Chapter Text
Sometime in the near future, post Chuck
If Mary Winchester's life was a novel, the theme would be: Where am I now, and what am I supposed to be doing?
Even after several years, Mary's new life in the current Big Brother world of computers and cameras everywhere and people living their life online– whatever that meant–still felt overwhelming. She knew she could take a shortcut back to Heaven with John anytime. Nonetheless, regardless of the challenges, Earth suited her best.
Heaven and John could wait.
She was glad to discover that her boys had survived, even though she'd cursed them with the demon's deal. But, knowing the contract was destined, manipulated by a capricious God as was her marriage and the birth of her sons, didn't make her feel better. Now that the puppet strings were cut, and most species of monster were disappearing, she was trying to figure out her place in this version of Earth.
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The older Hunters, like Bobby, Rufus, Jody, and Ellen, welcomed her into their extended family without question. At first, they treated her like a celebrity, which was a little embarrassing. But they'd meet up and eat and drink and share war stories and complain about the youngest generation of hunters and the latest new-fangled technology. It was mostly nice. And there had been some satisfying hunts with the veterans, accompanied by some of the newbies in training.
She hadn't lost her skills with gun and blade, still remembered her go-to exorcisms and spellwork. Both young and old Hunters were duly impressed. Her parents had schooled her well.
Since Lucifer's cohorts had wiped out the Campbell family [I'm ignoring their return in Season Six], Mary turned out to be a unique cache of Hunter lore and history that would have otherwise been lost.
She talked in arranged get-togethers. Since she asked not to be recorded, attentive audiences took notes by hand in battle-worn leather-bound journals. Charlie Bradbury, Ash, and Sam Winchester would type into their devices and later digitize the handwritten entries for the sessions they couldn't attend.
If Dean Wincester was present, he would watch his mother with a smile on his face. Don't know how much he actually heard. A little teary at times.
Sam also would get lost in her presence, and like brother Dean, would stare. Also, a little teary at times.
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Once in a while, Mary would meet up with Sam and Dean for a Winchester version of a mini-vacation. They wouldn't necessarily have a destination in mind; they'd hit the road for the shared pleasure of riding in the Impala. She loved Baby, and these excursions were among the happiest times in her second-chance life.
Dean let her drive, something John never would do. She appreciated the wards that protected the car from being seen by smokies and their radar guns and, to quote her admiring sons, she drove like a "bat out of hell."
Turned out to be just as skilled a driver as the boys, maybe better.
They'd stop for a meal at a diner or roadhouse. Of course. Sam would crack up watching Dean and Mary flirt with the servers and stuff their faces with messy burgers and copious mounds of bacon and fries. And inhale huge slices of pie a la mode. In tandem.
He put up with their synchronized teasing about rabbit food, his hair, his fascination with serial killers, his fear of clowns, and his nerdy skills with computers. Okay, Sam loved it. Family being family, you know.
Dean thrived as well. The hole in his heart was being healed.
[For one of those excursions, see The Good Guys: A Ballad of Mary.]
At first, the family conversations were mostly Mary answering questions about her early life growing up in the best-known and most-respected Hunter family of the time. About her parents and the endless parade of cousins. What hunting was like in that era.
Eventually she asked her sons questions about how John evolved from loving husband and crack mechanic to an obsessed killing machine. The rule was that Dean and Sam would tell the truth, and they did. At some point she decided she heard enough. Never asked about Dean's time in Hell or Purgatory, or Sam's time in the Cage or when he went soulless. The brothers' stopping the apocalypse. Just...too much.
The two men fell into the habit of running current cases by her and asking her advice, even though they technically had more hunting experience in Earth years than she had.
Sometimes they would travel together for a hunt; her sons took great delight in watching her in action. They made a tight team. It helped with interviews with civilians and interactions with the locals to have a good-looking blonde along.
However, neither Sam nor Dean ever got used to how hot she looked in her FBI get-up or when she did herself up with makeup and a pretty dress and heels. She favored the style of a previous era: short, full skirts and tight bodices, showing off her legs and athletic figure. Favored blues and greens to bring out the color in her silvery green eyes.
Used a curling iron and coaxed her hair into frame her cheekbones.
Oh dear.
She felt most at ease in her Hunter garb. And cheerfully stole flannels and t-shirts from Dean. (Okay, he began to buy clothes that fit her better and colors that he thought might flatter her. If she and Sam noticed, they never said a word.)
The Winchester men realized that they were building a relationship from scratch, not with their mother but with a smart, fearless, and talented Hunter named Mary who was new to this era. They were interacting like siblings, not as parent and sons.
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Nonetheless, Mary found the new relationship with law enforcement and civilians difficult to accept.
Mary was used to working in the shadows, first as the daughter of the notable Samuel and Deanna Winchester and then while hiding scary secrets from her husband John. It had felt safer keeping him in the dark. Consequently, she didn't trust the new Hunter Initiative, particularly as it applied to partnering with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Transparency was not in her nature.
Sure, back in the day when she was running with her parents' family crew and an extended tribe of dozens of Hunters, the Campbells had allies in law enforcement. But those relationships were on the down low. They were mostly limited to a single local cop or state trooper or Mountie or member of the Policia Estatal at a time, scattered across thousands of miles of rural North America, from Yucatan up through the United States and north to Nunuvat, the Northwest Territories, and Alaska.
The officers in question were never eager to reveal to family or the greater community what they had learned in their encounters with the Things That Bump and Moan and Bite.
Where am I, and what am I supposed to be doing?
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The brothers invited Bobby Singer and their FBI buddy Victor Henriksen over for dinner–Dean still made the best burgers–to discuss the progress of the Initiative and to answer Mary's questions and concerns. Mary dressed up a little. Victor was...distracted.
Both Dean and Sam began to drift into Overprotective Family Member mode as the conversation became a little heated. Victor was pushing. An exasperated Mary was pushing back. Bobby was observing. The boys were on the verge of mansplaining the Hunting Life to the agent and their Mom? Sister? until she batted them back with a cuff on the side of Dean's head and a Deadly Look at Sam.
"Sorry," the brothers said, in unison.
Bobby was amused. Best. Dinner. Ever.
Sam's Almost A Lawyer Big Brain kicked in and saved the day. He grabbed a legal pad and pen from a drawer in an antique sideboard and created a simple contract. Nothing binding, he reassured Mary. Nothing binding, he warned Victor.
In his neat handwriting he summarized the main points from the convoluted discussion.
1. Mary is under no obligation to participate in the Hunter's Initiative. She doesn't have to attend orientation programs, go through evaluations, etc.
2. The FBI will not issue her an official consultant badge or documents identifying her as a Hunter Associate unless she participates in those required orientation and evaluation programs.
3. No formal classes. Or weird employee bonding events. But, picnics with beer and barbecue? Or shooting matches? You betcha.
Dean and Bobby had argued with her that the Feds program was three days of excellent food and coffee, and the FBI concept of evaluating potential agents, which included hand-to-hand combat and proficiency with firearms, was...okay, they didn't want to hurt Victor's feelings, but, to put it kindly, Mary could ace their version of bootcamp blindfolded. Actually, Sam had finished the weapon trials blindfolded. And aced it. But she would not budge.
4. Mary might be asked by the Hunter and/or law enforcement communities to participate in hunts (as usual) and cases. These would be invitations that she could accept or reject as she wished, with no need to apologize or explain why.
For example, she might be asked for her "eyes on the ground" impressions of a corner of some obscure state forest. Have someone send her some poorly lit video of a creature running at night and request her opinion. Ask her to be on the lookout for a real bad guy: a human killer or worse.
Ask away, she said, and she would do her best, but no promises. No obligations. No ties.
5. She would not be obligated to take on the role of a peace officer outside of agreed upon cases or hunts, such as reacting to misdemeanor human criminal behavior, except as she might decide to act to help out civilians, law enforcement, Hunters, etc., regarding felonies. So nope, she's not arresting kids smoking dope or speeders or people harboring junk cars on their front lawn in violation of Homeowner Association rules.
Like any responsible Hunter, she had intervened when she came across bad people doing bad things to innocent people. Left more than one would-be rapist bloodied with irreparably damaged manly bits. Acted as an unofficial bouncer when roadhouse brawls got out of hand. Would pick up hitchhiking teens, scared them straight with stories of serial killers, take them home, or to a police station, or a safe place, and stick a twenty in their hand, plus her number to call anytime.
She did what most Hunters did and what was rarely documented in the canon. Chuck was profoundly indifferent to the righteous acts Hunters performed on a daily basis. Did not fit his twisted, melodramatic narrative.
Writing it down made her feel better. Bobby grunted his approval. Privately, he called Mary "his girl" and wanted her happy in this disconcerting second life. She and Victor signed the agreement. Sam made copies. And Dean served burgers and pie.