A/N: I'm not sure where this story came from but I think it was the general idea of Sam getting to spend Christmas with his mother and then I just went from there. I don't think it turned out exactly as I expected it to, or went in the direction I wanted, but it's kind of a tumultuous time in the brothers' lives so it's hard to know where to end things. I plan to post this quickly (it's 3 parts) as I have another story that's demanding to be written, especially after the midseason finale which has broken my heart for poor Sam. I need to fix what happened! Hopefully I will have that posted before 11x10 airs. I had plans to post this before Christmas but life got in the way. Merry Christmas all! Hope it was wonderful.
A/N 2: Please be advised that I started this before Thanksgiving so it takes place some time around 11x07 or 11x08. There are no spoilers for 11x09.
Mary Did You Know?
Sometimes on the eve of holidays, Sam Winchester dreamed that he was waking up to a traditional meal, something delicious cooking in the oven, either a turkey, a sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, or perhaps some pies. There were pans on the stove also filled with scrumptious offerings like whipped mashed potatoes, or homemade macaroni and cheese. Often the odor was so intense that he'd wake up half expecting to see the scene unfolding before him, a figure busy at the stove, and then he'd hear his name as he was being called to the table. This was one of those times. He came to consciousness slowly, for a moment letting himself just savor the strong smell of warm apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg that hung in his nostrils. He inhaled more deeply and he could swear something was baking in the next room.
"Sam? Sammy?" A voice called out to him, pulling him from his slumber. He cracked his eyelids open slowly and he was encased in warm blankets in a cozy bed, not anything like his room at the bunker or the beds at the hotel rooms. He spotted a Harry Potter poster across the room on a wall that read: Happiness can be found in the darkest of times if only one remembers to turn on the light.
It was these personal touches to the room that had Sam popping up in the bed, looking around confusedly.
He looked at the clock, bleary eyed and saw that it was just after 8, much later than his 6:30 AM wake up call he usually gave himself. He had begun setting the clock to avoid sleeping late. As he saw it, the more he slept, the more time he had for nightmares and he'd been having far too many of those lately.
"Hey you okay?" The familiar voice asked him again.
He turned slowly to look, but then again he didn't want to, because he knew she'd be there and then she'd be gone. However, he looked anyway because he could never get enough of seeing her even if in a photograph, even if he was setting himself up for the inevitable heartbreak.
There she was.
His mother.
He sat up in the bed, taking her in. Usually when he dreamt of her, she was younger, as she appeared in photographs, the only real "memories" or mementos he had of her besides those strange trips to the past where he met a younger version of her, or other odd visions of her manifested by the dark side.
This time, he noted, she was older with some lines on her face, hints of silver in her blonde hair. He took in her appearance and felt the ache settle in his chest, at what could have been.
This is the age she should be now, but she's not, he thought. Because of me.
Tears threatened as they sat gazing at each other.
"Mom?" He said, shakily.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you, Sammy. You're not little anymore," she said, cupping his face. "But then again, you'll always be my baby," she continued, patting him on the cheek, slightly embarrassed.
"It's okay," he rasped out.
"You're not feeling sick are you? I have an apple coffee cake baking in the oven, your favorite."
Was that his favorite? He didn't know, couldn't know really, since he never had anyone to make it for him.
"No, I feel fine. It's just…" Sam's voice dropped off.
"What?" She asked, concernedly. "You look like you've just seen a ghost. You sure you aren't sick?" She asked, placing a hand on his forehead.
He wanted to jerk away, to wake himself up from what he knew was an obvious dream but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he embraced it, her soft, maternal hand on his forehead, as if it was real.
"You don't feel warm," she said. "But why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what," Sam asked, his eyes watery.
"Like if you look away, I might disappear at any second."
Because you will, Sam thought sadly.
"I'll tell you what. I'll bring you up a piece of coffee cake so you can eat here. You've had a long trip and you're probably still tired."
A long trip? He didn't get it. However, he didn't get a chance to ask her because she had gone.
He got out of the bed he was sleeping in and realized there was luggage on the floor. Even though he was one hundred percent certain that this was a dream, rarely did he recall his other dreams being so vivid. He'd never returned from a trip in them anyway.
He picked up the suitcase on the floor and rifled through it, surprised to actually find belongings in it. He found some items that were a stark contrast to his usual wardrobe. One sweater was an awfully gaudy Christmas sweater and he made a face in disgust.
He heard his mother behind him, giggling. Her laugh was loud, melodic, and sounded like church bells and it made his heart skip a beat.
"I think you picked out a good one for the party," she said, holding the still steaming slice of coffee cake on a plate in her hand along with a cup of cocoa. The beverage was adorned with whipped cream in a festive Christmas moose cup.
"What party?" Sam asked.
"The ugly sweater Christmas party of course! It's tradition. I know it's been awhile since you've been home but we always have a great time."
"Oh yeah," Sam stuttered. "I'm sure it will be great."
He looked around the room some more when it hit him. This was his old house, his nursery. He half expected to see a burn mark on the ceiling and he shuddered.
"Is this my old nursery?" Sam asked, nervously.
"Naturally. This has always been your room and even when you went off to school, I kept it the same, right down to that Harry Potter poster on the wall. You loved those books, filled with magic and the impossible."
The impossible? Not so much for him. Not when he related to Harry with his mother dying for him and branding him with a lightening bolt scar that connected him to the killer forever, all too reminiscent of the demon blood taint he was left with, that also connected him to his mother's killer.
"Now finish your breakfast and come downstairs when you're ready," Mary said, interrupting his thoughts. We have a tree to finish decorating."
He couldn't help the small flutter of excitement in his heart at the thought of decorating a Christmas tree with his mother, even though he knew this still wasn't real.
However, it seemed so real. He felt the plate in his hands, smooth and solid. The cocoa cup warmed his palms and the smell of chocolate wafted up his nose. He took the fork and bit into the cake, a perfect consistency and blend of cinnamon and other spices. He savored it because he'd never eaten anything so delicious before, fresh out of the oven, not even in the nicer restaurants he'd eaten in. He sipped his cocoa and whipped cream tickled his nose. He scrubbed at the moustache he was left with, and saw the remnants of it on his fingers, as tangible as anything else.
Maybe his other life had been a nightmare and this was in fact reality. He didn't understand, but for now? He was going to enjoy this time with his mother.
After finishing his cake, down to the last crumb, he went to his suitcase and grabbed some clothes. He noticed immediately that there was a lot less flannel than he was used to but he wasn't a hunter here. Instead there were dressier shirts with pullover sweaters. He found a hooded sweatshirt he could wear that said Boston University.
Massachusetts? He thought, confusedly. He hadn't gone to school there. However, he pulled the sweatshirt over his head.
As he continued going through the suitcase, he was surprised to find a teacher's ID tucked away in one of the pockets.
He was a teacher?
Yes, apparently so.
There was a picture of him, smiling, with the name "Mr. Winchester" and "staff" written on it. He worked at Northeastern High School. He ignored it for now, because he never had aspirations to be a teacher so it didn't make sense. However, nothing made any sense so what did it matter?
He took a quick stroll around the room, looking at his belongings, or what were supposedly his belongings. There was a bookshelf filled with the Harry Potter collection of course, as well as other classics such as The Chronicles Of Narnia. There was quite the eclectic collection of other books including The Wizard of Oz, Alice In Wonderland, and a collection of fairy tales. There also were a lot denser texts like Dante's Inferno, and a copy of the Bible. He ran his hands over the bindings, fondly.
There were some sports trophies around for soccer but also many more for academics and other pursuits. Apparently he'd won something called a "vision" award but he wasn't sure what it was for. He'd also won best actor in a play he had been in and even an award for the debate team. He smiled, even though they weren't technically earned, in spite of himself. He also noticed some collectibles around including vintage Thundercat figures still in their original packaging and he smiled again. What made him really happy though were the personal touches in the room, the handmade curtains and some pillows he could tell were handstitched by his mother, with the name "Samuel" lovingly etched into the fabric.
He left his room, and walked out into the hallway. He walked down the stairwell and the banister was wrapped in garland, glistening with white lights. There were photos on the wall with him featured prominently in them. There were pictures of him as a baby with chubby cheeks and a big dimpled grin. There was him in a cap and gown, holding up his diploma. There was also a picture of him dressed in a soccer uniform between both his parents, holding up a trophy that looked like the one in his room. His favorite though was the picture of him as a teenager holding a golden retriever puppy. It struck him how absolutely carefree he looked in all those pictures. It was all so normal, and deep down it both pleased and bothered him.
As he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he gasped in awe of the living room. The fireplace was also decked out in garland with stockings carefully hung. An array of pictures was lined up perfectly in a row including one of him when he was young with Santa Claus. Then he saw the tree, a sight to behold. It wasn't completely decorated yet but it was huge, at least ten feet tall, touching the ceiling filled with multicolored lights. Sam paused taking it in. Even though it wasn't yet filled with ornaments, it was gorgeous. He didn't smell the aroma of pine and he realized then it was an artificial tree. In fact, he noted that even the garland was not real.
As he turned the corner in the kitchen, he saw his mom seated at the counter, bopping around to a Christmas song, sipping her morning coffee. Again, he had to pause and look at her.
"There's my boy!" She exclaimed when she saw him. "I was really worried you were coming down with something."
"Hi m…mom," he stuttered on the word again, so foreign to his lips. He noticed an old dog at her feet, probably in his later teen years and he realized it had to be—
"Is that…," Sam asked, pointing at the dog, knowing it was the dog in the picture, but then realizing he didn't know his name.
"Aslan?" She answered for him. "You haven't forgotten the old guy have you?"
"No, of course not," Sam said, sheepishly. He bent down to scratch the dog behind the ears. Aslan got up and wagged his tail, looking much more energetic than before. Even though he didn't know this dog, the dog seemed to know him and was happy to see him.
"Hey Aslan," Sam said, as the dog barked in greeting, holding up a paw for him to shake.
Aslan.
So he'd named his dog after the lion in the Chronicles of Narnia.
Makes sense.
He shook Aslan's paw and Mary smiled.
"You were so proud when you taught him that. Sometimes I think you thought of that dog as more of a brother than anything else. He's missed you so much."
"I missed him too," Sam replied, feeling as if some part of that was true.
"What do you think of the tree?" Mary asked. "Had to get artificial as usual because of your allergies," she said, smiling.
Allergies? He didn't recall ever being allergic to pine. He'd spent so many hours in a forest that if he had been allergic, he'd probably be dead.
"I got Mr. Bailey, our neighbor, to help me. Of course your dad would have helped if he was…still with us," she said, softly.
Sam realized he was dead, not a part of this scenario.
"It looks great," Sam reassured her. "Hey mom," Sam began, more naturally this time, deciding that he loved saying the word 'mom.'
"Yes," she asked.
"When did you know I wanted to be a teacher?" He asked, genuinely curious.
"Well that came as a surprise, but then again, not really. You were dead set on being a lawyer and then with the full ride to Stanford and those scores, it seemed like you had made the right choice. However, you weren't truly happy and I could tell. I just knew you were meant to help people, be a leader and a role model. So when you said you were going back to school to be a teacher, I was pretty happy to be honest."
He blushed.
"I wasn't thrilled about you going away again and to Boston, no less, but your happiness is my happiness. Now you have your job there and it's hard that you aren't able to visit as much as I'd like, but I know you had to get established. What matters is you're here now."
So he lived in Boston, had travelled here from there.
But no, not really, right?
"You always used to correct our grammar constantly. I should have known it then. I think you drove your dad a bit nuts. English seems like the perfect choice for you and look at you now, Mentor of the year. I'm so proud of you," She said, practically beaming. She reached over and hugged him.
Wow, so this was his life. He liked it. A lot.
"Now all you need to do is find Mrs. Right. I know it broke your heart about breaking off the engagement with Jess, but I'm sure there are plenty of people who'd love a handsome and smart guy like you."
"Why'd we break it off?" Sam asked, sounding surprised.
"I think you know that better than I do," she replied, taking another sip of her coffee.
"No, I mean, why do you think we did?" Sam corrected his question because in this dream he wasn't sure what happened.
"I think she thought you were a natural lawyer so she wasn't happy about the career switch. Or as you called it, you were no longer seeing eye to eye."
Sam just nodded, wondering if these events would have occurred if he'd actually lived this life, a regular life.
This isn't real, he reminded himself again, realizing that the more he had to do that, the more it hurt him.
"Let's not talk about that," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm happy to wait for your wedding and for grandchildren. We have all the time in the world," she said, smiling.
No we don't, Sam thought sadly.
"Oh I love this song! She exclaimed suddenly, getting up. Sam realized it was the one his father would sing, the one by Judy Collins.
No, but wait, it wasn't. It was Judy Collins but it was another song.
Mary began to sing and dance around the kitchen, and for a moment Sam just watched the graceful figure of his mother. Then she began to sing along and Sam couldn't help it but he started to sing along too.
Moons and Junes and ferris wheels the dizzy dancing way you feel
When every fairy tale comes real, I've looked at love that way
Soon they were both singing a duet, her voice crisp and clear which helped cover up his not so perfect pitch.
I've looked at love from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall,
I really don't know love at all
How did he know this song?
Dad must have sung this song too, he decided.
They headed into the living room after and began decorating the tree.
"I'm so lucky to have such a tall son or else the top part of the tree would look terrible," she said laughing.
Sam had to admit that he was pretty good at reaching the upper branches even though he didn't have much experience decorating a tree. However, the tree was ten feet so even he needed a ladder. They were both having such a good time, blasting Christmas carols, that Sam forgot the whole idea that this was a dream and he could wake up any moment. Spending time with his mother seemed so natural, as it should be with a mother and son. For now, he was creating a memory he might never have.
They were goofing around so much that Sam lost his footing and realized he was going to fall off the ladder. He slipped, falling to the floor and hitting his head on the ground. His head had barely made contact with the floor so he didn't think he was injured, just stunned.
"Oh dear God, Sam! Are you okay?" She asked.
"Yeah, mom. I'm fine," he said.
Despite his protests, she hustled him over to the couch and got him an ice pack for his head. He held it there, while Aslan put his head in his lap, whimpering.
"I hope you're okay for the party tomorrow," she said, worriedly.
Sam looked down at the ornament on the floor, the one he was about to hang on the tree when he fell. It was painted glass with the name Dean on it.
Dean.
Then Sam had to ask the inevitable question, the one that had been niggling at the back of his brain since he woke up in this alternate universe.
"Mom, when is Dean getting here?"
Sam saw something strange pass over her face, a look of complete bewilderment.
"Sam, honey," she began. "Who is Dean?"
TBC
You know what would be the best Christmas present ever? If you leave a review and let me know what you think :)