Chapter Text
Mary Martha Weber sat on the front porch of her parents’ home, trying to hold still. The heat of a July mid-morning in Kentucky can be oppressive, but if you didn’t move around a lot, you didn’t sweat as much. But, as Mary Martha’s mama liked to remind her, ladies did not sweat.
Tell that to my back, Mary Martha thought bitterly. If only her mama would let her go over to Ruby’s house to swim, but Ruby’s skirt at Sunday service had been too short for Mary Martha’s mama’s sensibilities, so Ruby was a no-go for a while.
Sighing, Mary Martha used her church fan to swirl a little cool air around her face. The house was air conditioned, of course, but Mary Martha’s daddy had insisted she head outside after lunch to get some fresh air. The last thing Mary Martha wanted was fresh air versus cold air, but what Daddy said went. No questions asked.
Pushing the porch swing lazily with one toe, Mary Martha arranged her skirt over her legs. She would give anything to be able to put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, but it was The Lord’s day, which meant she stayed dressed up until bedtime. Looking over the sleepy street in front of her, Mary Martha wondered what could possibly be going on in the outside world.
The sound of a large engine coming up the quiet road made Mary Martha jerk her head up. What could that be? Through the tree-lined street, Mary Martha could make out the boxy shape of a UHaul truck.
“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered. “They’re here.” Leaping to her feet, Mary Martha burst into the front hall of the rambling old house that had been in her family for 70 years. “Mama! Daddy! They’re here! The new neighbors!”
Mary Martha’s mama, Deborah, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Mary Martha Weber,” she scolded. “Ladies do not shout.”
“Ladies shout if new neighbors move in.” Mary Martha’s daddy, James, came out of the sitting room where he was most likely reading the Sunday paper and shaking his head over the world’s state of affairs.
“I saw a moving truck.” Mary Martha practically panted with excitement. No one had moved in or out of their small town in nearly 3 years. This was huge news.
Deborah gave Mary Martha a small frown. The frown conveyed every single disapproving thing Deborah thought Mary Martha was guilty of at the moment. Mary Martha controlled herself quickly and then followed her parents out the front door.
The UHaul truck was parking awkwardly in front of the large, faded yellow colonial house from the Weber’s trim home. No one had lived in the colonial since the former owners were moved to an old folks’ home by their children. Ruby and Mary Martha spent hours speculating over who could possibly want to live in their boring little town. Well, in a few minutes, Mary Martha was going to find out.
new neighbors moving in!!! :O Mary Martha texted to Ruby.
today!?!?!? Ruby texted back. i’m coming over!!!
NO!!! mama’s mad about your skirt. i’ll tell you everything later. Mary Martha texted.
your moms an idiot, Ruby texted. whatever.
The UHaul came to a stop and jerked into park. It was half on the lawn, half on the street. Both doors opened and the Webers could hear two people laughing.
“You park like crap, Mom,” said a young man’s voice.
“Shut up, Sam,” an older woman’s voice replied. “You try driving this thing from Chicago.”
“You should have let Dean drive for a while,” the young man suggested, coming around the truck to stand on the driver’s side next to an attractive blonde woman.
“Oh, no.” The woman looked up at the incredibly tall teenager next to her. “Your brother would have turned the truck right back up 41 and headed home.”
“Can you blame him?” the boy asked.
The woman laid her hand on his arm. “Not at all. But don’t tell him I said that.” She turned around and glared down the street. “God, where’s your brother? I’ll kill him if he turned around.”
The teenage boy shook his head. “You know he wouldn’t do that.”
Together, the woman and her son moved to the back of the truck to start unpacking.
“We should go introduce ourselves,” Deborah said but didn’t move.
“Let’s go then,” Mary Martha agreed but she wasn’t moving unless one of her parents did first.
James was the first one to head down the sidewalk to the waist-high fence surrounding the front yard. He was about to open the gate when the ear shattering roar of an approaching motor stopped him in his tracks.
Coming up the street was a long, lean, black car. The driver had one arm out the window and Mary Martha could hear the rock music pounding out of its speakers a block away. James and Deborah Weber watched in horror as the black car pulled up behind the UHaul truck. The driver of the car didn’t get out right away, or even turn the car off, but instead sat in the driver’s seat, watching the woman and her son try to unhitch a modest sedan from the car tow dolly. The rock music screamed its anthem across the street and assaulted Mary Martha’s ears. Deborah and James exchanged very quick, very worried looks.
“Dean! Get out here and help us!” the woman yelled to the driver of the black car.
Mary Martha watched at the driver--Dean--dropped his chin to his chest before turning off his car and getting out. One long leg came out of the open driver’s side door first as one arm reached over his head to grab the edge of the roof of the car and help haul himself to a standing position. Standing next to the open door, Dean stretched his long body this way and that to work off the stiffness of the road.
“Mary Martha--” Deborah said suddenly, turning to her spellbound 17 year old daughter.
Mary Martha didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She watched as the boy, no older than herself maybe, moved toward his mother and brother with the easy grace of someone very comfortable in their skin. His long, sinewy arms and legs practically screamed masculine confidence. Mary Martha memorized his outfit to report to Ruby later: jeans, black work boots, a faded black rock band tee shirt.
“Oh, dear me,” Deborah murmured, looking at Mary Martha again.
“Come on, Deborah,” James ordered. “We’ll greet our new neighbors.” Mary Martha made to walk over with them. James laid one finger on her shoulder. “You will stay here.”
“But, Daddy--” Mary Martha began to protest.
One glare from her father silenced Mary Martha and she waited behind the white wooden fence while her parents slapped on their best church smiles and went across the street.
The new neighbors stopped working when they saw the Webers approaching. Each of them wore wary smiles like they weren’t used to people crossing roads to say hello.
“Hi there now,” James Weber said heartily and Mary Martha groaned inwardly. It was his ‘hail fellow and well met’ voice. So phony. “I’m James Weber and this is my wife Deborah.”
“Hi!” Deborah waved from her spot slightly behind James.
“We live just over there.” James made it sound like their house was blocks away instead of across the street. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”
The woman looked a little stunned at the super cheerful greeting as her sons exchanged identical arched eyebrows at each other.
“Uh … hi. I’m Mary Winchester,” the woman replied. “These are my sons Sam”--Sam, the first boy, the very tall one, stuck out his hand to shake James’--“and Dean.”
Dean, the second boy, the driver of the long black car, didn’t move forward to take James’ pro-offered handshake, but stayed by the tow dolly, arms crossed over his chest. James’ smile faltered for only a second before he turned his attention back to Mary Winchester.
“So, where you folks from?” James asked next.
“Chicago,” Sam replied. He had longish brown hair that fell over his forehead and ears, but didn’t touch his collar, a sin in James Weber’s book of unspoken rules. Sam’s smile, even his uncertain one, could light up the noonday sky. He was tall and lanky, but with the promise that once his frame filled out, he’d be a mountain of a man.
“Well, well!” James said, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops on his khakis. “What brings you down here to Kentucky?”
“Highway 41,” Dean answered before his mother could.
“Dean,” Mary Winchester warned.
“Oh, he’s just tired from the drive.” Deborah made excuses for the new neighbor’s son. But Mary Martha knew that tone. That was the one Ruby called Deb’s Honey Over Acid Voice.
James pressed the issue of the Winchesters’ relocation again. Mary Martha could see Mary Winchester didn’t want to answer him, but her polite nature forced her to tell the Webers that she had accepted the job of head nurse at the new oncology ward. Deborah clasped her hands to her chest in glee.
“Oh, a nurse!” she trilled. “What a blessing you must be to patients!”
Mary Winchester looked flustered. “I guess.”
Sam Winchester had turned away from the adults by now and was busy unpacking the back of the moving van, making piles of boxes on the overgrown front lawn. Dean’s steady glare at the Webers finally melted the hospitality right out of them. James and Deborah Weber exchanged an uncertain glance as the three Winchesters waited for some kind of response.
“Well, I guess we’ll leave you to your unpacking.” James took Deborah’s elbow. “Feel free to come over if you need anything.”
“Is that your daughter?” Dean asked suddenly, pointed at Mary Martha without uncrossing his arms.
James narrowed his eyes for a split second before answering. “Yes. That’s our Mary Martha.”
Dean’s head barely turned, but Mary Martha felt his eyes rake over her from across the street. Dean flicked his glance back to James and Deborah, who suddenly looked terrified. He smiled unexpectedly. Mary Martha gasped and tightened her iron grip on the fence. When Dean Winchester smiled, his impassive face transformed into a thing of such beauty, Mary Martha was sure she’d seen the face of God in his grin.
“She looks nice,” Dean commented. Then he turned his head to look at Mary Martha directly. One of his hands raised in a negligent wave which Mary Martha couldn’t respond to because that would require she let go of the fence. If she let go of the fence, she was pretty sure she’d fall over. Dean's wide, blindingly white smile turned into a small, knowing smirk. He then turned back to a horrified James and Deborah Weber. “She’s looks really nice.”
And, with that simple statement, Mary Martha Weber, who’d never thought an untoward thought in her entire 17 years, knew that--against her parents’ wishes, her friends’ wishes, Jesus’ wishes and maybe even her own wishes--Dean Winchester was the man she was going to fall madly in love with.