Work Text:
Arthur Ketch glances down at his phone, the Winchesters have left another mess he needs to clean up. This time, federal agents they’ve left alive.
Ketch scoffed at their bleeding hearts, then, as always with the Winchesters, his thoughts turned to their mother, Mary.
She’s one hell of a hunter, to use a phrase from the Americans that whisper about her.
They’re scared of the skillful way she kills, her ice-cold eyes-- Ketch is intrigued. Intrigued by the woman who dedicates her life to sending as many monsters to the same grave from which she rose.
Mary is not motherly anymore, and when Ketch returns from the job, he gets that impression reaffirmed.
She returns at the same time, with the same amount of bruises, and only a curt nod. He doesn’t know how much Dr. Hess is telling her, only that it’s enough to keep her in his bed every night, and out of it every morning.
Their relationship, if you could call it that, is not based on love. It is just two people, desperate for someone who understands them, yet not willing to talk.
And that’s just fine by Ketch.