In His Eyes

Chapter One: Hooks of the Hunt

~O~o~O~

You with the sad eyes

Don't be discouraged

Oh, I realize

It's hard to take courage

(Mary's Pov)

It was a simpler time when Dean first heard of soulmates. Soulmates… well, they were a sacred thing. It wasn't like the discussion was an inappropriate one, but it was an important one and Mary wanted to wait until Dean could understand before she explained it to him. She wanted the fairy tale life for her son - a childhood full of wonder, a good education, college, a beautiful soulmate, a family of his own, and of course a home that was always waiting for his return.

Twenty years from then Mary wanted to sit around the kitchen table, telling Dean's soulmate about the time John duct-taped his diaper to him. She wanted to laugh as Dean covered his face and John quipped "just wait until you get one of your own". She wanted to smile softly as Dean's soulmate would blush and look up shyly… Mary just wanted a family. A perfectly normal family.

The little boy was sitting between Mary and his father, watching a colourful movie play out on the little box T.V in the den. They were all close, and Mary was enjoying the warmth of her husband's arm around her shoulders much more than "The Little Mermaid". The movie was just ending now, with the Prince looking into Ariel's eyes and seeing the blue blossoming in her eyes, melting the gray away. At that moment she felt a rush of love from John and she looked over to him, losing herself in the rich chocolate of his irises. It was the most beautiful colour she had ever seen - more beautiful then she thought possible.

"My Mary," John said, his voice low and rough. "You're so beautiful… your eyes look just… bluer than an ocean sky."

Mary laughed a little, tilting her head down. Her husband was far from a poet, but his words always filled her with butterflies - even after years of marriage.

"G'ay," a little voice peeped from her left.

Mary looked down at her three-year-old. "What, sweetie?"

"G'ay, Momma's eyes g'ay, Daddy." Dean announced, around the two fingers in his mouth.

Mary looked at John with a shared thoughtful expression. The boy had been learning his colours for a few months now, but this was the first time he had asked about eyes… was three too young for this conversation? Mary bit her lip. She remembered her own mother explaining the magic of soulmates when Mary was around seven. She remembered how the conversation started factually, like the older woman was explaining the mechanics of a hunt, but ended with a wistful smile. Maybe she could just give the kiddy, watered-down version for now.

"Well - you see, Dean, Daddy's my soulmate," Mary said, turning her body to the side to look at her son. "Remember the story we read last night? Remember how the prince and the princess could see colour in each other's eyes when they met and how special that was?"

Dean nodded, his brow pinched in confusion, an adorable look on the boy.

"It's the same for me and Daddy," Mary continued. "To me, Daddy's eyes look like a handsome, dark chocolate colour. And to Daddy, my eyes look blue. And one day, you'll have a soulmate of your very own."

"Me?" Dean asked, excited now, like Mary had just told him he was getting a new toy.

"You, buddy," John chimed in, patting his son's shoulder. "And you'll love them more than anyone else in the world - well, other than your kids of course."

John tickled Dean lightly at the last comment, extracting a giggle from the toddler.

"Welly?"

"Really," Mary confirmed, her eyes sliding to John's and her hand brushing through her son's spiky hair. "I wonder what colour your eyes are."

"Mine 'er prow-ly red," Dean said, nodding to himself, and giving his mother a big smile.

"Red?" John asked, amused. "How'd you figure?"

"'Cause red's a awesome colour, Daddy."

(John's Pov)

As soon as the door opened, Dean was right there, bouncing on his heels and balancing on his tiptoes - desperately trying to sneak a peek at the bundle of blankets in his mother's arms. John couldn't help but chuckle at his son's enthusiasm.

He and Mary had been so worried when Mary fell pregnant again that Dean was going to be upset. Dean was a sweet boy… but he wasn't really the sharing type, or even the very social type. Sure, he'd smile and play with other kids at the park, but he much preferred the company of his family. John was worried that Dean would get thoughts that his parents didn't want him anymore, or that they loved the new baby more than him. John also knew that a baby takes a lot of attention - which would definitely cut into Dean's time.

However, to his complete surprised, Dean felt just the opposite. When his wife and him sat the four-year-old down and explained that his mom was having another baby, Dean just kind of shrugged and said: "'kay". John had just chalked that up to the boy not actually understanding the implications of his father's words - and how could he? He was only four years old for crying out loud. Though, as Mary grew - she's not getting fat, Dean please stop - Dean's demeanor began to shift. He spent most of his time with Mary, asking every question there was about the new baby.

"What's its name?"

"We don't know yet, Dean."

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"We'll know when they're born, Dean. It's a surprise."

"Can I hold it?"

"Sure, Dean."

Dean also shifted from shy around strangers to bluntly not. He was especially protective of his mother recently. " It's perfectly natural for young boys to be protective of their mothers. Even more so in Mary's state. Dean seems to be protective of his mother because he perceives her, perhaps subconsciously, as being vulnerable right now." Mary's doctor had said when the couple questioned him about it.

And protective Dean was.

John distinctly remembers that disaster in the supermarket. Mary was showing quite prominently at this point, walking along the aisles with one hand in Dean's and one on her belly. People - or women, it seemed - tended to get very up close and personal when another woman was pregnant. Personal space flew out the window in favor of grabby hands and "motherly" pats. Something John didn't like and Mary cringed at. Some older woman had stopped her shopping - with three bags of cat food in her cart, god help him - and began fawning over his wife.

"Oh, how far along are you, dear?"

"Um, about seven months."

"Oh dear, you really need to learn that in weeks," the lady said, in an annoyingly condescending tone. John thought she said "dear" way too much. "Eating healthy, I presume? No fish?"

"No fish," Mary indulged, forced but polite.

"Just a dear," the woman said with a plastered fake smile that cracked her alarmingly red lipstick, then she made her mistake.

The woman reached out a hand and laid it on Mary's stomach. Before Mary could say anything, a red plastic lightsaber slammed down on the woman's wrist. The strike was hard, lightning fast, and left a large pink spot.

"Ow!" She had yelped, bringing her hand to her chest. "Why I never!"

"Dean Winchester!"

John shook his head, remembering how unrepentant Dean was, not even apologizing. Only saying "she had it coming", making the woman storm off, grumbling about how parents need to control their children. Mary had sternly reprimanded Dean, saying how wrong it was to hit people. Dean still didn't say sorry, though, and John could tell that Mary really didn't want him to - she was just playing by the book.

Dean got the lightsaber that day.

Then, in Mary's third trimester, Dean had adopted the habit of talking to the unborn baby - which John and Mary both found a bit… creepy - but sweet. Though it was creepier when John had asked why Dean talked to his mom's stomach, citing that the child couldn't hear Dean yet. Dean just shrugged again, saying that "it likes my voice", which John admits, had him raising his eyebrows. But both him and Mary were only children, so they supposed this was what sibling love looked like between kids so young. They thought nothing of it.

"Hey buddy," John said, tired but happy as he lifted his - now oldest - son up and placed him on his hip. His lips tilted up as his son gave him no attention, turning to watch Mary as she thanked their neighbor, Miss. Karen for watching Dean. When the older woman left, Mary turned back to her family.

"I wanna see it," Dean whined, making grabby-hands at his mother.

"Dean," his mother admonished softly, adjusting her hold on the baby. " He isn't an it, he's your new baby brother."

This sentence only spurred Dean on, causing John to tighten his hold on the wiggling four-year-old.

"Okay, okay," Mary laughed at the squirming little boy. "John, wanna sit him down?"

"Come on, Dean-o," John said, plopping his son on the couch and looking him in his uniform gray eyes. "Ready to officially be a big brother?"

"Yeah-yeah-yeah!" Dean exclaimed, bouncing and holding out his little arms. "P'ease?"

"Be careful - and still," Mary instructed as she slowly placed the sleeping baby in her Dean's arms.

Oddly, or at least in John's mind, Dean's arms wrapped tight around the baby as if he had done it a thousand times - even Mary had to practice a few time before she got the hold right - and she was his mother. Although, in her defense, her youngest son was much smaller than Dean had been, and much more… vocal and squirmy about his distress - though, he was sound asleep now. Maybe Dean's small arms made it easier.

"His name is Samuel Winchester," Mary whispered once the baby was settled. "But you can call him Sammy if you want."

"Sammy," Dean said aloud, mesmerized with the little human.

As if the child had heard his brother's call, Sammy opened his eyes.

That was when the entire world ground to a stop.

(Dean's Pov)

Dean's mouth parted as a sense of warmth and calm and home washed over him. His arms and legs tingled, his eyes stung for just a moment before he felt at complete peace. It felt as if he had just came home after years of being alone and cold.

He and his brother locked eyes, and it was as if Dean was seeing the world for the first time. The lights were brighter, the feelings more intense. And most of all, Dean could see his brother's shining hazel eyes staring back at him. Dean was too young to understand all the emotions coursing through him but he embraced it with the maturity of an old soul.

He felt like he was in a small boat in the middle of a vast and endless ocean. Then, it felt like there was a creature there with him, a huge sea monster. Yet, instead of fearing it, Dean gave it his complete and unwavering trust. He just let the emotions wash over him and take him wherever they pleased.

Dean brushed a hand across the baby's brow, the rest of the world evaporating until it was just him and Sammy. The baby didn't close his eyes at the touch, just simply stared at Dean, saying all the words he hadn't learned yet - and some words that could never be learned, only felt. It felt like forever wrapped in a second as he committed every inch of the baby's face to memory.

"Sammy," Dean whispered again, as if reciting an ancient and delicate prayer.

"Dean," John's worried, slightly distorted voice filtered into Dean's mind. "Dean?"

"There's so… pretty." Dean said, with love drenching his voice - the words he was truly searching for being too advanced for him to know.

"Dean?" It was his mom this time, just as worried. "Dean, what's pretty?"

"His eyes - Sammy's eyes - they're - his eyes 'er has-el… sparkle-ly." Dean murmured, his tone sounding much older than four. "Like - like stars but better-er."

Dean was too engrossed in his brother to watch his mother's hand cover her mouth or his father's jaw loosen. However, he definitely felt it when his mother snatched Sammy away. The warm feeling was instantly severed, leaving cold emptiness in its wake. Though… there did seem to be something… new. Something Dean couldn't place but wasn't there before. But, Dean didn't have time to think on that at the moment.

"Hey!" Dean cried out. He hadn't been mad at his mother in months - he just couldn't anymore - but now, hot rage filled the child's veins at the lost. "Gimme back!"

At Dean's yelled demand, Sammy started crying. Harsh sobs that Dean physically felt in his chest. The baby screamed and kicked and Dean was having none of his little brother being upset.

He rushed forward, but his father was faster, grabbing him around the waist and pulling the boy back.

"No," Mary said, tears in her own eyes. "No, no, no ."

With that, at a last look at his dad, Mary swept from the room, taking the screaming baby with her. After a moment, Dean heard, over his and Sammy's yells, that the bedroom door was slammed shut.

"Daddy…" Dean cried, tears flowing down his cheeks. "Want Sammy , p'ease. Ma-ke Momma bri-ng 'em back!"

"Dean, I…," for once, his father was lost for words. So, he didn't speak again, just held Dean tight to his chest and tried - failing - to calm the distraught child.

(John's Pov)

John Winchester never claimed to be a smart man. He wasn't the type to try and figure out the 'why' behind things. He could read something, remember it, and repeat it but when it came to discovering the reason, he never saw the point. His mentality was 'you deal with your own shit, no matter why it's there'.

He tried to apply this to the situation at hand, but he found it difficult. Very difficult. John was never a religious man either, although his mother had taken him to church on occasion. But right now, he wanted to scream at the heavens to why they would ever do this to his little boys.

There was only one other 'recorded case' of siblings being soulmates. And which medical journal recorded that? Oh, right, none. That particular case was recorded by the fucking bible itself. It was the story of Michael and Lucifer, born brothers and soulmates and well… that story didn't exactly have a happy ending. John knew, that if anyone got wind of what his children were, their lives would take a nosedive into a world of doctors and reporters.

John ran a hand through his hair, Dean's crying bringing him back to the present. The here and now, focus.

"Hey, Dean, buddy," John tried again. "Listen, listen - I'm gonna go talk to your mom, okay? I'll - uh, I'll ask her to bring Sammy back? How's that sound?"

At the name, Dean's head lifted. "Sammy?" Asked the teary little boy.

"Yeah, Dean… just give me a few minutes, alright?"

"Kay," Dean nodded, rubbing his eyes with his fist.

"Good boy," John praised.

Leaving his son on the couch, John got up and headed to the bedroom. What he found there made his heart hurt. His beautiful soulmate was there on the bed, arms curled around his youngest son. The boy, Sammy, was crying - no louder than a kitten. Mary had tear-tracks on her cheeks - her blue - godly blue eyes shimmered as she looked up at him.

"John what -" her voice broke. "What are we going to do?"

John sighed as he made his way to the bed. He sat down beside the woman, running his fingers through her long blonde hair, a touch she leaned into gratefully.

"We're gonna be parents, Mary." John said, his tone resolute. "We're going to raise our sons - we just might have to do it a little differently."

"Differently?" Mary repeated, her voice verging on hysterical. "Differently? John, it might be easy at four and nothing but what about ten? Twelve? Sixteen? Twenty! What are we going to do when our boys want to - oh god."

John felt a headache creeping up on him. Mary was right, of course. What the hell were they going to do? Tell two soulmates they couldn't touch each other? Couldn't… kiss each other? Hell, that wasn't even legal, keeping two soulmates apart. But what else could they do? The thought of giving Sammy up crossed his mind for a moment before he batted the thought away - he couldn't do that to his boys.

"We'll figure it out, Mary," John promised, pulling his wife into his side, mostly so she couldn't see the doubtful look on his face.

(Mary's Pov)

Mary wanted to believe her husband's words - she really did, but she couldn't. She knew how these things - supernatural things - ended. She knew the story of Michael and Lucifer well - better than most. She knew exactly what would happen to her boys if this… disease was allowed to fester.

So Mary did the only thing she could do; what she was trained to do - she worked the case.

She had been right before, it was pretty easy at four and nothing. She didn't exactly like the interactions between her boys, but they weren't inappropriate - yet. Dean always loved to be near his little brother and Sammy loved Dean. Dean could get Sammy to calm down when no one else could - an action that always brought a bit of jealousy into Mary's complexion. Even if Sammy was tired or hungry, he would settle down in his big brother's arms. He seemed much more… aware than a baby should. Rarely did babies actually form a soulbond, as they couldn't exactly get out and meet people. But when they did… at least his actions so far had been normal in that regard.

It had been five months since that day, from the day her life turned over. Mary had been slowly going down hill. She had picked up her old man's habit, finding her new best friend in every bottle of cheap whiskey. She poured over lore books she swore she'd never look at again. Nothing - nothing - nothing, god Mary needed to catch a break. But there was just nothing.

Other than a few faked, attention-seeking cases of sibling soulmates, there was just nothing credibly written on the subject. She had even dug up a few of her old contacts, and still nothing.

Mary knew she looked like shit and John was getting worried - more worried. Miss. Karen was also beginning to get suspicious. The only time she had to research was when John was at work, so Miss. Karen had been watching the boys. Mary wondered if the old woman was more concerned for her or her sons.

It was also harder for her to interact with her sons - a fact that she hated. She wasn't even able to breastfeed Sammy anymore or play cars with Dean. She hated it, but it made her sick to watch her sons play while knowing what they would grow up to be. She had once physically gotten sick when Dean had given his little brother a goodnight kiss - on the lips. That had resulted in a time-out that Dean really didn't understand or deserve and a shaky day for Mary. If she couldn't handle that, what would she do when her boys were teenagers?

John seemed, for the most part, able to ignore it and Mary tried but she just - she couldn't.

One month later, on the sixth month anniversary of Sam's birth, Mary was struggling. More than normal, so far from normal that John had suggested a therapist - John had suggested a therapist. God, she was losing it.

Mary let her bloodshot eyes scan over the empty bottles littering the kitchen table. She could hear the static from the TV, John was probably passed out in front of it after getting both boys to - separate - beds. Her hands shook badly, opening another bottle and letting the sour smell encompass the room. She allowed tears to escape her eyes as she thought. She should have known, she thought bitterly. Each hunt - each and every one of them had a grappling hook that sunk into you. Even after one, you could never escape - and Mary had been on more than she could count. Even when it wasn't a case and there was no monster, the supernatural seemed to drag her back in, kicking and screaming.

She couldn't cure her boys, that much she knew. There was no cure to soulmates, as it wasn't supposed to be a curse. She searched, prayed, and fell apart but nothing would help. Nothing would save her…

Mary's train of thought halted as her eyes landed on a stray kitchen knife. The blade was sharp, familiar - almost inviting. Mary swallowed. Maybe she couldn't save both of her boys, but she could save one. On colt-like legs, she stood, steading herself on the table. She let her fingers wrap around the cold plastic of the knife handle. She could save one of her boys, she had to save one of her boys.

This - all of it - had started with Sam. Maybe… maybe Sam was a monster? A monster that faked being a soulmate to lure… what was that called? A siren, no. A singer, maybe? Mary thought she read about that once, she probably did. That - that was probably what Sam was. And she, she loved her baby boy but 'a monster's a monster', as her dad would say. Mary laughed, her voice cold, without humor, at the damn irony of it all.

He, her father, had to shoot friends before - when they were too hurt to continue or had been turned. And she - she could too.

She could be strong.

Stumbling and holding the wall for support, Mary made her way up the stairs. All the way trying to convince herself that the vile act she was about to commit was justified. It was to prevent worse.

She pushed opened the door of Sammy's nursery.

The woman stood there for a few moments, knife in hand, watching the mobile move slowly above her baby. Shaking, she moved slowly forward, each step a stumble. When she finally reached the wooden crib, she grasped the railing for support, her body too heavy to hold itself. She sobbed as she raised her hand, white fingers encasing the glinting blade - and nothing happened.

She felt as if her whole body had frozen.

"Oh, no, no, no," a voice she didn't recognize spoke from behind her as a cold air swept through the room. "Aw, Mary, I'm disappointed."

The man walked from behind her, a smell of sulfur ripping through the fog of alcohol, and filling her with an all too familiar instinct. Her hunter training tried to kick in, but it was oppressed by the inparing whiskey.

When the man brushed past her and spun to face her, she didn't recognize him - but she did recognize those glowing yellow eyes. Those same eyes that killed her parents and her soulmate ten years ago. Those same eyes she had looked into as she made her deal, the one that had nagged at the back of her mind for a decade. Cold dread washed over her like ice, making her shiver.

It seemed the demon came to collect his due.

"Can't have you getting out of the deal that easy, eh?" The man smirked, banishing the knife from her hand and releasing his hold on her.

"What do you want?" She asked, the question instinctive, even as she stumbled back.

"Now, is that really the tone to take with a man that just saved your baby's life?"

Mary, infuriated by the demon, and done with it all - too drunk to really question it, went to strike the yellow-eyed freak. Instantly, she was stopped and pushed into the wall behind her by some unseen force.

"Mary, Mary, you're killing me - well, not really," the man hung his head for a second before popping right back up. "But! It seems like I can't keep my little vessel safe with you on the board anymore. A shame really, but it makes no difference to the big picture, you know?"

Mary tried to talk but she couldn't. Pain laced her as her body was dragged up the wall and onto the ceiling.

When the fire burned her life away, she wondered if there was a heaven. For once, she wished there wasn't - because she knew she wouldn't go there.

She just hoped that maybe, just maybe, her boys would be alright. All of them.