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SPN Fic: Because She Knows (1/1)
Title: Because She Knows
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
legoline
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Warnings/Notes: PG-13 for angst just to be on the safe side. Gen fic. No spoilers - unless you haven't seen the first three minutes of the pilot. 1,056 words.
Summary: "I want Mary back.". John's wish is granted. But sometimes you can't go back to the way things used to be.
A/N: I really don't know where this came from, the idea hit me while I was in the shower and it wouldn't leave me be so I wrote it down. Much thanks totransgenic_girl for the beta.
Disclaimer: None of the characters and places are mine.
Feedback: Is Love.
Because She Knows
by Steffi
When Sam’s defeated the Demon, a small light appears, so tiny Sam thinks it’s a firefly at first, but either it’s coming nearer or getting bigger rapidly or it does both, because a few seconds later there’s a girl standing in the room, facing him. Blond ringlets reach down to her waist, she’s wearing a white cantilevered dress unlike any other piece of clothing Sam’s ever seen. It appears to be made of – is it fairy dust? The girl’s eyes are deep blue and endless, timeless. Her voice, when she speaks, sounds like a thousand Christmas chimes.
“You have done well, Samuel Winchester,” she says. “The Demon has threatened us for a very long time, and we were unable to defeat him. You have our eternal gratitude.”
“Thanks.” Sam says, shifting uncomfortably. The girl – angel – creature – being? smiles.
“Therefore we have decided as a sign of our gratitude, you shall have back one of the innocent victims the Demon claimed. And that way we will make the fight worth while for you.”
Sam’s face puckers to a frown, “Come again?” he asks.
“It means, you shall have Jessica back, or your mother, or any other loved one of yours the Demon killed.”
Jess, is Sam’s first thought, then he turns his head, and he sees Dean lying on the floor, pale and in a puddle of blood, coughing, his Dad next to him unconscious, and he doesn’t even need to reconsider his choice, “My mother.” he whispers.
***
To say it’s weird to have Mom back would be the understatement of the century. And sometimes, just sometimes Sam asks himself what the hell he was thinking when he accepted that girl’s or whatever she was offer. Fact is, he hadn’t thought at all.
His father’s words echo in Sam’s head, I want Mary back. He smirks at the memory. Be careful what you wish for.
Sam’s back at Stanford, like he promised to himself, but he comes home once a month to the new house his Dad bought two weeks after he got out of hospital. To have it ready for Dean, who followed them home two weeks later. And although or maybe because Sam only sees his family every four weeks he sees clearly that things are far from being normal, and okay.
His mother – he can’t bring himself to address the woman strange to him as ‘mom’, and so he avoids addressing her at all – stands out, like she doesn’t belong. She wanders through the house like a restless spirit, and she does chores and cooks dinner, but Sam can’t really say whether she’s happy to be back or not. Sometimes it seems being here, with her family, hurts her.
Like when it’s Saturday evening and instead of hanging out with friends Dean packs his bag, fills it with rifles and knives and sets out for yet another hunt. While their Dad has stopped hunting at least, now that his crusade is over, Dean continues, because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. And because he feels like he needs to save everyone else, everyone but himself. So he keeps hunting and checking on reports, sometimes he returns home bruised and bleeding, and his mother looks at him in horror and fear, and her eyes are burning with tears she won’t allow herself to cry.
She tries to persuade Dean to try to apply for a decent job, or a university or technical college, but Dean refuses. He keeps afloat with day jobs, the little money is all that he needs.
“Don’t you miss having friends?” she asks him. “Or a normal life?”
But Dean just shrugs, “This life is what I was born into.” he says and his mother replies “That’s not true.” Her son doesn’t answer, smirks instead, then he’s off to hunt another poltergeist.
And their mother stares after him, with concern and grief, because this is never what she wanted for Dean.
Then there’s times when she tries and fails to have a conversation with Dad. Albeit he’s stopped hunting, he hasn’t changed much. His silence is deafening, he never talks much like he’s forgotten what it’s like to have a normal conversation with someone, or what’s it like to laugh until your stomach hurts. He’s grown old while she stayed young; wisps of grey –almost white – are spattered all across his brown mop of hair while her blonde hair is still unmarred.
Sometimes his Dad can’t bear to look at her, because he still loves her so much and he’s ashamed, ashamed of what he’s done to their sons, of what he’s become. He will sit at the porch, or in front of the television for hours, not really watching or realising what is happening around him, lost in thought.
And she looks at him, and she wonders what happened to the man who was eager to teach his sons baseball, not bow hunting, how and where he got lost on the way, and she wonders whether some day John will go back to what he used to be again or whether this is how things will be for the rest of their lives.
Sam’s nice to her, friendly, polite even. He tells her how much he likes her cooking, how pretty the dress looks she’s wearing. He finds himself talking to her about meaningless things, banalities. He talks to her like he would to any stranger, reservedly. He never confides into her about what’s really important to him.
Consequently Sam keeps to himself mostly when he’s home, sometimes he spends the afternoons with Dean before his brother goes off hunting. He moves through the house carefully, not to disturb anyone. Often enough he finds his mother working in the garden, weeding the beds seems to ease her mind; it’s when she appears almost carefree and happy.
Abruptly he stiffens whenever she enters his room, or is near him, and all he wants to do is leave. He knows he should be more loving and caring but he just can’t, and so he feels awkward in her presence, not knowing exactly how to behave. Because he can’t love her, not yet, maybe he never will.
And she looks at him with a hint of wistfulness in her eyes, and acceptance, because she knows.
-end-
Author:
legolineFandom: Supernatural
Rating/Warnings/Notes: PG-13 for angst just to be on the safe side. Gen fic. No spoilers - unless you haven't seen the first three minutes of the pilot. 1,056 words.
Summary: "I want Mary back.". John's wish is granted. But sometimes you can't go back to the way things used to be.
A/N: I really don't know where this came from, the idea hit me while I was in the shower and it wouldn't leave me be so I wrote it down. Much thanks to
transgenic_girl for the beta.Disclaimer: None of the characters and places are mine.
Feedback: Is Love.
by Steffi
When Sam’s defeated the Demon, a small light appears, so tiny Sam thinks it’s a firefly at first, but either it’s coming nearer or getting bigger rapidly or it does both, because a few seconds later there’s a girl standing in the room, facing him. Blond ringlets reach down to her waist, she’s wearing a white cantilevered dress unlike any other piece of clothing Sam’s ever seen. It appears to be made of – is it fairy dust? The girl’s eyes are deep blue and endless, timeless. Her voice, when she speaks, sounds like a thousand Christmas chimes.
“You have done well, Samuel Winchester,” she says. “The Demon has threatened us for a very long time, and we were unable to defeat him. You have our eternal gratitude.”
“Thanks.” Sam says, shifting uncomfortably. The girl – angel – creature – being? smiles.
“Therefore we have decided as a sign of our gratitude, you shall have back one of the innocent victims the Demon claimed. And that way we will make the fight worth while for you.”
Sam’s face puckers to a frown, “Come again?” he asks.
“It means, you shall have Jessica back, or your mother, or any other loved one of yours the Demon killed.”
Jess, is Sam’s first thought, then he turns his head, and he sees Dean lying on the floor, pale and in a puddle of blood, coughing, his Dad next to him unconscious, and he doesn’t even need to reconsider his choice, “My mother.” he whispers.
***
To say it’s weird to have Mom back would be the understatement of the century. And sometimes, just sometimes Sam asks himself what the hell he was thinking when he accepted that girl’s or whatever she was offer. Fact is, he hadn’t thought at all.
His father’s words echo in Sam’s head, I want Mary back. He smirks at the memory. Be careful what you wish for.
Sam’s back at Stanford, like he promised to himself, but he comes home once a month to the new house his Dad bought two weeks after he got out of hospital. To have it ready for Dean, who followed them home two weeks later. And although or maybe because Sam only sees his family every four weeks he sees clearly that things are far from being normal, and okay.
His mother – he can’t bring himself to address the woman strange to him as ‘mom’, and so he avoids addressing her at all – stands out, like she doesn’t belong. She wanders through the house like a restless spirit, and she does chores and cooks dinner, but Sam can’t really say whether she’s happy to be back or not. Sometimes it seems being here, with her family, hurts her.
Like when it’s Saturday evening and instead of hanging out with friends Dean packs his bag, fills it with rifles and knives and sets out for yet another hunt. While their Dad has stopped hunting at least, now that his crusade is over, Dean continues, because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. And because he feels like he needs to save everyone else, everyone but himself. So he keeps hunting and checking on reports, sometimes he returns home bruised and bleeding, and his mother looks at him in horror and fear, and her eyes are burning with tears she won’t allow herself to cry.
She tries to persuade Dean to try to apply for a decent job, or a university or technical college, but Dean refuses. He keeps afloat with day jobs, the little money is all that he needs.
“Don’t you miss having friends?” she asks him. “Or a normal life?”
But Dean just shrugs, “This life is what I was born into.” he says and his mother replies “That’s not true.” Her son doesn’t answer, smirks instead, then he’s off to hunt another poltergeist.
And their mother stares after him, with concern and grief, because this is never what she wanted for Dean.
Then there’s times when she tries and fails to have a conversation with Dad. Albeit he’s stopped hunting, he hasn’t changed much. His silence is deafening, he never talks much like he’s forgotten what it’s like to have a normal conversation with someone, or what’s it like to laugh until your stomach hurts. He’s grown old while she stayed young; wisps of grey –almost white – are spattered all across his brown mop of hair while her blonde hair is still unmarred.
Sometimes his Dad can’t bear to look at her, because he still loves her so much and he’s ashamed, ashamed of what he’s done to their sons, of what he’s become. He will sit at the porch, or in front of the television for hours, not really watching or realising what is happening around him, lost in thought.
And she looks at him, and she wonders what happened to the man who was eager to teach his sons baseball, not bow hunting, how and where he got lost on the way, and she wonders whether some day John will go back to what he used to be again or whether this is how things will be for the rest of their lives.
Sam’s nice to her, friendly, polite even. He tells her how much he likes her cooking, how pretty the dress looks she’s wearing. He finds himself talking to her about meaningless things, banalities. He talks to her like he would to any stranger, reservedly. He never confides into her about what’s really important to him.
Consequently Sam keeps to himself mostly when he’s home, sometimes he spends the afternoons with Dean before his brother goes off hunting. He moves through the house carefully, not to disturb anyone. Often enough he finds his mother working in the garden, weeding the beds seems to ease her mind; it’s when she appears almost carefree and happy.
Abruptly he stiffens whenever she enters his room, or is near him, and all he wants to do is leave. He knows he should be more loving and caring but he just can’t, and so he feels awkward in her presence, not knowing exactly how to behave. Because he can’t love her, not yet, maybe he never will.
And she looks at him with a hint of wistfulness in her eyes, and acceptance, because she knows.
-end-