Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2009-03-19 12:01 pm
sophinisba) wrote2009-03-19 12:01 pm
Entry tags:
Supernatural ficlet repost: Night Busting Open
Title: Night Busting Open
Fandom: Supernatural (with elements of Buffy the Vampire and the song "Thunder Road")
Pairing: Mary/John
Rating: PG
Words: ~700
Summary: It's the summer of 1977, and Mary's tired of standing on this porch, waiting for life to catch up with her.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cidercupcakes and previously posted here as part of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
purimgifts 2009. Thanks to roga for the beta. The first photo in this post is by Frank Stefanko and was taken from here. The second is by Pamela Springsteen and was taken from here.
Hey, what else can we do now
Except roll down the window
And let the wind blow back your hair
Well, the night's busting open
These two lanes will take us anywhere
-Bruce Springsteen, Thunder Road
On the porch a man with white hair, narrow eyes, and a clipped British accent was talking to her about destiny, about generations and potential and the need to defend the world against evil, and Mary was only half listening. She couldn't stop watching the little boy in the back seat of the stranger's car. He stared right back at her, eyes wide and unforgiving. He didn't move.
"I'm sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone else."
"I most certainly am not, Mrs. Winchester. You may have changed addresses a few times in the last four years, but I had no trouble tracking you down. Surely you realize that the demons and vampires will find you just as –"
"Surely you realize," Mary said firmly, "that demons aren't part of my life anymore. I've never heard of this slayer you're trying to tell me about, and I'm not even a hunter anymore, not since – not since before I was Mrs. Winchester. Now please get off my property before I call the police."
She backed slowly toward the door, feeling the absence of a weapon in her hands or the protective bracelet on her wrist. She'd stopped carrying both years ago.
"Don't think you can escape your destiny by slamming your screen door in a Watcher's face and hiding inside this house," said the man. Mary stopped dead.
The car's plates said New York – nothing unusual around here. But an old white man traveling with young black child, that's something you don't see every day.
"That little boy, why is he with you? Where's his mother?"
For the first time the man appeared at a loss for words. After a few moments he said, "Perhaps you need some time to adjust to this news. I…have some other business to take care of in the City. Robin's mother…I'll be back here in a few days."
"No, you will not," said Mary, her voice dropping low, controlled, but barely above a growl. "Listen. My husband doesn't know about me, or my family. He knows my parents are dead and that's all he ever needs to know about it. Somebody else can slay your vampires for you, and give up her life in return. I'm not leaving another child to grow up without a mother."
That was three hours ago. She did slam the door on him, and she hid inside, under the covers. She knelt and prayed, though she wasn't sure for what. She'd be better off without saviors or demons or watchers or promises of return. She wasn't a hunter now and she was tired of being an orphan. She wanted to be a wife. She wanted to stop being afraid to be a mother.
But the stranger was right about one thing: she can't hide from her destiny behind these walls. She'd rather be out on the porch when John comes home. She turns on the radio, closes her eyes, and sways to the music and the breeze. She breathes in the salt from the shore and the stink of the factories and thinks, briefly, I'll miss this. Then she puts that thought and all others away, and lets this lonesome day fall into dusk.
The stars are coming out and Roy Orbison's singing "Only the lonely know the way I feel tonight" when the Impala pulls into the driveway and Mary calls out, "Let's go for a ride."
"Climb in, Mary," John calls back. He's never been one to say no to her.
They roll down the windows but the breeze isn't enough. "Faster," she says, and she squeezes his thigh as he steps on the gas. The rev of the engine runs through his body and hers and the wind picks up and it's all she needs. "Get me out of here." Again.
Maybe tomorrow she'll decide where she wants to go. They've been out of Kansas long enough now she's starting to miss it, to wonder if it might be an okay place to raise a family after all. But for tonight it's enough to ride, no direction but into the dark. They stop by the peer and climb into the back, and the future won't bother her tonight.
Fandom: Supernatural (with elements of Buffy the Vampire and the song "Thunder Road")
Pairing: Mary/John
Rating: PG
Words: ~700
Summary: It's the summer of 1977, and Mary's tired of standing on this porch, waiting for life to catch up with her.
Notes: Written for
cidercupcakes and previously posted here as part of purimgifts 2009. Thanks to roga for the beta. The first photo in this post is by Frank Stefanko and was taken from here. The second is by Pamela Springsteen and was taken from here.Hey, what else can we do now
Except roll down the window
And let the wind blow back your hair
Well, the night's busting open
These two lanes will take us anywhere
-Bruce Springsteen, Thunder Road
On the porch a man with white hair, narrow eyes, and a clipped British accent was talking to her about destiny, about generations and potential and the need to defend the world against evil, and Mary was only half listening. She couldn't stop watching the little boy in the back seat of the stranger's car. He stared right back at her, eyes wide and unforgiving. He didn't move.
"I'm sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone else."
"I most certainly am not, Mrs. Winchester. You may have changed addresses a few times in the last four years, but I had no trouble tracking you down. Surely you realize that the demons and vampires will find you just as –"
"Surely you realize," Mary said firmly, "that demons aren't part of my life anymore. I've never heard of this slayer you're trying to tell me about, and I'm not even a hunter anymore, not since – not since before I was Mrs. Winchester. Now please get off my property before I call the police."
She backed slowly toward the door, feeling the absence of a weapon in her hands or the protective bracelet on her wrist. She'd stopped carrying both years ago.
"Don't think you can escape your destiny by slamming your screen door in a Watcher's face and hiding inside this house," said the man. Mary stopped dead.
The car's plates said New York – nothing unusual around here. But an old white man traveling with young black child, that's something you don't see every day.
"That little boy, why is he with you? Where's his mother?"
For the first time the man appeared at a loss for words. After a few moments he said, "Perhaps you need some time to adjust to this news. I…have some other business to take care of in the City. Robin's mother…I'll be back here in a few days."
"No, you will not," said Mary, her voice dropping low, controlled, but barely above a growl. "Listen. My husband doesn't know about me, or my family. He knows my parents are dead and that's all he ever needs to know about it. Somebody else can slay your vampires for you, and give up her life in return. I'm not leaving another child to grow up without a mother."
That was three hours ago. She did slam the door on him, and she hid inside, under the covers. She knelt and prayed, though she wasn't sure for what. She'd be better off without saviors or demons or watchers or promises of return. She wasn't a hunter now and she was tired of being an orphan. She wanted to be a wife. She wanted to stop being afraid to be a mother.
But the stranger was right about one thing: she can't hide from her destiny behind these walls. She'd rather be out on the porch when John comes home. She turns on the radio, closes her eyes, and sways to the music and the breeze. She breathes in the salt from the shore and the stink of the factories and thinks, briefly, I'll miss this. Then she puts that thought and all others away, and lets this lonesome day fall into dusk.
The stars are coming out and Roy Orbison's singing "Only the lonely know the way I feel tonight" when the Impala pulls into the driveway and Mary calls out, "Let's go for a ride."
"Climb in, Mary," John calls back. He's never been one to say no to her.
They roll down the windows but the breeze isn't enough. "Faster," she says, and she squeezes his thigh as he steps on the gas. The rev of the engine runs through his body and hers and the wind picks up and it's all she needs. "Get me out of here." Again.
Maybe tomorrow she'll decide where she wants to go. They've been out of Kansas long enough now she's starting to miss it, to wonder if it might be an okay place to raise a family after all. But for tonight it's enough to ride, no direction but into the dark. They stop by the peer and climb into the back, and the future won't bother her tonight.