Maria Winchester steps out of the motel shower and onto the used towel she's placed on the floor as a makeshift bathmat. 'It's Sam's or Dean's,' she thinks, 'Probably Dean's. He always leaves his used towels on the back of the toilet.' She has stayed in hundreds of motel rooms all across the country. She grew up using grimy motel bathrooms, but as long as she lives she will never get used to how quickly the water changes from scalding hot to ice cold; it always comes as a surprise, eliciting a gasp of shock from her every time.
Shivering, she pulls the only clean towel from the rack above the toilet, wrapping it around her freezing body. She walks over to the mirror, somehow still fogged up from the hot portion of her shower, and rubs her hand in a circle on the glass, clearing it. She takes a step closer to the mirror and studies her reflection. Dark brown eyes stare back at her; her father's eyes, though hers aren't as tired-looking as his had been. Her dark brown hair, nearly black from the water dripping from it, is already starting to get wavy.
Out of the three Winchester siblings, Maria looks the most like John; plenty of hunters have made the "you look just like your father" comment to her. 'Maybe I do look like him a little,' she thinks, 'but not just like him.' Her lips are a little thicker than her father's; somewhere between Dean's pouty mouth and Sam's slightly thinner lips. Her eyebrows arch perfectly (or at least she thinks they do. She's thankful she doesn't have her father's bushy brows, at least), and her skin tone is all her mother's. She's always been pale compared to the male Winchesters. Not quite ghostly, but noticeably fairer.
She leans in to study her face more closely. She sees the faint scars she's gained as souvenirs from various hunts: the two claw marks clearly visible from her right temple to the arch of her eyebrow from the kitsune they hunted in Ohio, and the gash she received from Alastair on her left cheek, all invisible when she applies makeup. She leans back to study the rest of her body: she has the anti-possession symbol tattooed above her left breast, though it's a bit faded now like her brothers' are; on her chest, from the top of her left breast to the bottom of her right breast, is one long scar from the lamia that tried to rip her heart out in Wisconsin and very nearly succeeded; she has bite marks on her right wrist from a vampire that got way too close for comfort in Illinois, and her stomach and chest are covered in claw marks from the hellhounds in Missouri. Maria faces away from the mirror and pulls her long hair to the side, turning her head to look at the large X that was carved by a particularly violent poltergeist in Pennsylvania and the red, raised handprint on the top of her left arm where Castiel had gripped her tight and raised her from perdition.
She shudders, remembering in excruciating detail her stint in Hell. It hadn't been as long as Dean's or Sam's, but any amount of time in Hell is too long. Cas had made it a point to get her out of there as quickly as angelically possible once he found out what had happened to her, and she was out in three days, but that's a long time in Hell. And when her soul was placed back into her body, lying torn to ribbons on Bobby's bed in his living room, she was in agony. Cas only had enough angel mojo to either pull her out of Hell or repair her body completely; it was up to Dean to choose (since he had been to Hell) and he decided that getting her out of Hell quickly was better than repairing her corpse. As soon as she took her first breath in her shredded body she shrieked from the pain. Cas knocked her out quickly, and the repairs he made to her body were almost as slow as human healing, but he managed it. Still, she puts on a brave face for her brothers; she doesn't want to complain because she knows they probably had it much worse than she did: her time in Hell was comparatively short, and she didn't have to see either of them thrash from the pain of the wounds left by the hellhounds (even under the influence of what she later called Angel Morphine).
Maria is startled out of her memories by the sound of Dean banging on the bathroom door, calling for her to hurry up because he has to pee. She laughs at him and shakes her head, but quickly gets dressed in one of Sammy's old t-shirts that practically swallows her 5 foot 6 inch frame and is still climbing into her flannel pajama pants when she opens the bathroom door to let Dean in. Tying up the drawstring on her pants, she sits down at the little table next to Sam. He closes his laptop and looks at her sadly, grabbing her hand and holding it in his. She looks up at him and can see that he knows she's been thinking about Hell. She doesn't know how he knows it, but he knows it. She grips his hand tightly and leans against his shoulder, taking comfort in her perceptive baby brother. Maria smiles when Dean comes out of the bathroom, looking confusedly at his younger siblings, and she urges him to come sit with them. He walks over and sits on Maria's other side, putting his hand on her shoulder and rubbing her arm soothingly. Maria closes her eyes and smiles, glad to be in the company of the people who know her best.