always his eldest that shared his wife's fate. John saw too much of Mary in Dean, and he had to change that.
Mary after the night they were going to run away - after her parents were both killed - was never quite the same. He always wished his memory of that night wasn't so hazy. She was still the woman he loved more than anything, but she was never quite as wild, never quite as willing to talk back to him. She was as fierce as a lioness when it came to protecting her family, but she was also less independent, more clingy - especially the final year. The two of them argued a lot about it during that time - the worst fight only mere days before that fateful night the demon came.
Dean after the Shtriga was never rebellious, he never talked back to him about a move or a job. Not even in his teens. The only exceptions involved Sam. He never out right argued, but if Sam wanted something, Dean would bend the rules. The few times he protested any decision was for Sam. He was fiercely protective of them both, and always willing to take a hit, strike, or bite in his or Sam's stead. There was a lack of independence, though. and at times he'd thought, but never said aloud, that his oldest boy was clingy.
There was too much of Mary in Dean. At times that made his words harsher than he meant. It made him push him harder than he did Sam. But it was painful to see, and it could only lead the son to the same fate as the mother, and he had to change that.
Dean's different when they come together again. Sam is saying "Yes, sir.", it's Dean that's saying, "Fuck you." He's not actually saying it, but he can hear it loud and clear anyhow. In the rebellious twist of his mouth and the flash of his eyes. Dean still has his mother's eyes - able to say a million things or slam shut like a fortress and say nothing at all.
Later, in the hospital, he doesn't have the time - or the words - for a lifetime worth of apologies. For how he tried to change Dean because his wife's ghost was all he saw when he didn't see a soldier. He's too late to make it right, and he can only make it more wrong by his last request. He makes it anyway.
And there's too much of Mary looking back from Dean's confused eyes, but for the first time since her death, he's alright with that. Far too late, he sees how long that very thing has been what kept him afloat. He didn't keep them together, that was all Dean. Too Much of Mary in Dean keeping him and Sam from going wrong and that's Sam's best shot now, too. And his apology can't make up for what he's put Dean through, how desperately he tried to make Dean into Not-Mary. How much stronger his eldest would be if he'd allowed him to embrace that Too Much of Mary part of him instead of trying to destroy it. He can only hope that with him out of the way time will heal the wounds he's caused. Let Dean understand who he really is without him around to interfere.
There's too much of Mary in Dean, but that's his greatest strength. And John hates himself more than words can say for not seeing that sooner.