Genre: 12 x 01 tag, gen
Characters: Mary, Dean, Sam, others
Warning: Spoilers 12 x01!
Summary: Speak the names of the dead.
Her instincts come on slow, like her name, like summer weather, like the girlhood that led her to Lawrence, eventually, like the memory of loadouts and pack-ups, barrels, shells; finally a home, a church you could go of a Sunday.
Her feet are bare.
Her son is speaking to her.
This is her name.
The night he was born there'd been a cold front, conjure of summer that bloomed, out the sky and the dirt and of her--eager. Sammy was deer-eyed, for an infant, didn't squall as his brother had, but stopped, hitched a breath, two.
It comes back slow.
There are monsters.
her son says. Dean.
He's four and crying, for his dad, for the odd coffee tipped on the table in John's wake.
My engine oil, Mary mutters, wiping up, my little monkey wrench.
Mom, her son says, and takes her, holds her flat to his heart.
I burned, she says.
Her hair. Ash.
said hurryup Mary, they're not all dead.
It comes back slow. Her own mother.
A hoodoo woman who said once: the dead return, girl, of course they do, and they walk.
One day you will too. Speak the names of the dead, girl, but do it slow.
Her flesh dropped off and she didn't remember.
Her son is a man now; hard, soft-eyed.
He takes her hands:
They'll go down to the crossroads together.
Find all the graves and light them up.
There are ghosts.
is speaking to her with her own mouth: Mom,
we have to go. Home now. Let’s go.
His eyes are the same.
She doesn't know him, but--
this is her name.