A/N Unforgivable wait, I'm sorry! I've got the next chapter wrote and I'll post it sometime next week when it's edited. Hopefully, speedy updates from now on. Thanks for the reviews and favourites!
"Yellow eyes, he's working on something. Lots of kids, the rumour is he puts a little of himself into them."
"Wrong time, wrong place," the demon rasped "but no crossroad demon will bring him back, he would have been our opposer."
"He would have been a threat. Now we are two steps ahead. They haven't even noticed."
"Who hasn't noticed?" The demon didn't respond, "Who hasn't?" But the demon wasn't looking at her anymore, she was staring into nothing, mumbling. "Who hasn't!" The demons mouth opened but no sound came out. Her eyes flashed black and she withered for a second before dropping to the ground. She was dead.
Mary jumped up, knife in her hand as she slowly turned. But she could see no one. She kicked the girl aside and dug up her tin. She walked back to the car, glancing behind her as she went.
She threw the car into drive and sped off, her mind running as fast as the car.
It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge.
A Part Still To Play
Mary managed to sneak in without John ever knowing she was gone. The funeral was tomorrow and her black dress hung in the corner of the room. Sinking into the bed she closed her eyes and wished she could turn off her thoughts.
But she couldn't. Dean was dead, and the demon had done something to her son, something that involved some large scale plan with more children. She bit her lip and stared at the dark ceiling. She'd told John they'd hunt the demon, but that Sammy couldn't be involved. But could she hunt this demon and get revenge without dragging their baby into it?
But Sam was already involved, he was already dragged into it. It was too late.
Whatever the demon had done it had marked them all, but most of all they'd marked Sam. There was no getting away from that.
But despite it all her resolve stayed, she was not going to involve her child in that world- not yet. One day he would have to fight, one day she would no longer be able to keep him away from the monsters and the demons, but for now he was safe.
Too little, too late a little voice called.
The morning was bright, the sun shining through the cracks in the shabby motel curtains. It was set to be a beautiful day.
Mary was already awake when John sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. She was nursing Sammy on the cracked sofa chair, staring into the distance with a pinched look upon her face. John's eyes dropped to her dress and his stomach clenched in dread.
Today was the day.
Sam was quiet the entire morning, he didn't cry nor whimper as he did every other morning, he seemed to understand the sadness of the day. The church was half empty, they didn't have many friends in the town. Just work friends and neighbours. A few parents they'd met the last few years.
A small white coffin stood at the front of the church, its lid firmly shut. They never took their eyes of it.
The funeral took what felt like hours, the man droning words that their little Dean would never understand. Not that he could hear them, not anymore.
The funeral finally ended and Mary walked forward to place a palm on the tiny coffin, leaning forward as though she was tucking him in at night, "angels are watching over you, sweetheart," she murmured into the wood.
The music came on to play them out, but instead of the organ picking up again like she had assumed- Hey jude began to play. Her hand clenched. John, oh John.
John's hand wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her away from the coffin. He lifted it with ease.
Dean was to be buried, despite her better judgment. It seemed less final than a cremation and part of her still hoped for a way to fix this entire mess.
She moved to follow John out of the church, Sammy at her hip but she was stopped by a solid hand on her wrist. She turned around, it was a woman probably the same age as her, maybe a little older. Her dark hand gripped her arm tight preventing her from pulling away as her brown eyes felt like they pierced her soul.
"Mary," she said. Her voice was almost musical.
"Who are you? Let go of me," Mary said frowning as she pulled her arm away from the strange woman.
"I'm Missouri, I'm sorry I know it isn't my place but I needed to talk to you."
"It's my sons funeral," she said blankly, irritation leaking into her voice. How dare someone interrupt this day?
"Exactly, and this isn't the way it's supposed to be," Missouri said, "there are forces at work here that I don't quite understand. But I do know that this isn't over."
"Are you threatening me?"
"No, of course not. But you need to know, that although all hope seems lost- it isn't."
"I don't need a bible speech, my child is dead," she said blankly, the words spitting out. The lady didn't seem offended and instead nodded knowingly.
"I understand, but I just needed to tell you that I can feel that he still has a part to play."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm a psychic, I see and feel things that others don't. I know what happened to your family."
"Do you know what did it?" Slipping into hunter mode quicker than she knew was possible, she started to take mental notes.
"I can only see so much, I know that it was a great evil- I can sense it on your boy," she looked to the baby at her side a little frown playing on her face, "he's affected in ways that I don't understand."
"And what about Dean?"
"I don't know anything with certainty dear, but I feel he is still needed. I have a sense that his part still needs to play out," she said with such conviction it stunned the younger lady into silence.
After a few moments Mary spoke in a voice raw with emotion, "but Dean is dead and no one will deal to bring him back."
"Be patient, I fear he is still needed."
The church was emptied and Mary suddenly remembered where she was and why. She jolted with a start, "Missouri, I'm staying at the motel just off the freeway- ill be there tonight." Missouri nodded her head and gave her a soft smile, the sort that crinkles the edges of the eyes. Mary once again pulled away from the stout women but this time Missouris soft voice gave her pause.
"I'm sorry, for your loss." The words fell down, and Mary forced herself to keep walking, to leave this lady and her ramblings for later, for now she needed to be there for her son and husband. She didn't look back, but she couldn't help but realise that her soft apology was the only one she had heard since that dreadful night that seemed honest and heartfelt. It was the first time it wasn't pity lining those often spoke words, but a truthful remorse for the loss of a life.
It wasn't till the funeral was long over and Sammy was dropping off to sleep that she recounted to John what the strange lady had told her, her voice rose in pitch as she exclaimed how this stranger believed her boy could be saved. John didn't believe her, he had given up hope on his son ever being saved and it's not that she blamed him, in normal circumstances this wouldn't be possible. But these weren't normal circumstances, and they weren't ordinary people, with all the bad and the evil in the world, with all the bad and evil she had suffered from, surely there had to be some hope.
It was late when a light knock rang upon the hollow wood of the door, the hollow thud echoed around the room and both parents glanced any each other in uneasiness. Rationally, Mary knew there was no danger, they had devil traps below the threadbare rug and salt lines drawn below the door. If Missouri was anything but a strange human guest, they would know and they would deal with it. Still, the thought of bringing danger into her son's life had her breath coming out in shirt huffs, with a bob of her head she swung open the door and allowed the woman in.
"John," Missouri murmured, holding out her hand with a smile, "pleasure to meet you."
"You too, ma'am," she chuckled at how he almost stood to attention to grasp her hand.
"Military?" She asked in a light tinkle, her smile was large now as she regarded John with admiration, he nodded looking bewildered. "I am a psycic, John." Mary rolled her eyes from where she stood in the doorway, it was obvious to anyone who saw her husband that he was a former marine, it was his manner, his speech that gave it away. Not any psycic ability.
"I do not appreciate it when people roll their eyes at me, it's mighty rude," Missouri said in displeasure without turning from John, Mary didn't jump but her eyes narrowed.
John felt the tension in the room and he gestured to the only chair in the room, "do sit, please." It was false politeness and a wish to find answers and even a wendigo would be able to see that John's manners only came from a need to answers. However, this strange lady didn't seem to care whether these manners were real or orchestrated.
"I shall get straight to it, my dears," Mary shut the door and sat at the edge of the bed, John remained standing, placing himself between the lady and her. Whether this was a concious urge to protect her or an uncertainty of where to sit, she did not know. "I'm a psychic, I explained this to your wife earlier today- I get some premonitions but mostly feelings. I have followed the news of what happened to your family and the whole time I've had this awful feeling, when I saw you today it only cemented it."
John and Mary traded glances, their hope was pinned to this women, and she seemed more than slightly off her rocker.
"Whatever happened that night was fortold, it was supposed to happen- fate," John looked ready to interrupt but she held a palm up to silence him. "At least, until the moment where your boy was killed. I don't know anything else but that it was not in the grand design for that child to die, he was and is needed for a duty much greater, I can sense that."
"I don't understand," John said, rubbing the side of his head and pacing slowly.
"Some people are handed a role in life, a destiny to fulfil. A destiny in which all roads lead to the same destination. Both your children have a destiny, they have a path to follow. The fact that your eldest is no longer here changes nothing- he still has a role to play."
"My son is dead," John said angrily, "we buried him not 12 hours ago."
"I know, and I understand. But what I'm saying is, in order for Sam's destiny to play out, Dean must be alive. So it isn't over, it can't be over."
She looked imploringly between the two of them until John moved, disturbing the stillness of the room, "get out," he said lowly, his voice echoing mencingly across the small room, "get out," he yelled pulling the stout lady to her feet none to gently.
"John, Mr Winchester-" but whatever she was going to say was lost as John spoke again, his face twisted in contempt.
"No, I've listened to you and now you need to listen to me. Our son is dead, I almost lost Mary and Sam and now you are talking bullshit about how our son is still alive or will be alive. I'm not having it, it isn't fair to Mary for you to be giving us this false hope. Our child is dead, he's six feet under and there is no way we are getting him back. But you, with your lies and your hope are no worse than the monster that murdered him. I don't want you to ever come near us again, go." He held the door open for her and she looked up at him, she wasn't surprised or upset, just sad. She patted him knowingly on the arm as she left, gave a nod to Mary. From her expression Mary would almost guess she had always known this was going to be the outcome. The door clanged shut and Sammy cried from where they'd hidden him in the bathroom.
"Mary, that's it now," John said heatedly, "no more."
"No, Dean is dead and I want to believe we can bring him back, but we can't. We just can't. What is best for us, what is best for Sammy is to just let it go. Mary, we've got to accept that he's gone. He's gone and he ain't coming back."
The arguments she had died when she saw the complete devastation and exhaustion. They had two choices, she realised with clarity. Make everything about their dead son while they searched for a way to bring him back or make everything about the family they'd got left.
Dean was gone. Sam was not.
The sooner she and John accepted that, the sooner they could move on.
"But if we find the son of a bitch that killed him-"
"When we find the bastard, we will make him pay."
Grim determination, revenge they said, was a dish best served cold
A/N Phew! The feels, right? Poor Missouri, she didn't really have a chance getting through to them. Hope you liked it! Next chapter skips forward a few years and may include some hunter buddies! Tell me what you thought!