Chapter Text
A wisp of air breathed across her cheek, and the faint sounds of frogs chirping in the distance met her as she opened her eyes upon a dark but beautiful garden or park. The same breeze that had caressed her cheek rustled some trees as it left the meadow she was standing in. A stream crossed the meadow and a bridge crossed it for a path marked walkers on the right, bikers to the left. So a park? She looked up, the stars were bright and there was no moon or city light to negate their beauty. An owl hooted and she looked to her right but saw only trees. A street lamp lit the far side of the meadow and she guessed that there was a street on that side. She felt so peaceful like she had slept for a week rather than hardly slept in six months with a newborn baby who refused to sleep through the night.
She pushed an errant strand of hair from her face and noticed she was in her nightgown, a white flowing thing that she loved for its comfort on cool fall nights. This is nice. She thought to herself and stepped towards the path, wondering if Journey or David Bowie were going to come walking up to her in this dream. A sharp pain in her foot and she stepped back, the stick she hadn’t noticed to step over had hurt under her foot.
Wait, it had hurt, she almost never felt pain in a dream. She pinched her arm, it hurt too and in the moonlight, she could see that it left a mark on her skin that slowly faded. She didn’t have dreams that were that realistic.
A feeling like cold water started trickling slowly up her spine. This was no dream. She was really in this park. Alone. Where was John? Dean and Sammy? Realizing her breathing was running away she took deep breaths to calm herself. How had she gotten here? Think, think! All she could do was draw a blank. What was the last thing she could remember?
John had woken her with a kiss, they had made up the night before after fighting for two weeks. He had even made breakfast while she showered and had both the boys dressed and eating before she came downstairs, they had kissed again, Dean had made yucky sounds, and John had gone to work. Then what? She took another deep breath to help her think. The boys had played, she had made a pie, the boys napped. She had worked on a quilt for Millie and had had to work hard not to eat the pie before John got home.
John had come home. She had put dinner in the oven, they had all gone for a walk, Dean had run ahead to the swings as they were coming up to the park. When they reached the park he called to them “Sammy, watch this!” then once John had turned Sammy so he faced the park Dean had flown from the swing. While he was still in the air she had known that it would not be a pretty landing and she had been right. Dean’s feet surprisingly hit first but his momentum carried him forward and into the merry-go-round. A yelp and he was lost from sight behind the playground equipment. John handed Sammy to her then ran over to Dean.
By the time she arrived at the landing spot, Dean was sitting on the merry-go-round and John had him laughing. There were few things more attractive, more sexy, than seeing John with their boys. They had gone back after that, had pie for desert, bath time and put the boys to bed. When she was about to kiss Dean good night he had asked her to kiss his freshly bruised shin better. She had smiled and kissed it better, then tucked him in with her usual “angels are watching over you,” and kissed his forehead before turning off the lights.
Sammy had gone to sleep almost as soon as she started rocking him. John had gone down to watch the game and she had gone upstairs, knowing that John would take care of Sammy if he cried, and she could sleep. She had gone to bed but she couldn’t remember anything after that. But there must have been something or else how had she ended up at this park?
She suddenly felt young and alone and afraid. Like when she was Dean’s age and her father had taken her to the store and locked her in the car when he had seen a monster around a corner, and she had sat there, locked in the car waiting for hours for her Daddy to come back. Oh, that was a terrible memory. He had come back soaked in blood, some of it his own, and had put a body in the trunk. That had been the first time she had realized that all the scary stories that her parents told, were true. But these memories didn’t help her now. John. If she could find John, she could find her little boys. Maybe he was around here too. “John?” It was a croak as if hadn’t used her voice in weeks. She tried again, “John! Help me!” this time is was louder and stronger, but there was no response. “John!” she waited a moment longer, wishing she had a weapon or protections of some sort. Think rationally, she told herself. If John were around, and he didn’t respond to his name his protection instincts would kick in if he thought her in danger. So louder and with an innocent, slightly scared voice she called “Help!”
She heard something rustle in the trees. She didn’t dare go towards the unknown rustling since whoever, or whatever it was would have concealment and she wouldn’t but she called again, “Help me!” There were more rustling and a man she had never seen before came out of the trees.
He was tall, about as tall as John, and while broad, not as barrel chested. There was something familiar about this stranger. She could not remember him, but she knew that at some point she had known him, and felt an upwelling of emotions she couldn’t explain. He was staring at her and she was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was in her bare feet, and a nightgown and nothing else. While he wasn’t staring at her chest she was self-conscious and crossed her arms. He said something softly that she just barely couldn’t make out, her name?
“What was that?” she asked. Despite the unexplainable emotions she felt, somehow she knew she could trust him. That he had her best interests at heart. And that worried her.
“Uh, Mary. Right?” Okay, this was getting weirder and weirder.
“Do I know you?”
“Uh, um, uh, yeah. We met a few years back, but I don’t think you’d remember me, at least not looking like this, though I looked like this the last time I saw you.” He realized he was rambling and shut his mouth.
“Am I supposed to understand what that means?”
“Uh, no, I suppose not.” He seemed to be getting his thoughts together. “What are you doing here?” there was genuine confusion and interest in that question.
“I’m not sure. Who are you?”
He was silent for a moment, swallowed loudly enough that she could hear it across the intervening twenty feet then said. “Dean.” In her mind she smiled, anytime she heard of anyone named Dean or Sammy she smiled in her mind, how could a mother not?
“Dean, where are we?” that seemed to take him aback a bit. He lifted his hand which seemed to have some sort of plastic box in it, he looked at it then back at her.
“I’m not sure. I, uh, didn’t come, I mean, I was brought here, without knowing where I am, or at least where this place is…” He was staring again and it was somewhat unnerving.
“Okay, well. My husband will be looking for me. I should get home.” As she turned towards the streetlamp a few hundred feet away she glimpsed his face as she turned and stopped. His face was a mask of sorrowful horror. She refused to think about what that could mean, but took a deep breath and looked back at Dean who’s face had a;ready switched to a blank mask.
“Dean, what do you know about my husband?” He was silent. “Dean,” she could hear ‘angry mom’ creeping into her voice but somehow felt it might actually help in this case. “What do you know about my husband?”
“I haven’t seen John in years. It’s just been a long time since I saw him, that's all.”
“That is not all. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Uh, it's just that the last few times we saw each other it was alternating between excited to see each other and being angry with each other.” She could tell that was true, but she could also tell that that was a partial truth. Then again, most people who knew John well tended to feel that way. She pushed her fear away to the back recesses of her mind.
“I’m going towards that street to try to figure out where we are. Any chance the people who brought you left you a car?”
He chuckled slightly at that, “No. They did not leave me a car.” He gestured towards the path leading to the far side of the meadow and walking towards her said, “Lets figure out where we are.” They walked side by side but a few feet apart from each other down the path towards the light and assumed street beyond. Something about him made her wary of their surroundings, yet trusting of him. The fact that she couldn’t remember was disturbing but not as disturbing as finding herself standing in a park in the middle of the night with no memory of how she got there. She hated to think that maybe her family’s past was catching up with her, again.
Since her wedding, she had killed two werewolves and a Norse god which had come after her when they couldn’t find her father. Fortunately, the Norse god had been when she and John had been separated and Dean visiting Millie, and the werewolves when Dean had been two. That time they had been hiking and the werewolves had caught her scent. She had placed Dean in a log and told him to hide, there were bad dogs and mommy was going to take care of them. She didn’t think he had seen anything, but he still didn’t like dogs.
This Dean was alternating between staring at her and checking their surroundings. “Where are you from Dean?” she asked.
“I was born in Kansas, but we moved around a lot, I still do.”
“Really, I’ve spent the past 15 years in Kansas. I love it here, assuming we are in Kansas.” She looked at him hard. He was probably ten years older than her, with a hint of wrinkles around the eyes, somehow she didn’t think they were from laughing. He was fit, dressed very outdoorsy, a canvas jacket over a plaid shirt and jeans, with work boots sticking out from under the jeans. Maybe he was a farmer? That would explain his lean but obvious physical strength.
“My guess is Kansas. Whenever I’m dropped someplace without knowing where I am, it’s almost always been in Kansas.”
She looked over at him sharply. “This happens to you often?” He shrugged and kept walking. What was up with this guy? She looked forward again and kept walking, trying to keep her thoughts empty. Thinking was emotionally draining. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean trip and he grabbed her arm to steady himself.
She looked down at his cold hand on her arm and instincts she thought she had left in the past took over. She grabbed his wrist and twisted, turning his arm and forcing him to the ground, his wrist in a lock. Under his now loose hand was a keychain of supernatural protections that he had touched her arm with when he ‘tripped’ and he had a blade to her throat.
Very slowly she looked from his hand up to his face. It was the strangest mixture of hope and fear she had ever seen. Again, something about him was familiar but she couldn’t place it. “You’re a hunter.” She couldn’t help that it came out like an accusation.
What surprised her and apparently him based on his face, was that his voice came out with almost as much accusation when he replied: “So were you.” Slowly he moved his knife, very slowly he placed the flat of it against her arm and looked at her. When she had no reaction to the blade he slowly moved to sheath it. She let go of his wrist.
“You worked with my father then? Is that how you know me?” She stood and watched him stand.
“I have, and some of your cousins.” There was anger hidden in that reply and she didn’t know why.
“How come I haven’t heard him talk about you?”
“I only knew him a short time. Come on.” He paused obviously about to say something else, then ended lamely with. “Mary.”
They had only walked a few paces side by side when he stopped. “Hang on a second.” He didn’t turn towards her but clasped his hands in front of him and called out, “Cas, my phone is dead. I’m alive, and could really use some advice right now. So pop on over here.” He stood there waiting and nothing happened.
She was about to say something when he spoke again, a little louder. “HEY, CASTIEL, I need a little help here. Talk to me!” again they stood in silence. After a minute he muttered, “Where is that little bugger?” then he turned back to her and lead the way back down the path, as if he would clear away any danger they might meet first, to protect her. What was up with this hunter? As they got closer to the light she could see that behind the trees to the right was gravel parking lot. “There’s a sign up here.” He was cautious, but he went forward and walked to the far side of the sign near the road. On the far side of the road was just trees, in the distance she thought she could see a field based on a break in the trees along the horizon, but the only lights she could see were far down the road in each direction.
“What does it say?” She watched him reach down and pull vines off the sign. “Well?” He didn’t say anything he just stared at the sign. When he still didn’t say anything she left the path and went over to see for herself. “Most Needed Park,” she then read the blurb at the bottom about how in the 1800’s a wagon team was dying of thirst until they found the spring here. She looked up at Dean. He was deeply emotional and trying to keep control. She looked at him from the corner of her eyes then started towards the overgrown parking lot. This guy was weird and there was obviously a lot going on with him that she didn’t know about.
It had been years since the park had been used regularly and there was a cinderblock building at the far end. Maybe she could find something useful in it. Before she was halfway across Dean seemed to have come back to himself.
“Where are you going?” he asked quickly catching up as she had to walk gingerly across the gravel.
“The shed. Maybe I can find some shoes or a jacket.” She didn’t look at him as he caught up and pretended not to notice the watery sheen at the top of his scruffy beard.
“Do you want a ride?” she stopped and looked at him.
“What?”
“This gravel can’t be good for your feet.” She was surprised and touched. Most hunters wouldn’t even think about the gravel. They would just expect a hunter to deal.
“I’m fine.” She said quietly. Who was this guy? They got to the shed and he pulled out his wallet, and flicked through it, obviously looking for a lock pick. She smiled. It was a combination lock, the kind she used for her bike, his picks would do him no good. She knelt down next to it and placed the back of the lock to her ear as she slowly began to turn the dial. “
“You can-“ she cut him off with a “Shhh” and listened. With a pop, she unlocked the shed and opened the doors. Dean’s arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up and to the side. The same time she realized what he had done she heard a deep thunk and the sound of other tools bouncing and falling. She looked at where she had been standing and the spot now housed a 30-gallon steel drum that had fallen with enough force to dig into the ground a few inches and balance on a corner now hidden in the earth. Around it, a number of gardening tools littered the ground.
“Thank you.” She said quietly. He set her down and she turned to look at him. He was bed sheet white as if someone had actually stepped on his grave. He didn’t say anything, just turned and climbed into the maw of the dark shed. She heard him moving around, and a few oaths cut short when he remembered she was there after he bumped into something.
He found a flashlight that gave off a feeble light but it was enough to help. She watched as it created all kinds of shadows. Something about the flickering light scared her. It reminded her of something she couldn’t remember but thought that she probably should.
He came out, dirty and with a smudge on his forehead. But he held two pairs of rain boots, a pair of grease stained overalls that looked at least 20 years old and a disintegrating reflection vest. She looked at the stuff and couldn’t help but notice that Dean looked more disappointed than she did. He’d wanted to find something decent for her to wear. She picked up the smaller pair of boots that would still be too big for her and turning them upside down banged them together to get any debris out of them before slipping them on.
When she looked up again he was standing there holding out his canvas jacket to her. “I was hoping we could find something better, but… here.” She took the jacket and he let a look cross his face like a pleased little boy before it went stoic again.
The jacket was heavy, as she shrugged it on she realized there was something in one pocket. Pulling it onto her shoulders she reached into the right-hand pocket and felt a gun. Carefully she pulled it out and stared. Granted there wasn’t much light but she knew this gun. It was a stainless steel Colt with pearl grips. John had a pair almost exactly like it. She checked the chamber and the clip, both full and looked up at Dean. Apparently, he now trusted her.
He had gone out onto the street. He held the little plastic box in his hand and stared at it, but then he put it away, looked up and down the road. “The only lights I can see are along the road in the distance. Right or left? Your choice.”
She joined him, not liking the way the boots chafed at her calves. “I’m not sure it will make much of a difference.”
“Maybe, maybe not. My father was military, times like this he would start singing a marching song and whichever word right or left came first, that was the direction we would go.”
She looked at him. That seems like a strange detail for a hunter to share, normally hunters didn’t talk much about their pasts.
“Left,” she said and pointed. “There might be a little bit of light pollution that way.”
“Left it is”, he said. And he held out his arm. She stared at him.
What was with this guy? “Really?” She asked.
He looked like he was about to say something then changed his mind and said, “Will you please humor me?” She looked at him hard for a full minute. Then placed her hand on his arm and they walked up the road. They walked in silence and after they topped a slight rise in the mostly flat road they were hit by a cold breeze and she was grateful for both his jacket and his nearness.
Twice she tripped from the oversized shoes, both times he asked if she was okay, if she wanted to rest. Both times she said she was okay. They had gone a good five miles with no sign of another living being when they hit their first crossroads. The cross road was dirt, the one they were following was pavement. She watched as Dean went over to the dirt on both sides of the road and touched it.
“Either it has been super dry and/or windy for days or weeks or no one else has been out here.”
“Well, then we keep walking.” He smiled and held out his arm again. He was weird but he was chivalrous. This time she tucked her arm under his and they walked a little closer together. It was now past midnight and it was cold. He pulled out the plastic box, looked at it, then put it back in his pocket.
“What is that?”
“What is what?” he asked though he knew exactly what she was referring to.
“That plastic box thing you keep looking at.”
“Oh, uh, it’s a walkie-talkie type radio thing.”
“Wow. Descriptive.”
They walked on again. She stumbled and nearly fell and he caught her.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Silence. “Most hunters aren’t so… conscientious of others.”
After a long silence she was determined not to break, he spoke. “Thank you, I think. I’ve been thinking a million miles a minute since I saw you. I, I want to tell you, but I don’t know… How about this, will you let me make a deal with you? Let me find a newspaper and read the front page and then I will answer any and every question you have for me.”
She looked at him as he spoke. She could see that he was thinking hard, that he had been their whole walk. She had been trying not to think. Not to think of John who must be worried, or of what Dean would think if for the first time he woke up and she wasn’t nearby, or what would come of Sammy if she wasn’t there to feed him.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I promise you that once I’ve read the newspaper, I can explain why it makes sense. I’ll answer any and all questions then.”
“Any and all? You’re a hunter and you’re willing to let me ask anything?”
“I am a hunter and all that that implies. And yes for you, Mary Winchester, I will answer any question, no matter how painful it might be to do so.” He was specifically not looking at her. She wondered at his wording. He was clearly not a wordsmith, but he had chosen those words with a lot of thought and care.
“You are a strange man, Dean, but I’ll accept those terms.” His face softened but he kept looking ahead, at where they were going.
After another twenty minutes of walking and still no other lights than the street lights every mile or so, he spoke. “When I knew your dad, he was very proud of you. His love for you was very evident, but he didn’t say much about what you were, are like. If you could spend an evening with anyone from history, who would it be and why?” and so he asked her questions, favorite band, favorite color, worst movie ever seen…
This went on for hours. The guy was not really up on music and movies but he knew some and was able to keep the conversation going, but he was obviously trying to be careful about what he said. He was so strange. But at some point, he offered to piggyback her into town and her now blistered feet forced her to agree.