"Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na...Batman!"

Sam squealed his delight from where he was strapped in his highchair as Dean sprang up from the kitchen floor, the remnants of the late afternoon sun stretching across the hardwood as evening approached.

"Dean..." Mary called, a clear warning in her tone, her back to her children and the hem of her blousy white top rising to skim the waist of her jeans as she reached into the cabinet by the sink.

"Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na...Batman!"

Sam squealed again, his chubby legs kicking in excitement as Dean launched two action figures – one indeed Batman and the other Joker – over the edge of the white plastic tray attached to Sam's highchair. Both figures sprawling where they landed, mere inches away from the baby's fingers.

"Dean..." Mary called again, closing the cabinet before setting two glasses and a smaller plastic cup – its once colorful image of Batman faded from multiple washings – on the counter and then crossing to the fridge, glancing at her four-year old as she did so. "I thought I told you to stop."

"Oh, Mommy..." Dean replied as he tightened the strings of his cape, the one from his Batman costume he had worn a few days prior for Halloween. "Sammy likes it when I play with him."

"Sam would like just about anything you did," Mary told her oldest as she opened the fridge, one hand grasping the tea pitcher while the other grabbed the milk carton.

"Do you think it's 'cause I'm so awesome?" Dean asked his mom and then laughed before answering his own question, much like John had done earlier in the driveway...like father, like son. "I think it's 'cause I'm so awesome."

Dean beamed – fully believing that description – and grabbed Sam's sock-clad foot, playfully shaking it.

"What do you think, Sammy?" he asked the baby.

Sam giggled at his brother's touch, pulling his small foot up and away from Dean's tickling fingers.

"He agrees," Dean reported over his caped shoulder and smiled at his mom.

Mary hummed a laugh. "I'm sure he does," she conceded – because even at six-months, it was obvious Sam's hero was Dean...much to John's simultaneous pride and disappointment. "But I asked you ten minutes ago to stop playing and help set the table."

Dean cut his eyes at the plates and napkins his mom had set within his reach at the edge of the counter and then looked at Mary. "They just eat out of the pizza box at Tommy Thompson's house."

Mary arched an unimpressed eyebrow, biting back a comment about how Tommy Thompson's mother would probably let her children eat off the floor if doing so meant she didn't have to wash dishes.

"Did you hear me?" Dean asked when his mother didn't respond.

"Did you hear me?" Mary asked in return, casting a meaningful glance at the plates.

Dean sighed. "But if I stop playing with Sam, he might start crying again."

...which was indeed a possibility.

Mary sighed and finished pouring tea into the two glasses, unable to argue with how nice it had been to hear Sam's joyful squeals over the past half hour since she had changed him and settled him in his highchair instead of the baby's terrified screams from earlier.

But still...she had given Dean a job to do.

"Dean..." Mary said, drawing the name out as she crossed to the table with the glasses of tea and set them at hers and John's places.

Mother and oldest son stared at each other for several seconds before Dean grunted his displeasure but finally did as he was told, knowing his mom's patience was waning when she paired that tone with that look.

Mary quirked a smile at Dean's pouty expression as the four-year old sulked over to the counter to retrieve the plates and napkins. The kid acting like she had asked him to set a banquet table instead of just their small kitchen table with three places.

Sam watched as Dean began setting plates in front of each chair.

Mary nodded her approval, ruffling her four-year old's hair as she crossed back to the counter by the sink.

Sam glanced at his mother pouring milk into Dean's cup and then turned his attention back to his big brother, repeatedly slapping his pudgy hands on the tray of the highchair and babbling in Dean's direction.

"Just a minute, Sammy..." Dean called to his baby brother and looked over at Sam in time to see the six-month old grab the Batman figure still laying on the highchair's tray and stick the Caped Crusader in his mouth.

Mary smiled as Dean wrinkled his nose.

"Gross, Sammy," Dean admonished his brother, starting to cross back to the highchair to retrieve his toy. "You can play with him. But don't slobber all over him."

Mary laughed. "That's babies..." she told her oldest, crossing back to the table with the cup of milk and winking at Dean as she returned his earlier words to him – Dean having told her the same in the driveway when she had commented about Sam's wet diaper – and then held her hand out to her baby. "Sammy, give it to Mommy."

Sam looked up at Mary with wide eyes and smiled his toothless, dimpled grin around the Dark Knight he was happily gumming – one small hand holding onto Batman's leg while the other continued to slap the highchair's tray.

And Mary paused at the sight, her heart twisting in her chest as Sam continued to smile at her and as Dean continued to putter around behind her, grumpily setting the table.

Because this was what she stood to lose if her deal truly was coming due, if there really was a demon – the demon – in town, circling and preparing to make his move to take whatever he had come to claim.

This was what was at stake – her normal. Her happy baby, her feisty four-year old...Batman and pizza night and...

As if on cue, the doorbell suddenly rang.

"Pizza's here!" Dean announced, dropping the napkins in a wadded heap on the table and bolting toward the front hall. His thin, black cape flapping against his legs as he ran. "Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!"

Mary startled – both at the doorbell as it rang again and at Dean's yelling – and took the drool-covered Batman figure from Sam's mouth, along with the Joker from the highchair's tray.

Sam frowned and whined as he squirmed in his seat, clearly unhappy about having the toys taken away from him at the same time Dean had disappeared from his view.

"It's okay. He'll be right back," Mary assured her six-month old about his big brother, depositing the action figures on the counter by the fridge before crossing to the kitchen's doorway as John descended the steps. Her husband freshly showered from having worked on cars all day.

Mary smiled at the sight of him – of his dark, damp hair and bare feet...his clean pair of jeans, his faded green Marines t-shirt…and his wedding band, the shiny silver a sharp contrast on his oil-stained hands.

Mary swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed again with how much she stood to lose – her husband, her children, her life...both literally and figuratively.

"Daddy! Pizza's here!" Dean informed, bouncing in place with excitement as he stood between the staircase and the front door.

"So I hear," John commented as he cleared the last step and shook his head at his oldest, pausing as he noticed his wife staring at the door as the doorbell rang again. "Mary..."

Mary glanced at her husband, looking pale and wary.

"What?" John asked her, his attention flickering between his wife and the door, wondering if she heard something...saw something...knew something he didn't.

"It's the pizza man!" Dean told his dad, grinning as if a superhero was on their front porch. "And he's gonna leave if you don't – "

John held up his hand to silence his four-year old as his attention remained on his wife, not liking how hesitant she seemed. "Mary..."

Mary shook her head. "Nothing. Just...just don't let him come in."

Because the demon could be anybody, could be in anybody.

And she was pretty sure he would know where they lived, would show up when they least expected it.

John arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay," he replied, his tone amused as he crossed to the door with Dean at his heels. "I wasn't planning to invite him to dinner."

"I know," Mary agreed, realizing she sounded silly but unable to stop herself. "And don't let him too close to Dean."

Because the demon had seemed unusually – uncomfortably – interested in Sam at the grocery store...which meant maybe he was coming for their children, maybe their precious boys would be the price for her deal, for restoring John's life ten years ago.

John stared at Mary – clearly confused as to why she was being so cautious over something as normal as having pizza delivered – but nodded before finally opening the door.

"Pizza!" Dean greeted the teenager standing on their front porch, reaching up toward the large flat box the older boy held.

John chuckled. "Wait, Dean," he told his four-year old and closed the door behind them.

Mary's heart immediately sank as her husband and oldest child disappeared from her sight, and she stepped further into the hall, trying to gain a better view of the stranger from the side window that framed the door...hoping – praying – the pizza delivery guy did not favor the same man she had seen hours earlier at the grocery store.

But she could see nothing – only the sleeve of his red uniform – and was unable to tell what was being said, their voices muffled by the closed door.

Behind her, Sam's fussy whines turned into more insistent crying as the six-month old realized he was alone in the kitchen. His dad and brother gone, his mother no longer lingering in the doorway.

Mary sighed – annoyed with herself for leaving her baby, even if he was right around the corner – and crossed back to the kitchen.

"It's okay, Sammy," she soothed and reached for her youngest, knowing from his cries that he was beyond being comforted by her words alone. "I'm here. Mommy's here," she assured him, unstrapping and lifting Sam from his highchair as John and Dean entered the house.

John frowned at the sound of a crying Sammy and then quirked a smile as Dean scowled and stomped in the direction of the kitchen.

"I told her he would cry if I stopped playing with him," the four-year old muttered.

John chuckled and followed behind his oldest, crossing into the kitchen in time to see Dean hold up his arms to Mary, demanding she give Sam to him without ever saying a word.

Mary sighed, recognizing that stubborn – disapproving – expression on Dean's face, and wondered how a four-year old could make her feel embarrassed, guilty, and inadequate all at once.

"I've got him," Mary told her oldest as she continued to pat Sam's shuddering back, her tone clipped with uncharacteristic annoyance. "Go wash your hands."

Dean hesitated and then glanced at his dad.

"Go on," John encouraged from the kitchen's doorway, still holding the pizza box and nodding his assurance that he would handle this situation while Dean was gone.

Dean glanced back at Mary before huffing his own annoyance but doing as he was told, scampering down the hall to the bathroom with his cape billowing like a sail behind him.

John watched Dean go – hearing the small stool scrape across the tiled bathroom floor a few seconds before the water turned on at the sink – and sighed as he focused again on his wife.

"Mary..." John began, sliding the warm pizza box onto the table.

Mary turned her head in the direction of John's voice but did not look at her husband as she continued to bounce her crying baby in her arms. "What?"

John crossed to his wife, rubbing her tense shoulders as he stood behind her. "What's wrong?" he asked, his tone gentle – knowing his wife was fragile in this moment even if he didn't know why. "Tell me."

Mary clenched her jaw against the sudden urge to sob and shook her head because some things were beyond words.

And yet, she knew she still had to tell him, had to find the words to explain what she had done...and at what cost.

John glanced down the hall as the water shut off in the bathroom, knowing Dean would be joining them again in a matter of seconds.

"Mary..."

Mary sighed, wanting to melt into John's touch as he stood behind her but instead feeling her raw nerves inflame with every single one of her baby's high-pitched wails, reminded of how Sam had done the same at the grocery store...of how her six-month old had clung to her while he had cried...of how the stranger – the demon – had looked at Sam, had looked at her.

"Mary..." John called again, still rubbing his wife's shoulders as Sam continued to squirm and scream in her arms.

"Stop, Sam!" Mary suddenly snapped, surprising herself with how harshly she spoke to her baby, with how sharply she had also smacked his diapered bottom.

"Whoa. Hey..." John turned Mary to face him, his expression a mixture of disapproval and worry, of confusion and surprise.

Sam looked startled as well, his breath stuttering to a stop before he resumed crying – harder and louder – and twisted in his mother's embrace, reaching for his father.

"I'm sorry," Mary immediately apologized, tears welling in her own eyes as she held her baby tighter. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"He's okay," John soothed, taking Sam from Mary's arms. "Aren't you, little man?" he asked, kissing their baby's forehead before focusing back on his wife. "You've both just had a rough afternoon."

"That's not an excuse."

"No, it's not."

Mary nodded at John's response, her throat sore with suppressed tears...because until just now, she had never responded that way to her children, had always been compassionate and patient no matter why or how long they cried.

You're good with him.

Mary closed her eyes at the echo of the demon's words – knowing their encounter that afternoon was why she was not herself – and felt her chest tighten with renewed fear and anxiety.

Because everything had the potential to end tonight...and John didn't even know it yet.

She opened her eyes, staring at her husband.

John said nothing but held his wife's gaze while rubbing Sam's small back as the crying six-month old squirmed in his arms and fisted his shirt.

The silence between them stretched until...

"Pizza time!" Dean announced as he bounded down the hall and back into the kitchen, pausing as he realized John was now holding Sam...and that Sam seemed even more upset.

John arched an eyebrow as his oldest stared at him. "What?"

"Why's he still crying?" Dean asked, his small hands resting on his hips as his feet stood apart from each other. The cape still tied around his neck and now draped over his elbows, making him look very much the role of a superhero swooping in to save the day...or more importantly, to save his baby brother.

John glanced at Mary and then back to Dean, shrugging as if this was all no big deal. "That's babies..." he answered – the typical response soothing everyone's nerves – and winked at his four-year old, crossing to sit at his place at the table and nodding for Dean to do the same.

Dean narrowed his eyes, sensing there was something more, but then grinned at his father and launched himself at his seat, jumping into his chair and perching on his bony knees to better reach the pizza box still sitting in the middle of the table.

Mary sighed, feeling shaky but thankful for her husband...for how she and John worked as a team – especially when it came to their children – and for how they were together, for better or for worse. She clung to that promise, that vow – for better or for worse – as she quickly swiped her fingers beneath her damp eyes and crossed to the pantry.

"Maybe he's hungry..." Dean suggested, watching as John settled into his chair and shifted Sam in his arms, holding the quieting six-month old against his broad chest while still patting the baby's back.

"Maybe," John agreed, though Sam had never shown much interest in food one way or another...unlike Dean.

"I'm hungry!" Dean told his father, right on cue, and glanced over his shoulder at Mary. "Mommy..."

"Hmm..." Mary answered, taking several jars of baby food from the middle shelf before collecting a small spoon from the neighboring drawer and crossing to the table.

"Can we eat?"

Mary quirked a smile at her oldest, despite how on edge she still felt, and set the small jars and spoon on the tray of Sam's highchair. "In just a minute..." she promised and turned back to the fridge, grabbing her baby's double-handled juice cup from the top shelf.

Dean sighed, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on the knuckles of his clasped hands as he smiled at Sam. The baby finally quiet and content against John's chest.

"Sam-my..." Dean called, drawing out the two syllables in a sing-song voice, his smile widening when the six-month old looked at him.

Sam took a hiccupping breath and rubbed his face against John's shirt, blinking at his big brother as Dean proceeded to make funny faces at him.

John chuckled at his four-year old's antics and then glanced at Mary as she approached the table, setting the juice cup on the highchair's tray and reaching for their baby.

"C'mon, Sammy," Mary said, lifting Sam from John's arms and feeling her heart swell when the baby buried his face into her shoulder and sighed – the kind of sweet, trusting, forgiving gesture she would expect from her youngest...even if he was only six-months old.

Mary swallowed against the tightness that returned to her throat – because she could not lose her baby, could not lose her family. She held Sam a little closer and crossed to the opposite side of the table, smiling when Sam kept his legs and feet tucked up under him as she tried to put him back in his highchair.

Dean laughed. "Sam wants to sit with you, Mommy," he reported and then laughed again as the baby refused to straighten his chubby legs.

Mary nodded. "I see that," she agreed, deciding not to try to put Sam in his highchair for a third time, but instead sat in her own chair and settled the baby on her lap, his back against her stomach.

There was a beat of silence.

"Okay..." Mary sighed, glancing at her husband and then at Dean before grabbing the napkins still tangled in a wadded heap on the table where her four-year old had left them earlier. "Who's saying the blessing?" she asked, passing out the napkins before draping hers across Sam's chest as a bib.

"Me!" Dean blurted and bowed his head, closing his eyes and pausing for effect.

Mary exchanged smiles with John, both parents bowing their heads as well but keeping their eyes open to watch their children.

Sam shifted on his mother's lap and whimpered as they waited for Dean to say his prayer.

"Thank you for the world so sweet..." Dean began, reciting the blessing he had heard repeatedly on one of the television shows he watched. "Thank you for the food we eat..."

Mary glanced at John, smiling when he winked at her, and then rubbed Sam's chest as her restless baby continued to squirm in her lap.

"Thank you for my brother, Sam..." Dean continued, adding his own part to the blessing. "And thank you for the pizza man. Amen."

Mary laughed. "Amen," she echoed, wondering if her four-year old knew how much she loved him...how much joy he brought to her life with his unpredictable personality...how much she could not bear to lose him...or Sam...or John.

Mary swallowed – once again feeling choked by the desperation that rose in her throat – and reached for one of the baby food jars.

"That was a damn good blessing," John praised his oldest, opening the pizza box and sliding a slice of pepperoni pizza onto Dean's outstretched plate.

"Thanks, Daddy. I made up the last part myself," Dean replied, taking a bite of his pizza and watching as Mary uncapped his brother's food.

"Speaking of the pizza man..." Mary began, pulling out a plump little chicken stick from the jar and shaking off the excess juice before handing it to Sam. "Did he say anything?"

John frowned. "Like what?" he asked around his mouthful of pizza.

Oh, you know...like if he worked for the devil and was in town to collect on a deal?

Mary shrugged, making sure both her children were managing their food before taking a small bite of the pizza slice John had put on her plate. "Just wondering if he said anything..."

John returned the shrug. "Not really."

Mary nodded, then glanced at Sam as he shoved his half-eaten chicken stick onto her plate and looked up at her.

"He wants green beans now," Dean told his mother before taking another bite of his pizza, the red sauce smearing across his chin as the stringy cheese stretched from the dough.

And of course Dean would know that.

Mary smiled. "Is that what you want?" she asked her baby, uncapping another jar and dipping the small spoon into the green mush.

Sam opened his mouth in response before reaching for his juice cup.

Mary slipped the helping of pureed green beans past Sam's lips and then handed him the juice, smiling as her baby sucked on his cup while looking around the table at his father and brother.

Mary took another bite of her pizza, tapped her chin to tell Dean to wipe his mouth, and passed a third slice to John before taking the cup back from Sam and giving the baby another spoonful of green beans.

It was all so normal.

So normal and perfect and...

"He said he liked my cape," Dean reported, still sitting on his knees and leaning forward to reach the pizza box.

Mary blinked. "Who?" she asked, knowing she already knew.

"The pizza man," Dean answered, sliding a second slice of pizza onto his plate. "Can Sammy have some?"

"You know he can't," Mary replied, taking the half-eaten chicken stick from the edge of her plate and handing it back to her baby.

Sam turned his head, shoving away his mother's hand.

Mary sighed, dropping the chicken stick back to her plate and offering more green beans instead.

"He said my cape was awesome and he wished he had one," Dean continued to report about the pizza delivery guy, pausing to gulp his milk.

Mary narrowed her eyes. "Why would he say that?" she demanded, feeling her earlier paranoia and panic begin to return.

"Because it is awesome!" Dean responded, beaming his pride before rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth – wiping away his milk mustache – and then taking a bite out of his pizza, a round slice of pepperoni plopping on the plate below.

"Of course it is, sweetie." Mary's smile felt strained as she looked at her oldest and then turned her attention to her husband. "Why would he say that?" she asked again.

John shrugged, finishing his third slice of pizza. "People just say stuff, Mary," he reminded her and drank from his glass of tea.

Mary nodded, trying to convince herself that John was right...but what if he wasn't?

Because demons just said stuff, too.

And then they came back ten years later to reveal the fine print and collect on their deals.

Mary swallowed. "What else did the pizza man say?" she asked her oldest while dabbing Sam's mouth and chin with the corner of her napkin before smoothing the cloth back over his chest and giving her baby another spoonful of mashed green beans.

Dean chewed, deep in thought as he stared at the piece of pizza he held. "Can you spell 'pepperoni'?" he asked his mother, pulling one of the speckled red slices of meat from the gooey cheese and showing it to Mary.

John chuckled and reached for his fourth slice of pizza.

Mary sighed, feeling her frustration begin to rise...because she needed to know what else was said, needed to know if the demon had been on their front porch just minutes ago talking to her son.

"Dean..." Mary called, glancing down at Sam as the baby once again pushed her hand away, now refusing the green beans she held within inches of his face.

Dean shoved the pepperoni and last bit of pizza in his mouth, then narrowed his eyes as Mary continued trying to feed Sam the green mush. "He doesn't want that anymore," the four-year old informed and reached for the jar of applesauce instead. "He wants this now."

"Never mind your brother," Mary snapped, jabbing the spoon back into the jar of green beans and intercepting Dean's reach, holding her four-year old's arm to make him focus on her and what she was asking. "What else did the pizza guy say?"

Dean grunted his displeasure and confusion at being held so firmly – his wrist squirming in his mother's grasp – and glanced at his father.

John scowled, dropping his half-eaten slice to his plate. "Mary."

"What else?" Mary insisted, resisting the urge to shake her oldest and hating how hysterical she was beginning to feel.

Sensing his mother's mood, Sam began to whimper, moving restlessly in Mary's lap.

Dean glanced at his brother. "It's okay, Sammy," he soothed and then looked back at his mom. "He asked how old I was," he replied, answering Mary's question about the pizza delivery guy and successfully pulling away from her grasp.

Mary blinked, feeling her heart beat faster.

How old is he?

The demon had asked that about Sam in the grocery store. And now...

"Why would he ask that?" Mary shouted, cutting her eyes at John.

John tilted his head at his wife's panicked tone, confused and a little unnerved by Mary's uncharacteristic behavior. "People just – "

" – don't tell me that people just say stuff, John!" Mary interrupted, glancing down at Sam as the six-month old became more agitated, his whimpers once again becoming cries.

"Stop yelling. You're scaring him," Dean admonished his mother, his own forehead wrinkling in distress.

"He should be scared," Mary snapped...and then wished she could call the words back as Dean's eyes widened in fear as well.

Because that's not what she had wanted to say – she didn't want her boys to live in fear like she had done throughout most of her childhood as a hunter's daughter.

John frowned, his expression hardening as his patience quickly dwindled. "Mary..."

Sam's high-pitched wails continued to echo in the small kitchen. The baby's face scrunching as he flailed his arms, his fisted hand striking the handle of the spoon protruding from the open jar of baby food.

"Dammit, Sam!" Mary yelled as the jar toppled, spilling pureed green beans beside her plate before rolling off the table's edge and dumping its remaining mushy contents into Mary's lap, staining the knees of her jeans as it clattered to the floor.

"Don't yell at him!" Dean barked with all the authority of a protective big brother and pushed away from the table. "He's just a baby," the four-year old reminded his mother, jumping out of his chair and reaching for Sam.

"Stop it, Dean!" Mary responded and stood as her oldest approached. Her chair scraping across the hardwood as she scooped a crying, squirming Sam from her lap and held the baby away from Dean's reach, supporting the six-month old's diapered bottom with one arm while bracing him against herself with the other, his back against her chest.

"You stop it!" Dean countered, watching as Sam kicked furiously – his legs and sock-clad feet smeared with green bean mush, his arms flailing, his fisted hands punching the air in distress.

"Dean..." Mary growled as the four-year old continued to reach for his crying brother.

John sighed as the remnants of his patience and understanding vanished. "Alright..." he began, his voice calm though his tone indicated he was done with the showdown taking place in their kitchen. "That's enough."

"She started it!" Dean accused, pointing at his mother.

"And I'm finishing it," John informed, standing and crossing to his wife, then lifting Sam from Mary's arms and settling the distraught six-month old against his chest like he had done earlier.

Mary stared at her husband, tears welling in her eyes, unable to speak around the knot of emotion clogging her throat.

John held his wife's gaze, his expression a mixture of anger and worry. "We're going to talk about this."

Because if Mary was having some sort of nervous breakdown, John deserved to know about it...deserved the opportunity to help her through it and to protect his children from its effects.

Mary nodded her agreement...because she wanted to tell John what had happened, wanted him to know what had sent her into a tailspin. For better or for worse, he needed to know...and she needed his help to pull out of this free-fall before everything crashed.

There was silence.

Mary glanced at her four-year old still standing beside her. "Dean..."

Dean glared at his mother, not interested in her apologies yet. "You need a time-out, Mommy," he announced and then glanced at his dad for support in the decision.

John nodded, rubbing Sam's back as the baby whimpered and buried his face into John's shoulder. "Sounds like a good idea to me," he agreed and reached for Dean. "C'mon...bath time."

Dean hesitated. "Sammy, too?"

John nodded again. "Sammy, too."

Because the baby was an absolute mess.

Dean tilted his head. "Can I pick the music?"

John quirked a smile. "Don't you always?"

The four-year old grinned his answer and grabbed his father's outstretched hand.

Mary's smile was sad and brittle as her husband and boys passed by her. "Have fun," she called, trying not to feel hurt when Dean ducked her reach to ruffle his hair...so she patted her baby's back instead as Sam blinked at her from where he rested against John's shoulder.

John glanced at Mary as he allowed Dean to lead him out of the kitchen and into the hall, his left arm still holding Sam against his chest.

"I'll be up in a few..." Mary told her husband, wanting to cry for so many reasons.

John nodded, indicating he had heard her but did not otherwise respond.

Mary watched them go and then sighed, collecting the plates from the table and carrying the stack to the sink. She stood there, listening to her husband and four-year old climb the steps and hearing Dean's chatter drift back down as he said something about Sam and then laughed.

Mary smiled at the sweet, innocent sound...and then felt the expression dissolve as she finally released her threatening tears, bracing her elbows on the counter as she bowed her head and silently cried.

Because one way or another, everything – absolutely everything – was going to change tonight.

And no one even knew it yet – except her...and the demon.

END

A/N: This chapter has been completed for several years but I wasn't quite sure if I wanted it to end here, so I never posted it. But given the recent return of Mary in Season 12, I think here is exactly where it should end.