I seriously have no idea where this came from or why it exists. I wrote the first fourth or so about two months ago and then discovered it earlier and finished it while cooking dinner. Really it's just my idea of a little backstory for Dean and Mary combined with the whole 'Sam leaving for Stanford thing' and not really knowing a whole lot about his mother.

Probably not my best work but I had a good time writing it so hopefully a few of you enjoy it.

I own nothing Supernatural related.

Remembrance

When Sam Winchester is eighteen years old he finds a picture under his brother's pillow. He's never known Dean to be sentimental, there are no mementos or little things he carries around-sans the necklace Sam gave him a lifetime ago on Christmas- so when his fingers run across the smooth finish of the photograph he is surprised to say the least. The corners are crinkled and slightly yellowed, definitely old and from what he can tell Dean has held onto it for a long time. There is no writing on the back, no date or location either but after flipping it over he meets a bright smile and mesmerizing eyes.

Mom.

The initial sight of his mother's face throws him, not because he doesn't recognize her right away (he's only seen her a brief few times) but because John had gotten rid of every reminder of his wife that once existed and Sam knows (more like hopes)that if his brother had managed to hold on to even the smallest memory he wouldn't keep it from him all these years. He's never been able to pry memories or details from Dean and for a while (when he was more scared of his brother's anger than the things that were lurking in the dark) he let it go. He would talk when he was ready and Sam would be there to listen, although now with him heading off to California and Dean going wherever the hell John drug him it would be a bit more difficult. Phones just weren't the same, not with words as precious as these and with no set home letters were out of the question and even if he did manage to get something to Dean he knew if John found it first it would be tossed thoughtlessly aside without care.

Sam glances back to his already packed bags on the bed that was neatly made, bus tickets sitting patiently on top, and carefully slides the photo into his back pocket with determination before he ducks out the dingy motel's door in search of his brother.

…

There's a small row of picnic tables a good ten yards from the door and he's not surprised when that's where he finds Dean, sprawled on his back with his arms supporting his head and dark sunglasses shading his eyes. Sam smirks and casually walks over, sits down a few feet away and waits for Dean to raise his head and lift his glasses, eyebrow arched.

"Shouldn't you be heading out?"

Ignoring the sharp edge to his brother's voice Sam shrugs.

"Bus doesn't leave till four; I figure I've got some time to spare…unless you want me gone now of course."

Dean retaliates with a fist to Sam's upper arm, lip curling into a semi snarl. "Don't be a little shit; you know I'm the last one who wants to see you go."

Sam brushes the comment aside long enough to slowly reach into his pocket and runs his fingers over the photo for a quick bout of courage before he pulls it out and lets it lie limply in his palm. Waiting for Dean to react is almost agonizing as Sam watches his brother's eyes to flick down towards his hands before recognition fills his eyes and his body language changes and suddenly Sam is lying flat on the table with his hands pinned above him, Dean clawing at the hand that's clenching the picture. Sam is kicking and scratching back at his brother but even with his height advantage he's still too skinny and gangly to really do much damage. Finally wrenching his arms free and rolling to the side when Dean loosens his grip Sam sits up, shakes out his hair and gives some obviously needed space.

He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and tries catching his breath while Dean stands a few feet away, his mouth twisted into a vicious frown.

"Where did you get this?" he growls and Sam takes an involuntary step backwards, just in case.

Dean's eyes are wild, like a caged animal looking for a way out and a deep blush is coloring the apples of his freckle dusted cheeks. Almost as if he's embarrassed, which Sam thinks is ridiculous.

"I found it under your pillow, when I was making the bed…how long have you had that Dean? You know dad would completely lose it if he knew-"

"It's none of your business Sammy," he snarls, gripping the photo tight in his hands. "Stay out of my stuff, would ya?"

"No Dean, it is my business. You were the one who said to stop talking about mom, stop thinking about mom, hell every time I tried to ask a question you'd practically rip my head off but when you're the one who's been holding on all this time."

Dean opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, staring hard at his little brother who right now, looks nothing like the scrawny eighteen year old he was about to send off to college. He seems to have aged ten years in a matter of minutes, jaw clenched against bubbling anger that was directed straight at him and while he knew everything Sam said was true, it didn't matter. He didn't understand and unfortunately, Dean thinks bitterly, he never would.

He knows he could draw this argument out for years, deny everything Sam said and listen o him try and prove his point for the next few years all because it would mean he didn't have to address the elephant that's been in the room since Sam was old enough to speak and his first word ended up being 'mama'. But, he also knows that unless he wants his relationship with his baby brother to end up like Sam and dads, he'll do the right thing.

So he relents, a gentle sigh escaping him as he beckons Sam back toward the picnic tables and takes a seat on the splintering bench with Sam not far behind. It's silent tension for the first few seconds but Dean finally pulls the photo out of his pocket and hands it to Sam, clinging to it for just a fraction of a second before releasing it into the younger Winchester's hand and beginning.

"I know I've kept you in the dark about mom all these years Sammy, and yeah it was wrong of me but I guess I was just…clinging to the last good memories I had. I was being selfish, wanted to keep them to myself and I knew if I shared 'em with you that they wouldn't be just mine anymore. And that was wrong of me."

He glances to his left, watching Sam look at the picture and carefully draw a calloused thumb over their mother's face. One side of his mouth tips up in a smile.

"Will you tell me about her? Just one thing, that's all I'm asking Dean." He turns his puppy dog eyes towards his brother. "I want to know her too."

And this is how Dean Winchester gets stuck telling his story.

oOo

It's a fairly cold night when Dean finally gets to come home from the hospital, not enough to warrant the thin blanket of snow that sometimes accompanies winter in Lawrence but enough for Mary Winchester to wrap him in an extra blanket before she carries him out of the hospital with John at her side.

There's a tiny blue hat hiding a tuft of downy hair but she's more focused on the wide blue eyes looking up at her as she coos something unintelligible at him. John just smiles and shakes his head.

He's uneasy, to say the least, when he thinks about being responsible for someone so tiny and helpless. He's spent more than his fair share of nights in the nursery, staring at the furniture and the tiny clothes Mary has spent days washing and folding, and wondering how the hell he's going to get through this. But in the end, when he sees the angry baby they put on Mary's chest as she cries and strokes his damp hair, he suddenly knows and all his doubts fade with the hiccupping cries of his brand new son.

They drive home extra slow that night, Mary in the backseat with Dean and John at the wheel on high alert as he maneuvers his way through town until they pull up outside their picture perfect house and he reaches in the backseat to squeeze Mary's hand.

She squeezes back even harder.

Even though she's exhausted and still quite a bit sore Mary insists she stays in the nursery until Dean (who is now wide awake and watching her with those huge eyes) falls asleep. John looks uneasy as he occupies the doorway but Mary shoos him away and promises she'll be there soon, turning on the mobile above Dean's crib and humming along with the tinkling lullaby until John finally retreats to the bedroom.

She feels a bit more relaxed once John leaves and sighs as she watches Dean's eyes follow the mobile around and around, yawning widely every now and then. She giggles at his stubbornness and strokes a soft cheek with her thumb. He gurgles and waves his tiny fists in the air, determined to fight sleep for just a bit longer.

While he's entranced with his mobile Mary pushes away from the crib and looks up at the shelf above the bed, holding the row of angel figurines she put up just a few weeks ago as Dean kicked fiercely against her stomach. She thinks about everything that's happened in the past few months, biting her lip in protest of the tears she felt burning behind her eyes and looking back at Dean who was having a hard time keeping his eyes open now.

She bent down and kissed his head.

"Angels are watching over you, my love" she whispers, "and I'll never let anything happen to you alright? Never."

oOo

When Dean trails off in a voice much thicker than the one he started with Sam keeps his mouth shut and simply stares at the picture.

"Of course I don't really remember that," he finally says, locking eyes with Sam, "but she told me the story all the time. How I was stubborn and hardheaded even at three days old, how dad drove like twenty miles under the speed limit to get us home." He chuckles lightly before shaking his head and staring at a cluster of trees ahead of them.

"Anyway, there's your story." He looks back at Sam whose eyes hold enough disappointment to actually make Dean feel guilty.

"What? You asked for one story and I gave ya one. What else do you want from me?"

Sam doesn't answer and Dean curses under his breath. He shakes his head roughly and throws his hands up in defeat.

"Ok, fine. I guess I can tell you about a few more things but then we gotta get going before you miss that bus and end up stuck with us for another three days."

He watches Sam's face break out into a monstrous smile and takes a deep breath.

"Ok, here we go…"

oOo

For the most part, Dean was pretty good and spending the night in his own room, curled up in the bed John built just a few weeks prior.

Every night Mary tucks him in and kisses his forehead, tells him the angels are watching and hums the same lullaby his mobile used to sing until he fell asleep. It's a smooth transition that she thinks is almost too good to be true and unfortunately for her, she ends up being right.

Dean's 'smooth transition' comes to a screeching halt just three weeks later, waking Mary up in the dead of night with a symphony caterwauling that has her out of bed and down the hall in seemingly record speed. She nudges his bedroom door open and comes in to find him pressed against the headboard; clutching his quilt close to his chest and staring at her with tear filled eyes.

Mary puts on her best smile and gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through Dean's hair as he hiccups and whimpers beneath her touch.

"What's wrong little one?" her silky voice instantly provides comfort as Dean buries his face in her side and soaks her nightgown with tears. He sniffles once and mutters something that becomes muffled by her pajamas.

"What's that?" she asks, and dean pulls back, one chubby hand wiping at his eyes.

"There are monsters under the bed," he cries, moving to stick a tiny thumb between his teeth out of habit. Mary catches his hand and he stops, curling into an even smaller ball and hugging his blanket close.

She gives him a warm smile and strokes his hair again.

"So, there are monsters you say?"

Dean nods furiously and Mary wishes she could just laugh at the thought like other mothers do. She wants to assure her son that nothing like that exists, that he should never be afraid of the dark and that all the scary things were made up. Figments of others imaginations.

But she can't.

Still, she simply grabs the flashlight she keeps on the bedside table for him, and flips it on before kneeling on the floor and peering under the bed. There were a few misplaced socks and a few toys but definitely no monsters.

She glances up at Dean and waves him down. He looks uneasy but he crawls out of bed in his car pajamas and gets down beside his mother, peering underneath.

"No monsters," he says smiling. Mary laughs and kisses his head.

"No monsters my little angel. Just a bad dream is all."

She tells her conscience to shut up as she tucks Dean back into bed and hums the lullaby.

Someday he would know, but it wouldn't be today.

oOo

"She sounds great," Sam whispers as Dean ends his story and smiles just slightly.

He nods slowly, "she was. And she loved you, ya know. More than anything. I don't know how many nights she stayed up to sing to you when you would just go on one of those crying sprees for hours at a time. Dad would get frustrated and leave for a bit but mom would just sing and sing and rock you in the chair until you finally slept."

Sam huffs a laugh that's tinted with sadness and regret, as if he can read Dean's mind and feels exactly what he does. He wonders if that's even possible but then he shakes the thought away. It didn't really matter.

They sit in silence for a few moments, dean trying to gather his thoughts as Sam mulls over everything he's just told him. Occasionally Dean catches him smiling at something he remembers and upon seeing the pure happiness that had been absent from his baby brother's face for the past few months he feels the urge to go on.

"Sammy," he says quietly, watching the younger man's head snap up, "You wanna hear about the time you came along?"

Sam gives him the infamous, 'do you even have to ask' face and Dean shakes his head.

Of course he doesn't.

oOo

Dean never really gives much thought to the empty spare room at the end of the hall until he catches his dad painting it and his mom watching intently from the doorway one crisp spring day.

He's just come inside, covered in enough dirt to make Mary cringe as he joins her in watching John roll layer after layer of bright paint on the bare walls. He tilts his head to the side in wander.

"Mama," he queries, "what is daddy doing?"

Mary rubs a hand across her stomach that seems to be suspiciously growing as the weeks wear on and smiles down at him.

"He's getting the room ready."

Dean cocks his head to the side.

"Ready for what?"

Mary bites her lip and looks at John. He nods his head and smiles at her, mustache twitching in amusement.

"We're getting it ready for your baby brother."

Much to her surprise Dean doesn't say anything and Mary is almost afraid to glance down at him. She's afraid of seeing disappointment or anger in his eyes, not wanting to endanger their relationship but when she finally offers him a glance he looks…thoughtful.

Mary looks back at John who looks amused by the expression on his toddlers face.

"Will the baby play with me?" he suddenly asks, holding up the ball he'd brought inside with him. It was coated in mud and Mary took it from his hands with a laugh.

"Of course, when he's old enough you two can play all the time."

Dean nods his tiny head.

"And I can teach him all kinds of cool stuff?"

Mary nods and Dean smiles.

He doesn't speak for a few moments but eventually Mary hears,

"Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you love me the same? Even with a new baby?"

She watches John freeze and stop painting, one side of the wall still blank as he looks back at his wife
(who seems to be crying) and his son (who looks genuinely curious). He sets down the roller and walks over, scooping Dean up and wrapping an arm around Mary.

She sniffles and kisses Dean's face.

"I will love you no matter what," she tells him. "You'll always be my angel Dean, just like this new baby will be and I'll love you both the same, forever."

…

He stays with the kind old woman just a ways down the street the night his brother is born and she lets him eat a slice of pie before tucking him in on her couch and leaving the TV on as she goes to her bedroom. She knows just as well as Dean does that he won't be sleeping, too excited and nervous to dream about anything except the new little brother his mother will be bringing home tomorrow.

Instead he sits and thinks about all the things he's going to teach the new baby. How to play ball and build the best mud pies after it rains, and how to check under the bed for monsters that don't really exist. He makes a list in his head, not even noticing how heavy his eyelids are, and eventually falls asleep smiling.

John wakes him up the next morning, shaking him gently and smiling more than Dean has ever seen before. His eyes are tired but the excitement outshines it as he scoops Dean up and thanks the neighbor that waves at Dean as they go through the door and out to the waiting car. He can see his mother smiling at him through the back window and he waves.

His dad puts him in the backseat and before Dean can even reach over to hug his mother he stops, looking at the baby carrier between them that held the tiniest human he had ever seen. He was sleeping soundly, nose scrunched up and chest rising and falling gently.

Dean looks at him in awe and hears his mother laugh.

"Dean," she says in a whisper, "this is Sam."

Sam.

Dean breathes audibly and looks back at his mother, who was proudly looking down at her new son, before he reaches out a chubby hand and gently strokes Sam's cheek. He stirs slightly with a cry and Dean pulls his hand back with a gasp, tears filling his eyes.

Mary chuckles softly and smoothes his hair back in reassurance.

"Silly boy, you just startled him is all. Look, I think he likes you."

When Dean looks back Sam has his eyes open, watching Dean intently. He smiles at the baby and offers him a finger that he grasps with a surprisingly strong little fist.

Dean beams and hears his mother sniffle but he doesn't look away.

He's already smitten with his baby brother.

oOo

Sam chuckles at the sappy ending to Dean's story and it earns him a smack upside the head.

"Watch it," Dean says, "I'm over here spilling my guts about our first real bonding moment and you're laughing!"

Through another fit of laughter Sam mutters an apology.

"Sorry man, that's just a real hallmark moment you've got going on over there."

Dean glares and folds his arms over his chest, pouting. Sam rolls his eyes.

"Come on, it was a nice story. I always thought you hated me in the beginning. I was waiting for some kind of story about how you hid me in a cabinet or something."

Dean scoffs. "Is that what you think of me Sammy? Some terrorizing, jealous three year old who tried to get rid of his new baby brother by stashing him somewhere and hoping no one ever found him?"

Sam looks away as a blush slowly creeps up the back of his neck.

Dean shakes his head in mock disgust and leans back against the bench, stretching his legs and watches a couple holding hands as they walk to their room and end up with their faces stuck together before they can even get the door open.

He looks away and glances over at Sam who has a look on his face that tells Dean he wants to ask something but can't decide if it's worth it. Finally he looks at Dean and the words fall from his lips before he can even stop them.

"What happened on the last day?"

Dean feels his heart stop, throat constricting around the lump he can't seem to swallow and he looks sharply at Sam.

"You know what happened Sammy. I'm not going over it again."

Dean is pretty sure his voice is harsher than he really intends it to be because Sam flinches away from him and for a moment Dean feels no better than his father. He's about to apologize until Sam interrupts him with a held up hand and a shake if his head.

"I didn't mean that part of it Dean. I would never ask you to go through that again. I want to know what happened before, what went on before Dad got home that night."

Suddenly Dean feels even worse about barking at Sam and he groans as he tilts his head back and rubs his face. He peeks at Sam through the cracks in his fingers.

"It wasn't really any different," he finally says. "there weren't any weird feelings or any of that crap…I guess that's what made it worse too, not seeing it coming." He shrugs and looks up at the sky, making shapes of the clouds above.

Then, "She was a pretty good cook you know."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He watches Dean nod, not tearing his gaze away from the sky. Sam shifts on the bench and leans back beside Dean, tucking his hands behind his head and looking up at the sky with his brother. It was actually a really nice day, he muses.

Out of nowhere Dean says, "She made pancakes that morning. She had you on one hip and me standing on a chair beside the counter, stirring the batter while you babbled all that baby crap."

Sam closes his eyes and chuckles. "Sounds like a Lifetime moment."

Dean laughs. "Yeah, I guess it does."

oOo

The last day is probably one of the best, which makes it all the more bittersweet. She wakes Dean up early to go get Sam who is already awake and talking to the stuffed animals beside his head, eyes wide and happy. While Mary scoops him out of the crib and changes his diaper Dean stands beside the changing table and makes faces, listening to Sam howl with laughter as he kicks and wriggles.

Mary just laughs right along with them.

John headed out early; Mary remembers him dropping a kiss on her forehead before he laced up his boots and tiptoed downstairs, so she and the boys are making pancakes to cure both the boredom and the hunger.

Dean beats her downstairs and already has the kitchen chair pulled up to the counter by the time she gets Sam settled in his highchair. He watches her go through the cabinet, makes an occasional face at Sam and waits patiently as she combines everything in a bowl and finally looks at him with a wink, handing over the wooden spoon and watching his eyes light up.

While he's busy she goes and gathers Sam, soothing him as he fusses, and comes back to make sure Dean doesn't overflow her counter with pancake batter. She laughs at the proud look on his face, chest puffed out as he stirs and looks at her with a questioning look in his eyes.

"Looks good," she says and trades him the bowl for his baby brother.

Dean cradles Sam close and listens to the frying pan sizzle and watches the hypnotic motion of Mary flipping pancake after pancake until she's done and the excitement is almost too much to bear. He takes Sam back to the highchair and climbs up in his own chair, watching pancakes drop onto his plate.

He's just about to reach for the maple syrup when Mary holds up a can of whipped cream and his eye bug. He looks at her open mouthed and when she quirks an eyebrow in question he nods vigorously. Mary just laughs and tops his breakfast with a mountain of whipped cream and goes to heat Sam a bottle.

Through a mouthful of sticky sweetness he calls out, "Mama, can we do this tomorrow?"

Mary smiles and nods her head.

oOo

It's nearly sundown when he walks Sam to the bus stop at the end of the street.

He's got his hands stuffed in his pockets while Sam carries his luggage, the rolling suitcase bouncing on the concrete sidewalk. Dean hasn't spoken since he finished telling Sam about their mother nearly an hour ago, at a sudden loss for words as the impact of losing his baby brother threatens to suffocate him.

Their dad didn't bother coming back for a goodbye but neither boy is surprised and Dean thinks about having a talk with him when he gets back (if he's sober enough). For now he focuses all his attention on Sam who plops down on the bench to wait, patting the seat beside him and looking at Dean who hesitates just before he sits down next to him.

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and grasps the envelope he stashed there just before they left the motel, pulling it out and turning it over in his hands a few times. Then he sighs and hands it to Sam wordlessly.

"What's this?" he asks, tearing at the corner and dragging his thumb beneath the seal. Dean doesn't answer him, waits instead.

He watches Sam peer inside the envelope before stopping, head whipping back as he stares disbelievingly at Dean. He pulls out the photo of their mother and runs a hand over his face.

"Dean…are you sure?"

No, if he's being honest Dean is far from sure but he knows that after all this time Sam deserves this chance to know her, even if it is through a worn picture taken nearly twenty years ago and the stories he told in front of the crappiest motel he's ever been in.

"It's yours Sammy. Keep it safe though will ya? It's the only one I got and I'd hate to have to drive all the way to California to kick your ass for losing it." he nudges Sam with his elbow for emphasis and watches him scowl.

He can see the bus at the end of the street and Dean feels his heart stop momentarily as Sam stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. Dean comes to his feet and out of instinct pulls Sam into a hug.

"You're a good kid Sammy, no matter what dad says. You take care of yourself alright?"

He can practically hear Sam smiling.

"Always Dean."