hasperkynipples | civil war au } { meddling mothers

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civil war au } { meddling mothers

Her son received a letter from a woman.

Not that the idea of Dean having female suitors is unheard of in the Winchester household, but before the war they weren't particularly ones to write. After the war - well, they were almost non-existent. Mary isn't one to deny the fact that her son came home different, a little bit colder but still gentle in the ways that mattered. He grew up in his time away and while the things he's seen were likely not pleasant, he isn't letting them mar him. At least, not in ways that she can see.

All the same, the letter from a woman, a Miss Christine Chapel, finds its way to their front door, and the inherent curiosity gets the better of her. She informs him of the letter, lets him read it, and waits for him to do something in response. In fact, she waits an entire week, and when he doesn't give her a return letter to put through the post, she takes matters into her own hands.

John will probably scold her for it later, but she also saw the look on her son's face when he read it. This meddling is worth doing.

It's takes some time for mail to travel, so much so that she almost completely forgot about the invitation she extended this "Christine Chapel." So when the blond woman appears at their doorstep while she's tending to the flowers in front of their home, she can't help but blink at her in surprise.

"Can I help you?"

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Christine expects Dean to have told his mother what she looked like. She also expected his description to be a person much different than herself. Gone are the tight curls pinned back from her face and the frilly dresses in pastel colors. Now she wears her hair severely parted down the middle and back in a bun. The dress she wears is a simple navy blue with black buttons and plain black trimming. Anyone who had known her before would say she's lost the bloom of youth. Her hands are a little coarser, and her eyes carry a sadness and seriousness they once lacked. But as she stands there with a traveling bag in her hands, she offers a gentle smile, her eyes radiating kindness.

"Yes, hello. I'm Christine Chapel." It's a name she hasn't used since she left home, so her father couldn't track her down. She picked a new last name and pretended to be a widow so she would be allowed to tend to the soldiers. And now that she works for one of the front line doctors in his practice, it's been easier to keep up the ruse. Signing her real name on that letter had been the first time she'd used it in years.

"Did I precede my letter accepting your invitation, ma'am?"

Mary perks up at the name immediately, a wide smile crossing her face. "Yes, of course. Christine." She takes a step back, studying her for a moment. Prettier than she thought she'd be. This is looking like a better and better choice already.

"Well, come on in darlin'. Dean's out in the back fields, but I could get you something cool to drink. It's a hot day."

"I'd appreciate that, thank you." Christine follows her up into the house, feeling touched at the familiarity she's already being shown. During the war, she had that with the other nurses, and they were more like mothers to her than her own flesh and blood had been.

"I-I know it must have seemed odd, my writing to Mister-- to Dean," she adds, trying out the name, "But he was very kind to me and I wished to know how he was." And because he hasn't written back to her, she's worried that he might have been hurt in the war. She worries --or worried-- that he might be an invalid. But the news that he's out in the fields working is promising.

"No, not at all. It was good to see that something nice came out of that whole mess." Mary's not a fan of war by any means, and she certainly wasn't fond of her son's decision to fight in it, but Dean is stubborn, a bit like her, and he was going to go whether she gave him her blessing or not. Having something like Christine be a result, rather than drinking (which he did, but not as badly, which she appreciated), is comforting.

She leads the way to small kitchen, making her way for the ice box. The entire Winchester house was small, not necessarily made of money, but warm enough for it's comforts. John did well enough at the market with their crops and they were part of the community here. It shows in the finer touches.

"It's been a Godsend having him here, too, especially with his father having thrown his back out - " the "again" is implied. " - and his brother away at school."

Christine sets her traveling bag by the door as she comes in, taking a look around. Back home, the rooms had had the ostentatious Victorian flair, and it was only after spending time in the kitchen with the servants that she came to appreciate the simplicity and lack of clutter.

"Oh, his father-- Is there anything that can be done to speed his recovery?" She can't recall any soldiers walking around bent in half, complaining they'd thrown their backs out. What would be the proper solution: heat, cold, or alternating between the two?

Mary waves a hand at that. "Time and a willing ear to listen to him complain usually does the trick. He's on the mend though - he's been walking around a bit and not complaining about the pain, so I'm sure he'll be back to work in no time."

This is a common problem for John. Mary fusses at him to have a doctor look at it constantly, but he won't listen. Winchester men are stubborn - but then again, so are the women they marry.

That makes her smile faintly. Her mother often complained of poor health, but Christine was sure it was mostly in her head. It wasn't like her mother did anything more strenuous than walk to the neighbors, or take a carriage to go shopping.

"And will he appreciate a new ear to listen to him?" she asks lightly. "If I tell him I am a nurse, perhaps he'll say more."

A nurse? Well, then, Dean was leaving things out. She considers for a moment, before shrugging. "We'll see what he says when he comes down. Stupid fool refuses to see a doctor, but maybe if we dress it up with a pretty face, he'll be a bit more willing to listen."

She shakes her head, placing the glass down in front of Christine before pouring one for himself. "Not that I'm saying you're just a pretty face, but men are a bit stupid that way. They need something nice to look at before they realize it's for their own good."

Christine laughs lightly and nods, accepting her drink.

"I understand." She's about to add that it was the same way with the soldiers she tended, but she stops herself. She tended to Confederates, not Federals, and she feels it would be a sore subject to bring up.

"So, Mrs. Winchester, what is your younger son studying?" She feels it's only polite to inquire. It was clear that Dean was very fond of his family.

"Oh, Sammy's in law school back east." There's no mistaking the pride in her tone. Mary's proud of both her sons, but Sam's always been smart and he worked so hard to get there. It just sort of flows out of her without her even realizing it. "He's always been smart - Dean's smart too, but it's more the practical kind. Sam on the other hand, he loves his books."

Christine likes how she doesn't favor one son over the other. A lot of people do that, and it seems unfair to her.

"I enjoy reading. Not that I could ever understand anything like a lawyer does! Well, you must be so proud." She sips at her drink, and then can't help returning to thoughts of Dean. "And Dean? Does he want to stay here and farm?"

"Very." She always will be proud of Sam, no matter what he does, but the fact that he's managed to come so far, warms her heart. She settles in the chair across from her before shrugging. "Dean's happy on the farm, but I think he's still undecided. The war changed him a bit, whether or not he wants to admit it. He can't help it though - war changes everyone, one way or another."

Christine understands that well. The war changed everyone in different ways, but seeing the blood and hearing the artillery fire was much different than sitting in the parlor in New Orleans, sipping at tea.

"I was a nurse in the war," she admits. She can't elaborate without admitting that she was tending to the Confederates, but if Mrs. Winchester asks, she won't deny it. "It reshapes you into a wholly new being. I hardly can believe who I used to be. But despite all the hardships, I feel I needed to do it. I like the person I am now far better than the one I was." The one who valued her name and her reputation. The one who delighted in gossip and frivolous parties. Life may not be a whirlwind of excitement now, but it doesn't feel near so empty either.

"That's the only thing that matters, darlin'," Mary says with a small smile. "My mother, God rest her soul, always used to say that the world comes and goes. You're the one who has to look in the mirror every day and like what you see."

That makes her sit up a little straighter.

"I do like what I see. Very much so." But she does have a worry deep in the back of her mind that Dean won't like what he sees when he looks at her. Maybe she appears too stern and serious now.

"Good. Then that's all that matters." She's about to get up and offer her another glass of lemonade when the back screen door slams open and Dean's voice can be heard in the back of the house.

"Ma?" He asks, footsteps leading the dirty and sweaty Winchester through the house to the kitchen. "I finished the back acres, so all that's left for Joe to do is the front ... "

His voice stops when he sees her at the kitchen table, a moment of stunned silence on his face. Not that he isn't happy or pleased to see her, just that he has no idea what she's doing there.

" ... Miss Chapel."

Christine's heart flutters off beat when she hears his voice, and on seeing him, she stays rooted to her seat, trying not to blush. How can a man look so handsome when he's so dirty?

But she overcomes her shock soon enough, swallowing to reply, "Mr. Winchester." And then she notices how surprised he looks to see her. Her mind begins to put it together as she looks to his mother. It was Mrs. Winchester who wrote back to her, not Dean. No, Dean didn't invite her, his mother did. Christine gets a sinking feeling in her stomach. He didn't want her to come.

Edited (i used like 3 different tenses there, sorry.) 2014-04-10 02:20 (UTC)

Mary just gets up to fetch another glass from the cabinet, pouring another lemonade for her son. "Drink?" she says with a bit of a smirk, and he glances back to her with a bit of a look - a gentle one. One that's mixed with fondness, if not a bit of exasperation.

"Getting out of my own way, I think were your words?" He says, taking the glass from her. She smirks, pushing down on his shoulders.

"Sit down, have a drink. Behave."

And with that, she'll disappear back into the house. Dean watches her go, before sheepishly looking down at his glass. "I'm sorry. I just ... wasn't expecting you. I would have cleaned up."

And now Christine looks down at her glass too. So his mother invited her without his knowledge. She feels so embarrassed and like she should just grab her bag and go.

But she can't do that. She wants to see how he is, even if he doesn't want to talk to her. He must not, or he would have written back to her himself, right?

"I don't mind. You were helping your family."

She runs her finger down the glass, wiping away the condensation. All the things she wanted to say to him on seeing him again have flown out of her head.

He nods once in agreement, unsure of what to say to her either. It's not that he's disappointed that she's here. In fact, he's very happy she's here, but he isn't entirely sure how to say it.

"Did you have a long trip here?"

"Not terribly long. I live in Arkansas now." It was a quiet little town, and she found it suited her temperament better than New Orleans did. The people were friendly and though they gossiped, they didn't shun anybody for acting outside the norm.

"I'm glad to see you're well."

He nods, taking a sip of his drink. "I was lucky. I managed to make it out of the war mostly unscathed." There were others that weren't so lucky. He considers himself fortunate to not be among them, but at the same time, he feels guilty for it. "Being home has been good, I think."

Mostly? She wonders if he means besides the wound she saw him with outside the front gate of her house. Or maybe he means his mind and not his body. She saw men damaged in that manner too.

"It's a lovely home," she replies, because it's true and it feels like the thing to say. "Your mother is so friendly and hospitable. And she says your brother's at school." She pauses, wondering what she's even doing now. Words are just pouring out of her mouth.

"Why didn't you write back to me?"

Just pouring out without a filter.

He looks a bit as though he's caught on the spot - which, to be fair, he is - but at the same time he knows it's a valid question. He should have wrote back to her. He just wasn't entirely sure how.

"I've never really been good with words. At least not on paper. I was going to, but I suppose my mother felt I wasn't doing it fast enough."

His face softens a bit in response, "I hope you didn't take ... all of this to mean I don't want you here because I do. I just ... would have liked to have been prepared."

"Oh, I-I did think... Once I realized you had no prior knowledge of my coming..." She looks a little ashamed of herself for drawing such conclusions, but she forces a smile through it.

"Perhaps my pride was a little wounded. But now we've cleared the air."

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