Chapter Text
The house is wrapped in moonlight, cold air swept across the walls. Porch lights on and a second story window illuminated with a yellow light. The shadow of a bare tree, stripped by winter, covered the house. With the gentle breeze, it almost looked like the shadows of the limbs were curling their way around the house, reaching for the illuminated window.
“C’mon, honey, let’s say goodnight to your brother.” Mary whispered, her son’s hands uncurled themselves from her nightdress as she set him down. “He’s almost asleep so be gentle.”
Dean barely registered her words as he ran to his baby brother's crib. Bleary eyes looked up at him, just on the edge of sleep. “Goodnight, Sam.” Just like his mother did for him, he leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on his brother's forehead. Sam cooed up at him, his shoulder twitching under the blanket to reach up at him.
“Goodnight, love.” Mary followed next, cradling Sam’s head. “Beautiful boy.”
Heavy footsteps entered the doorway, “Hey, Dean.”
“Dad!” Dean whipped around and jumped into his fathers arms.
Mary cringed at the volume, quick to subdue Sam before he woke up fully. She noted that John didn’t say hello to her. This birth had been difficult for the both of them, medical bills racked up due to complications. John had to pick up longer shifts to compensate. He’d managed to change while she and Dean were saying goodnight but she could still see the grime on his hands. Maybe she could convince him to shower before he ended up passed out on the couch.
“What do you think, buddy? You think Sammy’s ready to toss around a football, yet?” John asked.
Dean scrunched up his face, “Nooo, daddy!”
Mary knew they were struggling right now but she couldn’t deny that pure look of love. John held Dean like he was precious, his eyes were filled to the brim with care. She knew they’d get through this. She should leave before she tears up.
“You got him?” Mary gave a quick rub to Dean’s back, her fingers grazing over her husband’s. His gaze broke from Dean and he looked at her and she could see it. They’d be alright.
“I got him.” John said. When she pulled her hand back, she missed the warmth. “Sweet dreams, Sam.”
The lights dim. The moon peeked through sheer white curtains and lit the room, aided by its electronic mimic with yellow light. Sam is awake now but he’s quiet, examining the world around him. The baby mobile whirred to life, spinning around soothingly. The wind outside almost whispered it, sleep. Sam is stubborn. The clock ticking above his bed ticked and ticked and stopped. The little plane sliding back and forth on top of the clock stopped completely.
The moon night light on the wall behind Sam’s head flickered before finally dying out, drenching the room further into darkness. Sam’s plushies, hanging high on the wall for display are now but shape shifting shadows casted around the room.
Mary awoke to static, when she opened her eyes and let the world settle in again, she could make out the cries coming from the baby monitor.
“John?” The bed felt cold behind her, she turned back to see he wasn’t there. She flipped around and crawled out of bed. John must’ve heard Sam crying and went to tend to him. If he’s still crying he’s probably hungry.
Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark but she could have sworn the shadows were longer than they should be. And her nose scrunched at an unfamiliar smell, she didn’t think it was anything too weird. She’d gagged at garlic and lavender and all sorts of other things all throughout her pregnancy, her doctor said she might still react weirdly to certain smells for a while.
John’s shadow cast over the room. It almost looked like he was wearing his coat, which was weird, but she assumed it was his robe. “John, is he hungry?”
“Shhh.” He said, barely turning his head to look at her.
She raised an eyebrow, almost keen to call him out on shushing her but she guessed she couldn’t complain if he was taking the initiative and checking on Sam while she slept. It was appreciated.
“Okay.”
A light down the hall flickered, as she turned to stumble back to the bedroom keen to let sleep take her. Her eyes automatically squinted at the light, trying to adjust to the changes. The electricity was loud enough to alert her. She padded down the hall, examining the light. She tried not to pay too much attention to the wedding photo below it, the flickering light and the sleepiness in her eyes making the shapes twist and turn.
After a few taps to the light, it returned to normal. She was almost ready to turn down the hallway and go to bed. Until she heard the TV.
Strange. John must’ve left it on, then. She almost audibly sighed. She’ll turn it off real quick and then head to bed, hopefully with John right beside her.
She headed down the stairs. Her footsteps were light against the steps. She noted Dean’s baseball bat sitting in the corner of the landing, she’ll have Dean put that where it belongs in the morning. Just before the last step, she turned to peek into the living room. John was snoring in the recliner, a beer bottle hanging loosely in his hand.
“Oh my God.” She gasped, horrified. She pushed off the railing and up the stairs. Someone was in her baby’s nursery.
Her hand reached out for the bat before heading up the second flight of stairs. She should have grabbed John but she couldn’t risk leaving this man alone with her child for a second longer. A familiar fear bubbled inside her, some memory trying to burst its way forward but she couldn’t remember. It was buried too deep and her brain was too occupied to think of it.
She burst into her son's nursery, bat held in the air. The man turned around and she was met with familiar yellow eyes.
John awoke to screams. Mary. He launched out of the recliner, his gait slightly off from the buzz. His feet fumbled over the steps, almost tripping at the landing. God fucking damnit, he drank too much, what was he thinking? He’s meant to protect his family and now he’s stumbling around the house like an idiot. It doesn’t matter what issues he’s having with Mary, she’s still his wife. What if she isn’t okay and the last memory she has of him is him almost completely ignoring her?
He swung open the door to the nursery, following the sounds of the screams. He almost fell into the room. It was empty. Aside from Sam. He swore he heard the sound from in here. He stepped in to take a closer look, just to make sure Sam was alright before he checked the bedroom. He only heard the scream once and he hasn’t heard anything since, Mary might have had a nightmare. Hell, it could have been Dean, though he doesn’t think Dean yells that girly.
A dark spot is on Sam’s forehead, right where Mary would kiss him goodnight. But it isn’t lipstick or a smudge, it's dark and circular like a droplet of water. He pushed down the wall of the crib and reached in, his thumb wiping at the droplet.
He pulled it away and examined it. Even in the dim moonlight he could see that it was red. He smudged it again, is Sammy bleeding? The drop of blood gave way and revealed smooth skin underneath. What the hell?
A drop landed on his hand. Dread set heavy on his chest. Another drop, then another. He looked up.
Oh my God. Floating against the ceiling was his Mary, her face pale and blood soaked through her nightgown. “Mary!” For a brief moment, it reminded him of what she looked like when she went into labor. Somehow it added to the horror.
Her mouth opened and her throat constricted, trying to speak, trying to breathe but nothing came out. He was knocked to the floor in horror. Was this real? This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be his Mary.
The ceiling burst into flames and it felt too real to ignore, heat licked at his body. “Oh, God! No, Mary, Mary! ” When he registered the cries from his infant, he knew he couldn’t stay here. If this was real, he needed to get his kids out, now.
“Daddy! Mommy!” Dean cried, running down the hallway. “Dad!”
He picked up Sam and pushed him in his brother's arms, “Get outside as fast as you can. Do not look back. Go! Now, Dean, now!”
He couldn’t leave Mary here. He had to try. She couldn’t be dead. This couldn’t be real. He’d turn around and she’d grab his hand—he could still feel the warmth of her hand running across his, maybe it was just from the fire—they’d run out of the house together. She’d be okay. They’d be okay.
“Mary!” Flames consumed the room, the ceiling bowed as it weakened and Mary’s body disappeared behind the flames. “No, no!”
His robe did nothing to protect him from the fire as it lept towards him, keen to take him out with the whole nursery. He had to leave. Sam and Dean needed him.
He raced down the stairs and out of the house, where Dean stood looking up at the nursery window. “Its okay, Sammy.” He heard him say, he wished it was true.
John grabbed them both up and sprinted onto the street. The window exploded with glass and fire, shattering all over the lawn right where Dean and Sam had just been standing.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his neighbors lights turning on at the sound. A couple next door opened their door at the sight of them, the man, Jerry, ran out of the house.
“John! John! Are yall okay?” He jogged to a stop. He looked at the three of them in their pajamas. Missing a vital family member. “Where is Mary?”
John shook his head, he couldn’t say it out loud. Jerry looked back at the house.
“Don’t.” He said, already knowing what he was thinking. “It’s no use.”
Jerry didn’t look too sure, like he’d inhaled too much smoke from the fire to be trusted. “Shelly’s calling the fire department. How about y'all come inside?” His tone was gentle and John wanted to snap at him but Dean was trembling in his arms.
John shook his head. He couldn’t walk another step and he certainly wasn’t letting go of his kids. He planted his ass on the hood of his car. “They’ll be here soon. I can wait.”
Jerry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Alright.” He sat down beside him, “I can wait too.”
He resisted the urge to tell him to fuck off. Shelly and Jerry weren’t his friends, they were Mary’s.
“Daddy, my arms are tired.” Dean said, lifting one of his hands off of Sam to wipe at his eyes. Dean was too young to really understand what was going on. How would he ever truly explain this to him? That his mother was gone? That their family would never be the same again?
“Okay, buddy.” John set Dean down next to him and plucked Sam from his arms. He held him in one hand as he removed his robe. He draped it over Dean’s shoulders, the winter air nipped at his skin. He didn’t care but Dean had started shivering as soon as he set him down. Maybe he should have taken that offer.
A firetruck raced down the street, blaring loudly. Dean’s hand gripped his tighter and instead of squealing in excitement at the firetruck, he just leaned closer to him and whispered. “Daddy. You said, you said firemen save people. Are they gonna save mommy?”
John couldn’t reply. John couldn’t breathe. They were supposed to be okay, they were supposed to get better. This was a bump in the road, a rock of the boat, they were supposed to get through it. Damnit, Mary, we were supposed to get through it.
The neighborhood woke up, houses turned on their porch lights and couples stumbled from their beds and onto the streets. Something was wrong and they all wanted to see what happened. His Mary turned into a spectacle.
The ambulance followed directly after the firetruck, pulling up next to the house.
“Over here!” Jerry yelled, waving.
“Keep it down.” John scolded, rocking Sam in his arms.
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Jerry said, blinking. He opened his mouth to say something else but John really wasn’t interested.
“Can you give us some space with the paramedics?” He asked, though he didn’t say it like a question. Jerry responded, saying something John didn’t care to listen to. His wife was dead.
The rest of the night passed in a blur, at every turn he was reminded of one simple fact. His wife was dead. Dean and Sam were cleared by the paramedics. His wife was dead. They managed to salvage the rest of the house. His wife was dead. The nursery smelled like rotten eggs. His wife was dead. The fire burned too hot. His wife was dead. The cause of the fire was currently unknown, the firefighters being unable to figure out how it started. His wife was dead and someone— something— killed her.