Mother
Dean knew what a mother was like.
She smelled like pie and flowery perfume. She smiled and frowned, encouraged and chastised. She took care of him when he was sick, and sang him lullabies before bed. She cooked and cleaned, and she was the only reason her family made it through the week.
John knew what a mother was like.
She smelled warm and sweet. She laughed and she cried, encouraged and chastised. She made soup when he was sick, and rubbed his shoulders when he strained them at the garage. She cooked and cleaned, and she was the only reason he made it through the week.
Sam didn't know what a mother was like.
He knew what a mother was supposed to be like, though.
She was supposed to smell like chocolate chip cookies and flowery perfume. She was supposed to smile and frown, to encourage and chastise. A mother should take care of her children when they were sick, and help them with their homework. She was supposed to cook and clean, and she was the only reason the family made it alive through the week.
Sam didn't have a mother. Sam only had John to change his diapers, and Dean to tell him bedtime stories. He only had John to feed him, and Dean to cuddle him. He had filthy motel rooms, questionable laundry, and canned spaghetti.
Sam didn't understand why Daddy and Dean were sad all the time. He didn't understand the smell of alcohol. He didn't understand the quiet.
He forced his naïve away with his own logic, twisted in the way only a child's can be. Daddy smelled funny because he didn't take a bath, not because of the smelly bottle Sam wasn't supposed to touch. They lived in car because it was cool. Dean took care of him because Daddy was busy.
And Sam grew up without a mother.
When Jess had found out, she began to introduce him to all the things a mother did. She made cookies for him as a three month anniversary gift, she forced him into bed when he had the flu during midterms. She dusted the apartment, and bought a vacuum at a yard sale. She taught him to wash the clothes when they began to smell, and not when they could almost walk themselves to the laundromat. Her smile stretched over her face when Sam got a 1740 on his LSAT, her frown forced him to repentance when he refused to tell her about his family. He told her about Dean. She smelled of peaches and brown sugar.
And when Jess was gone, and Sam was alone, Dean took care of him. He made him drink water instead of whiskey, closed the curtains when the sun beat on him after the all-nighters. He forced him to eat during the first week, washed the smell of smoke from his clothes as Sam grieved. He smelled of gun oil and old leather.
Sam still didn't know for certain what a mother was like. He doubted he ever would.
But as Dean shoved takeout and chopsticks at him, muttering about the price of food and the smell of Leviathan goo still on their coats, Sam wondered if he didn't know what his mother had always been like.
~W~
A note:
In no way was this meant to be sexist. These are the things my Mother did for us, and what Mary did for Dean. She was a stay at home Mom. I'm sure we all know much of their lives revolve around making sure their children are healthy and happy (even if it does mean four loads of laundry a day.)
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'Til next Time!
-The Irish Lass