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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"You were right," she replies, feeling better about the whole thing. The horse listening to her has really put her at ease, and now she doesn't feel like any second she'll be thrown.

"Your farm is beautiful. So peaceful."

He nods as he turns his gaze back to the fields, looking over the expanse of land. "I missed it more than anything during the war. In the middle of the battlefields, the only place I wanted to be was here."

"Oh, Dean," she says, before checking herself for her reaction. She looks down at her lap for a moment, collecting herself. "Did you see many battles?"

"A fair amount," he says with a shrug. "War is war after all. Battles are a part of the equation."

"Indeed they are." Such a terrible part of war, and the part that grabs people's notice first. There's the marching, looting, starving part of it too. There's the politics and parades -- the parts she'd heard about and seen from her house in New Orleans. But it's the former that she learned about after joining them and witnessing it all firsthand.

"The medical tents were at the rear of the line," she says suddenly, before she can think better of it. "Sometimes the battles were so close that bullets would pierce the canvas. One time a patient was struck even as he waited for the doctor to see him. And one night--" She pauses, taking a moment to swallow. "One night I was sitting by the fire and I noticed what I thought was dirt on my skirt. But when I examined it, I found it was a bullet hole."

Christine hasn't thought about that day in a long time. She knew the dangers, but to see the evidence right there, to know how close she was to taking a bullet to the leg, well, she was rattled for a long time afterward. Yet she still stayed on, nursing the men back to health.

"I couldn't turn tail and leave when the men I was tending to had to feel those bullets. I was lucky."

He glances over at her, watching her as she speaks. He couldn't blame her for being scared - being that close to death would do that to you. But the fact that she stayed regardless made him smile. "Those men were lucky to have you. I know that first hand."

She exhales a slow breath, lifting her eyes to meet his where she gives a slight smile of remembrance.

"I often hoped that your wound caused you no lasting trouble. Sometimes men don't heal as they should."

He nods a bit at that, before giving her a smile that's a bit more charming than it should be. "I always attributed that to the excellent care I received."

His being charming has never escaped her notice and she feels that fluttering sensation in her stomach again. It's bittersweet, she feels, because he lives here and she lives in Arkansas. This visit is a once in a lifetime opportunity, but right now she wishes it wasn't. She wishes she could stay.

But a person can't make things happen on wishes alone. She knows this. Reality comes crashing down on her again as she looks out over the land, knowing she's only a visitor, not a resident. A small part of her, deep down, wants to be the latter. She wants to be asked to stay.

"I wouldn't have stood for anything less than excellent. Not for anybody, but especially not for you." The fluttering in her stomach increases, but she turns her head to look back at him. "I had to make sure you made it home. To your family, and your farm, and your mother making you pie." She remembers well asking him his favorite food and him saying it was pie.

His smile widens a bit at that, before turning his eyes back to the land. "I don't think if I'll ever be able to convey how grateful I am that you did." For more than just his mother and his ability to return home. He's grateful that he had the chance to get to know her.

He wishes she could stay as well. But he also doesn't know how to make that happen - he wishes he did. He wishes there were ways that didn't seem so forward or heavy handed. He wishes the world were a simpler place.

Oft times the simplest way is the best way, but Christine doesn't have the courage to say what's in her heart. It would be rude to ask to stay and it would be heartbreaking if she told him what she's feeling and he laughs at her, or simply doesn't feel it too.

"Sometimes these things don't need words," she responds. "It's all right, though. I know."

He nods a bit in agreement. "Good. I'm glad." He then pauses as they reach out to the property line, turning his horse so that they can look back over the land. "And that's it. That's our land."

Christine has a harder time turning her horse, but after a moment, the horse realizes she means it and obediently turns around.

"It's perfect. Like a dream. But not a land of fairy tales or anything like that. Just a good dream."

Dean nods a bit in agreement as he leads the way back to the farmhouse. "It is," he says softly. "One I don't want to ever wake up from. Hopefully I won't have to leave it again - at least not for something like the War."

"Oh, I hope there's never another war as long as I live." A shudder goes through her at the very thought. She's seen more than most young ladies her age and it's not something she wants to see repeated.

"If you stay here, then I know my letters will always reach you." It hasn't even occurred to her to ask if he wants her to keep writing. She wants to stay in touch.

He glances back to her, and there's a small smile. He would like it if she kept writing. He would like it a lot. "Good. I'll look forward to them."

"Good," she replies, relieved to hear that's the case. The war changed so many things and it definitely changed her. The strict, overbearing rules of society have been thrown out the window. If she wants to write to a single man, she will. If she's invited to visit him and his family, she'll accept. She doesn't answer to a father or husband. She's free to do as she likes.

"So how did I do my first time on a horse?" The fact that she didn't tumble off leads her to think she's done well enough.

"Very well." He draws them to a stop outside the barn and swings his leg over the side of his horse to lower himself to the ground easily. He walks the horse back into the stables to rest, before returning to help her off hers. "How'd it feel?"

"Better than I initially thought it would," she admits, letting go of the reins and setting her hands down lightly on his shoulders as he helps her down.

"I can see now how horse and rider have to trust one another." She had to trust that the horse wouldn't throw her or take off in a gallop, and the horse had to trust that Christine knew how to guide her properly.

"I don't know when I'll ever have opportunity to ride again, but I'm thankful for such a gentle creature for my first time. Thank you for taking me out."

The entire time she's speaking, she doesn't remove her hands from his shoulders. She's forgotten about propriety and personal space, it seems, either because she's excited to talk about her experience, or because this feels so natural a thing to do. Maybe it's a bit of both.

"Of course," He nods, before leading both of the horses back to his stalls. "With just me around they don't really get out to ride as much as they used to. I'm sure they were happy for the exercise without having to put in a lot of hard work."

"You mother mentioned your father had hurt his back. It's a shame you two can't go out riding together." She follows behind him, giving him plenty of room to guide the horses where they need to go. As he focuses on that, she takes the opportunity to touch her hair to make sure the pins aren't slipping after her ride. She may be much different than she'd once been, but there's still a little vanity present, wanting to look decent in front of him.

He nods a bit at that. "He and my mother used to go riding all the time. Now, not as much as they used to. But that doesn't mean they haven't found other ways to occupy their time."

"It is good to hear they have." They don't sound like her parents at all. Hers only shared meal times or carriages.

"Back to the house?"

He nods a bit in return. "Back to the house. I'm afraid my mother may insist you stay for dinner."

"I could easily be persuaded to stay in your family's company a little longer." Because she does want to get to know them better.

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hasperkynipples - 2014-11-15 21:43 (UTC) - Expand

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