For: Exposed1
Title: The Wind Cries Mary
Rating: G
Spoiler Warnings: Up through Season 1 Episode 9 (Home).
Summary: A sort of coda to to the episode - John Winchester visits Mary's grave
Author's Notes: Written for Exposed1 over at SPN Thurs Nights.
Prompts: shadows, broken, tombstone
Disclaimers: Title snagged from the Jimi Hendrix song The Wind Cries Mary. Playing in Kripke's universe, none of this is mine folks :-)
Word Count: ~500

It’s late, well after midnight, and the boys are probably long gone by now, no reason to remain in town, this town any longer then needed. But John Winchester knows better then to take anything for granted, especially when it comes to his boys. So he waits out the night at Missouri's, only leaving the safety of her home once the sun’s early morning rays are peeking over the horizon, casting long, thin shadows across the cemetery that is his destination.

He makes his way over to Mary’s tombstone, his mouth pulling down into a frown when he sees that part of the granite has been broken off on the one corner. It bothers him more then it should, and he feels negligent for not having been around much to harass the caretakers into taking better care of the place. He kneels down in front of the stone, and drags his fingers across it, tracing the outline of her name.

“Thank you. For what you did. For our boys, I wanted to help, I did, but I...” He starts to speak to the stone once, twice, but the words keep getting caught in his throat. The minutes tick by endlessly, as he tries ineffectually to pull his thoughts together.

“I'm going to get him, Mary. I know I've told you that before, but I'm close, we're close. There's just, just a few more things I need to be sure of, but... it'll be soon, baby. It'll be soon.” And though he has made a habit of hiding his emotions from the world, he pays no mind to the tears as they streak down his face. He twists the ring on his finger absentmindedly, sighing heavily, “it'll be soon. Miss you, Mary. I always miss you.”

The wind blows gently against his cheek as he turns to leave, and for a moment, he let's himself pretend that it's her. Wants it to be her. Remembers the fluttery kisses she would leave on his cheeks and neck in the early morning, before they had shaken off the remains of sleep and left the safety of their bed. Knows that it's probably not. Her spirit was back at that house after all, Dean and Sam have an eye-witness account of that themselves, so the chances of her being here, by her own grave, are slim. And even though he knows that he should, he'll never be able to bring himself to salt and burn her bones. The mere thought sets him on edge. He'll just have to settle for taking out the thing that killed her, and hoping that does the trick.

“Goodbye, baby.” He keeps his head down as he makes his way back up the path, and so he never notices the smoky figure moving in and out of the shadows of the nearby tree, or the stricken expression on her face. The sound of the gravel crunching beneath his boots drowns out the softly whispered apology ringing in his ears.

~End