Mary Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
momchester) wrote2015-11-13 11:44 pm
momchester) wrote2015-11-13 11:44 pm
Entry tags:
MoM memory: the demon deal
You're in a car. He just bought it today- the boy next to you, the young man who you love with all your heart. He's already hinted about why he brought you out here, to your spot.
John, you say, trying to stop him. He doesn't know yet, how can he- without knowing you? You try to warn him- There are things you don't know about me.
He asks you to let him get through this. His eyes are so innocent- so sweet. Others might disagree, they might see a Vietnam veteran who's seen too much. You see only the civilian and the naivete. He asks you to let him speak then pulls out a ring. Those last words make your heart swell. I will always love you for exactly who you are. You look at him, love and gratitude rising in your chest, stretching the moment out into eternity as you lean in for a kiss. How were you ever lucky enough to land someone like John Winchester?
Then something horrible happens. A voice, the car door wrenched open, it's Dad. He's yelling, he hauls you out of the car roughly, grip too tight on your arms. John is yelling and you shout that he's hurting you, but Dad isn't listening.
"Ow! Dad! You're hurting me!" you shout, but he isn't listening. John rushes to your defense - sweet, gallant John - and tries to pull you away, tells your dad to take it easy.
Your father snaps his neck.
The moment goes by in slow motion. John sinks to the ground and you scream, you rush to him but it's too late, he's gone. He's gone. You're on your knees, cradling his body like a Pietà , tears prickling at your eyes already. You look up at your father, and see yellow eyes. The demon. "You killed him."
"Oh, not just John, sweetie-pie." The answer is too smooth, too smarmy to be real. "Mommy and Daddy too."
The thing wearing your father unzips his jacket to show a massive, dark bloodstain in his stomach. There's no coming back from that. Your parents are dead.
"No..." No. No, please. You could live without John, maybe, but- all of them? Everyone?
"Yup, afraid so. You're little orphan Mary now."
"You son of a bitch!" you snarl.
"Oh, sticks and stones may break my bones, and they won't bring your family back either," the demon sneers. It's too much- it's your father's face, your father's sneer. Your father's voice, dripping and unctuous and alien, and your father's mouth twisted into cruelty.
"I'll kill you, I swear to God."
"Oh," it whispers in a suggestive tone that, coming from your dad's mouth, makes your stomach lurch. "Let's not get nasty." The demon sits down next to you on the ground. It's all you can do to ignore it- but when you look down at John's face, at his empty, staring eyes, it's really quite easy. Too easy to lose yourself in his sweet face and sink into your misery.
It starts talking. It's the tone your dad used to use when he was trying to make up with Mom after a fight, or when interviewing a witness on a hunt. A familiar tone, belonging to a man who will never speak again. The demon, however, is talking. "Now look, we both said some things that we regret. Let's, um... kiss and make up." You ignore him and cry harder, the reality of the situation starting to sink in. "I'll tell you what, I'll arrange to have lover boy here brought back breathing."
You look up a little, not yet looking back at the thing behind you. Your voice comes out wavering, trembling like a little girl. "My parents too?"
"Nope," the demon says casually. Your heart sinks. "Sorry doll, that's not on the table. But, think about it, you could be done with hunting forever. The white picket fence, station wagon, couple of kids, no more monsters or fear. I'll make sure of it."
It almost sounds wonderful, but you know the score. The tears and anguish sour momentarily into hate. "What? And all it costs is my soul?"
"Oh, no, you can keep your soul, I just need permission."
"For what?" you ask carefully. This is- this is unheard of. Nobody gets a deal without losing their soul. Nobody. And if...
"Mmm," it says, so casually that it immediately makes you suspicious. "In ten years I need to swing by your house for a little something, that's all."
"For what?!" you snap ferociously. Children, souls, firstborn, limbs, organs. Something. It's always something.
"Relax. As long as I'm not interrupted, nobody gets hurt, I promise." He lets it sink in. You can't stomach the thought of it. Making a deal with a demon- no. No. "Or you can spend the rest of your life, desperate and alone."
You're sobbing now. You know he's right. Without your parents or your love, you have no family- not in the past, and not in the future. A tree without roots. A lone wolf starving in the cold. You look down at John's broken body and sob, the weight of all your years alone closing in around you.
The thing wearing your dead father's face leans in closer, murmuring uncomfortably. "Mary? It's a good deal. So what do you say?"
You turn your head and meet his eyes. You know the answer to this. Every instinct you've ever had, every ounce of training, every piece of hunter knowledge you've ever heard is SCREAMING for you to run away. To recite one of those exorcisms- that you never got around to memorizing. To run, to leave, to say no. No good comes from dealing with demons, and you know it.
You look into his eyes- your dad. Your dad, who taught you to hold a shotgun. Who bought you your first bicycle. Who taught you to read by putting you on his knee while poring over lore. Your father who didn't quite understand you but loved you with all his heart. You look into your dad's eyes, now empty of anything that ever made him human, now meatsuit to a demon who destroyed everything you had. The thought of your entire life alone yawns before you like a screaming chasm, and something deep inside you snaps.
"Yes," you whisper brokenly.
The demon smiles and leans in. You screw your eyes shut and try not to gag when he kisses you, your father's stubble scraping your chin. You move to break the kiss but the thing grabs your sleeve, uses tongue, and you almost puke before hearing a noise that draws both your attention.
It's Dean. Dean draws the Colt and lunges.
The demon smokes out of your dad's crumpled body before he can.
That hunter from before, the one who seemed to know everything. He's leaning out of his car staring at you in shock, the one witness to your sin. Soaked in tears and drowning in uncertainty, all you can do is stare at him, desperate and ashamed.
Then John surges to life with an agonized gasp, and "misery and self-doubt" churns into grief, self-loathing, and dizzying, eye-popping relief.
"Mary?" he asks, looking disoriented and pained. You bend over him, smoothing hands over his hair, eyes lighting in joy as you kiss him. He sits up, sees your dad's body. You look at it together, his confusion mingling with your pain, before you bury your face into his chest and cry.
If you murmur his name enough times and tell him yes enough times, it almost feels like you did the right thing.
John, you say, trying to stop him. He doesn't know yet, how can he- without knowing you? You try to warn him- There are things you don't know about me.
He asks you to let him get through this. His eyes are so innocent- so sweet. Others might disagree, they might see a Vietnam veteran who's seen too much. You see only the civilian and the naivete. He asks you to let him speak then pulls out a ring. Those last words make your heart swell. I will always love you for exactly who you are. You look at him, love and gratitude rising in your chest, stretching the moment out into eternity as you lean in for a kiss. How were you ever lucky enough to land someone like John Winchester?
Then something horrible happens. A voice, the car door wrenched open, it's Dad. He's yelling, he hauls you out of the car roughly, grip too tight on your arms. John is yelling and you shout that he's hurting you, but Dad isn't listening.
"Ow! Dad! You're hurting me!" you shout, but he isn't listening. John rushes to your defense - sweet, gallant John - and tries to pull you away, tells your dad to take it easy.
Your father snaps his neck.
The moment goes by in slow motion. John sinks to the ground and you scream, you rush to him but it's too late, he's gone. He's gone. You're on your knees, cradling his body like a Pietà , tears prickling at your eyes already. You look up at your father, and see yellow eyes. The demon. "You killed him."
"Oh, not just John, sweetie-pie." The answer is too smooth, too smarmy to be real. "Mommy and Daddy too."
The thing wearing your father unzips his jacket to show a massive, dark bloodstain in his stomach. There's no coming back from that. Your parents are dead.
"No..." No. No, please. You could live without John, maybe, but- all of them? Everyone?
"Yup, afraid so. You're little orphan Mary now."
"You son of a bitch!" you snarl.
"Oh, sticks and stones may break my bones, and they won't bring your family back either," the demon sneers. It's too much- it's your father's face, your father's sneer. Your father's voice, dripping and unctuous and alien, and your father's mouth twisted into cruelty.
"I'll kill you, I swear to God."
"Oh," it whispers in a suggestive tone that, coming from your dad's mouth, makes your stomach lurch. "Let's not get nasty." The demon sits down next to you on the ground. It's all you can do to ignore it- but when you look down at John's face, at his empty, staring eyes, it's really quite easy. Too easy to lose yourself in his sweet face and sink into your misery.
It starts talking. It's the tone your dad used to use when he was trying to make up with Mom after a fight, or when interviewing a witness on a hunt. A familiar tone, belonging to a man who will never speak again. The demon, however, is talking. "Now look, we both said some things that we regret. Let's, um... kiss and make up." You ignore him and cry harder, the reality of the situation starting to sink in. "I'll tell you what, I'll arrange to have lover boy here brought back breathing."
You look up a little, not yet looking back at the thing behind you. Your voice comes out wavering, trembling like a little girl. "My parents too?"
"Nope," the demon says casually. Your heart sinks. "Sorry doll, that's not on the table. But, think about it, you could be done with hunting forever. The white picket fence, station wagon, couple of kids, no more monsters or fear. I'll make sure of it."
It almost sounds wonderful, but you know the score. The tears and anguish sour momentarily into hate. "What? And all it costs is my soul?"
"Oh, no, you can keep your soul, I just need permission."
"For what?" you ask carefully. This is- this is unheard of. Nobody gets a deal without losing their soul. Nobody. And if...
"Mmm," it says, so casually that it immediately makes you suspicious. "In ten years I need to swing by your house for a little something, that's all."
"For what?!" you snap ferociously. Children, souls, firstborn, limbs, organs. Something. It's always something.
"Relax. As long as I'm not interrupted, nobody gets hurt, I promise." He lets it sink in. You can't stomach the thought of it. Making a deal with a demon- no. No. "Or you can spend the rest of your life, desperate and alone."
You're sobbing now. You know he's right. Without your parents or your love, you have no family- not in the past, and not in the future. A tree without roots. A lone wolf starving in the cold. You look down at John's broken body and sob, the weight of all your years alone closing in around you.
The thing wearing your dead father's face leans in closer, murmuring uncomfortably. "Mary? It's a good deal. So what do you say?"
You turn your head and meet his eyes. You know the answer to this. Every instinct you've ever had, every ounce of training, every piece of hunter knowledge you've ever heard is SCREAMING for you to run away. To recite one of those exorcisms- that you never got around to memorizing. To run, to leave, to say no. No good comes from dealing with demons, and you know it.
You look into his eyes- your dad. Your dad, who taught you to hold a shotgun. Who bought you your first bicycle. Who taught you to read by putting you on his knee while poring over lore. Your father who didn't quite understand you but loved you with all his heart. You look into your dad's eyes, now empty of anything that ever made him human, now meatsuit to a demon who destroyed everything you had. The thought of your entire life alone yawns before you like a screaming chasm, and something deep inside you snaps.
"Yes," you whisper brokenly.
The demon smiles and leans in. You screw your eyes shut and try not to gag when he kisses you, your father's stubble scraping your chin. You move to break the kiss but the thing grabs your sleeve, uses tongue, and you almost puke before hearing a noise that draws both your attention.
It's Dean. Dean draws the Colt and lunges.
The demon smokes out of your dad's crumpled body before he can.
That hunter from before, the one who seemed to know everything. He's leaning out of his car staring at you in shock, the one witness to your sin. Soaked in tears and drowning in uncertainty, all you can do is stare at him, desperate and ashamed.
Then John surges to life with an agonized gasp, and "misery and self-doubt" churns into grief, self-loathing, and dizzying, eye-popping relief.
"Mary?" he asks, looking disoriented and pained. You bend over him, smoothing hands over his hair, eyes lighting in joy as you kiss him. He sits up, sees your dad's body. You look at it together, his confusion mingling with your pain, before you bury your face into his chest and cry.
If you murmur his name enough times and tell him yes enough times, it almost feels like you did the right thing.