Chapter Text
The village of Lawrence was no more than two hundred-odd people crowded into squat, thatch-roofed houses along its single cobblestoned street. Everybody knew everybody and nobody’s business was a secret.
John Winchester was eighteen when he decided that Lawrence wasn't big enough for him. He was nearly a man and he was expected to choose a wife soon. But he had barely seen the world; he didn't want to settle down before he explored outside the borders of his village. So one October evening, when the air bit his cheeks with its chill and dry leaves piled up along the gutters, he packed a knapsack of food and clothes and set off down the village's main street, oblivious to the curious stares of other villagers out cottage windows.
Everyone in Lawrence knew not to cross the wall on the other side of the meadow but nobody really knew why, and John was determined to find out. He had grown up with stories of fairies and sorcerers and magic – but also danger – on the other side. Of course, he didn’t believe in any of it; he had grown out of that years ago. But stories had to come from somewhere, didn’t they?
He marched through the forest and across the meadow, stopping at the low stone wall that stood no higher than his chest. A storm when he was a boy had blown a few of the stones loose, creating a perfect gap to step through. He could see across to the other side; it was a field like the one he stood in, with a copse of trees beyond. John squared his shoulders and stepped through the gap in the wall, feeling an odd shiver pass through him as he set foot on the other side. Holding his breath, he waiting to be struck by lightning or burst into flames or any of the things he had expected, but nothing happening. Laughing a little to himself, he shouldered his pack again and walked toward the trees.
He had been walking for a while, not entirely sure where he was heading, when he heard voices up ahead. Speeding up his pace, he broke through the trees to be surrounded by a whirlwind of color and sound. Caravans painted in bright colors lined a narrow street, lit up by both gas lamps and tiny lights that floated in the air of their own volition. The street was crowded with people dressed in strange clothing in every color of the rainbow and some that John had never even seen before. Some even had hair or skin of green, purple, blue. Music from unfamiliar instruments was almost drowned out by vendors shouting out, hawking their goods and trying to outdo each other. Hardly believing his eyes, John wandered among the crowd, knowing but not caring that his mouth was hanging open. Animals that he didn't know the names of in golden cages screeched at him as he passed, intricate paintings seemed to move before his very eyes as he stared at them, and the smells of spices wafted through the autumn air. He stopped at a table in front of a bright yellow caravan displaying a number of tiny metal figurines, bending over to examine them.
“See anything you like?”
John snapped upright at the voice, finding himself face to face with a smirking young woman. He had seen some beautiful women in his life, as many travelers passed through Lawrence on their way to bigger places, but never anyone even nearing an equal to this woman’s beauty. Her yellow hair hung in waves over her shoulders and she looked at John expectantly with sparkling blue eyes.
“Uh...uh…” He seemed to have forgotten how to speak. Swallowing quickly, he tried again. “What are they?”
“They're supposed to be amulets for good luck.” The woman picked one of the figurines up and John saw that it was tied to a simple black cord. “If you wear it around your neck, no harm will come to you.”
John couldn't care less about the amulets, but he wanted an excuse to keep talking to her. He pointed to one at random. “How much for that one?”
The woman smiled coyly. “A favor.”
“Sorry?”
“One day I'll ask you for something, and you must oblige.”
“Anything,” John said quickly. He flushed when the woman raised her eyebrows teasingly at his willingness. “But how will I know when you ask?”
“I will find you,” she said. “But first -” She leaned across the table and quickly pressed her lips against John’s, pressing the amulet into his hand at the same time. “We seal it with a kiss.”
John gaped at her, speechless.
Then a harsh voice rang out from the yellow caravan behind her. “Girl!”
The woman’s face went pale. “I have to go. I'll find you again.”
“What's your name?” John blurted out.
“Mary.”
“I’m John.”
Mary offered him a tiny smile. “I'll see you again, John.” Then she turned and hurried away toward the caravan.
When she was gone, John looked down at the amulet in his hand. It was designed to resemble a human face wearing a strange horned crown. He didn't completely understand what it meant but he smiled as he hung it around his neck, already knowing that he would treasure it forever.
John didn't hear from Mary for five months. During the first month, he returned every night to the village on the other side of the wall, but no matter how long he spent wandering among the caravans, he never saw the bright yellow one that Mary had been in. From then on, he went every few days to the wall, to stare at the field on the other side for an hour or two, wishing that she would appear there, only to give up and return home.
Then, on a chill March morning, he walked to the wall to find a crisp white envelope resting on the stones with his name written in a curly script. Eagerly, John tore it open and scanned the letter inside.
My dear John,
It has been many months since we met and it is likely that you have forgotten the deal that we made. In any case, I cannot expect you to hold up your end if you do not desire, as the favor I ask is much too large a price for a simple amulet.
What I didn't tell you when we met is that I am a princess, captured and forced into a lifetime of enslavement by a demon named Azazel. I am bound to him forever, as my enslavement ends with his death, and he is immortal. But since I have grown melancholy and disobedient of late, he has allowed me one gift. I will receive five years of freedom if I can find someone to marry me for those years.
You may see now the favor I am about to ask of you and I understand if you react with disgust or fear. This is not what you anticipated when I sold you that amulet all those months ago. But you are the only one I know to turn to. If we marry, I expect nothing of you but to sign the paper that will make our union official. We may live in different houses and never speak to one another for the duration of my five years.
I understand if you refuse this, and consider your debt forgotten if you do. But if you choose to agree, come to the wall at this spot at midnight at the next new moon. I will be waiting and anxiously hoping to become your wife.
Ever yours,
Mary
John had made up his mind before he even finished the letter. He folded it up carefully and tucked it into his jacket, calculating when the next new moon took place. If he was correct, it was a few days away, which gave him enough time to clear out the guest room in his cottage and make a proper feast for her.
The days passed by quickly, and on the night that Mary had indicated John went to the wall again. There he found Mary standing on the other side beside a hulking man with a cruel face and yellow eyes. John could see relief sharply on Mary’s face when she spotted him.
“This is it?” the man beside Mary growled. That had to be the demon Azazel that Mary had mentioned.
“That's him,” Mary said quietly, meeting John’s eyes.
Azazel relinquished Mary by handing the thin silver chain around her ankle to John. He didn't like the idea of having his wife chained to him, but Mary explained that he couldn't undo it without powerful magic. Besides, it was only symbolic; she could move freely wherever she wanted with the chain tied around her ankle, but it didn't need to be attached to anything else.
“Five years,” Azazel reminded Mary. She nodded gravely and turned to John. He held out a hand to help her step through the gap in the wall and they walked back to the village to begin their new life together.
They fell in love, as one might expect. Mary never ended up using the guest room; John made it clear from the very beginning that he wanted her to be a part of his life. They were married, to the shock of all the other villagers who didn't understand where the stranger had come from.
Their first son came along at the beginning of the next year, on a frozen January night with the stars watching coldly from above. They named him Dean. He cried a lot after he was born, but Mary was always able to find some way of calming him down.
They were happy together. John didn't care about the gossip surrounding Mary or living in the same small village where he had spent his whole life. He worked as a blacksmith, providing for his wife and son.
Three years after Dean, Sam came along, a tiny bundle with big eyes and a shock of dark hair even from birth. The two boys connected instantly and Dean took it upon himself to be Sam’s protector. For the little family of four, every day seemed better than the last had been.
A part of John had always known that their time together would run out. But at nineteen, five years had seemed like an age and he hadn't worried about what would happen when it ended. Mary didn't talk about it, so John didn’t either. He half expected Azazel to let them keep living together if they showed him how happy they were. Surely he couldn't take Mary away from her sons.
But five years to the day since John helped Mary climb over the wall, she vanished. It was as if she had never been there.
Sam cried inconsolably and Dean wouldn’t stop asking where she had gone. Meanwhile, John retreated into himself, speaking to no one and leaving the care of his sons to the women of the village. For a month, he spent every night crossing the wall and wandering through the forest and the town on the other side, searching for his wife. He never found a trace of her.
The years passed by and Sam and Dean grew up mostly without their father. He was bitter and taciturn, having little time for anything besides his own thoughts and his drinking. The village looked on in disapproval, doing what they could to raise his boys where he failed. Mostly, though, Dean looked out for Sam, spending every waking minute watching him to make sure that he was safe and taken care of.
When Dean was fourteen, a fire in the smithy killed John. He knew enough to mourn his father, but it wasn't real grief; he felt as if he had barely known the man. After that, he took over working to provide for himself and Sam, no longer content with taking the charity offerings of the villagers. For the next few years, he spent nearly all of his time working one job or another, trying to make a better life for him and his brother.
But by the time he was eighteen, he began to feel that Lawrence wasn't big enough for him anymore.