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Mary Winchester (_takeasadsong) wrote in wariscoming,

Mary hesitated outside the door to the room she had been avoiding during her time in the old church. The past few days marked the first time since her death over twenty years ago that she'd encountered demons, an uncommon occurrence even during her time as a hunter when it had mostly been ghosts and black dogs and werewolves, whatever cropped up locally. It didn't feel like twenty years, especially as her memories of Heaven faded. It felt like she'd had a nightmare one night, a dream of fire and pain and her old life, and she'd awoken from it to find her babies replaced with men and her husband dead, like the world had jumped forward and she was the only one still chronological, still right. Still, seeing demons again was enough to rattle her, more than enough to bring back memories of flashing eyes and the smell of...she shook her head, brushed a tendril of hair that had escaped her tight bun back into place. That wasn't the worst of it either. Though she had wanted all her life to be safe, to be free, Mary Winchester wasn't a coward. Demons, her own death, she had dealt with, would deal with, but one of her sons possessed... that was what stopped her outside the door to the priest's apartment, what made her twist her wedding ring nervous on her finger.

I can't leave him alone in there, even if he is...especially if he's... was the thought that made her push open the door anyway.

Even with all her nerves she'd thought she was prepared but the sight of Sam tied up, gagged and glaring made her rock back on her heels. His eyes... she felt a wave of nauseated horror wash over her, a sudden certainty that Jo and Roger had been right. How could I have been so stupid? I should have stayed away, he's possessed, he's not Sam, I have to- she could feel the fear and anger swirling sickly-sour adrenaline in her stomach, blurring her vision, pumping the message like blood through her veins that this was a demon, this was not her son, the man next to him was not Chuck. She took a step forward, not sure what she intended to do, and her eye, by the slightest chance, fell on the place where Sam's ankles had been tied to the chair. One of his pants legs must have slipped in the struggle, or else he just hadn't been tied in carefully while he was unconscious, and after his struggling of the past few moments he had a friction-burn on the skin between ankle and calf. Concern, a sympathetic wince, was instinctive, had been since Dean was born and she'd realized she would never hurt for just one person again.

That concern, that instinct, was like a dash of cold water across whatever had been smoldering in her mind and before she could reconsider she'd crossed the devil's trap and knelt down in front of Sam, touching his shoulder briefly before reaching around behind him to undo his gag. The motion incited another wave of panic can't let him talk, can't let the demon spout lies, Roger says... but she could suppress it now that she'd recognized it as unreasonable and she rose quickly, stepping over to Chuck and untying his gag as well.

“Are you alright?” she asked, looking intently at Sam, unable to bring herself to approach again but her expression all concern. “You weren't hurt during the fight?” and then she remembered Chuck and towards him, “and you've...I'm sorry...has anyone even given you water?” She was still struggling against a feeling of wrongness but it was becoming easier now and she took a tentative step forward towards the two captives.