"Dean, stop hovering. I'm fine."
"Yeah, that's why your eyes are as black as the Impala."
Four days ago her boys had been boys, newborn and toddler, and she was tucking them into bed and kissing them good night. Now, suddenly, they were adults, tall and strong and independent.
Mary didn't mean to listen in on Dean and Sam's conversation; she was in the library, they were in the kitchen, but they weren't exactly talking softly. It was two days since they'd rescued Sam from Princess Di's evil twin, and one day since they'd gotten back to the Bunker. It was after dinner, after dessert, after dishes, but still only early evening.
"C'mon, Sammy, you need to get some rest. Things always hit you harder the second day after, you know they do."
"No, they don't hit me harder. All right, but that was just the one time, the second trial. This hardly compares. Anyway, Cas fixed me, I'm fine. All right? I'm not going to bed."
"You don't have to go to bed. Just lay down and get some sleep."
There was a pause, then an incredulous, "Dude – how is that not going to bed?"
"It's just – " Dean broke off there, and when Sam asked "What?" his tone was concerned.
"You didn't see you, Sammy. When she shoved me into that cellar and I saw you and what she'd done to you – just – I just want you to be okay."
"Dean – I'm okay."
"You're tired, Sam. I can tell. You know I can tell."
There was a huff, which could've come from either of them, but Mary figured the huff was Sam when he immediately followed with, "And you're tired too, Dean. I can see that. I don't see you laying down and getting some sleep."
"Of course not. It's way too early to go to bed."
There was another huff then footsteps and Sam walked into the library. He smiled when he saw her. He didn't look tired but Mary knew she wasn't familiar enough with him to see all the signs.
Four days ago she'd known what every gurgle and coo and smile and thoughtful expression on Little Sammy's face had meant. Now, she had no clue at all.
"Dean's telling you to get some rest?" she asked.
Sam chuckled. "Yeah, sometimes he thinks he still sets my bedtime."
"Dean used to set your bedtime?"
"Yeah, he –" Sam was smiling then suddenly he wasn't. He pulled a huge book off a shelf and tucked it under his arm. "Um, yeah."
"Are you tired?"
"No, I'm fine. I'm okay. He's just being Dean."
"And that is saying quite a bit, isn't it?"
"Ha. Yes, it is."
"You did look pretty bad when we found you," Mary tried.
"Cas healed me." Sam said it easily, casually, but even not knowing him all that well yet, Mary thought he was brushing it off too casually.
"Where's Dean?"
"Organizing the kitchen. He likes everything to be clean and put away at the end of the day."
"I wish John had been that concerned about housekeeping."
"Yeah, there were times that Dean wished it, too." And for the second time in the conversation, Sam was smiling and then suddenly he wasn't.
Four days ago Sam'd been only six months old and already starting to chatter happily to his family. Now he seemed to measure every word and action.
He gestured to the book he was carrying. "I'm going to get some reading done. I'll see you later." He left the library, taking the stairs that led to the bedroom hallway without going past the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Dean came into the library. "Where's Sam?"
"He went to his room, I think."
"Good. He needs the sleep."
"Is it true you used to set his bedtime?"
"Yeah," Dean said it like it was an obvious question. "If I didn't, he would've stayed up all night studying or reading. He was always, 'just one more chapter' all the time anyway. The fact that he went to bed this early tells you he's exhausted."
Four days ago Dean was telling Mary that Sam didn't need his nap, not yet, he was reading to Sam from his collection of Illustrated Classics comic books and the story still had five pages to go.
"He took a book with him," Mary said, feeling a little bit like she was ratting Sam out.
Dean shook his head, "Typical. I'll check on him in a while."
"Check on him?"
"Yeah, make sure he's sleeping. Make sure he's not – make sure he's okay."
Not what? Mary wondered. "And you're okay?" she asked Dean.
"Yeah, you know, Cas and his magic fingers. Everything's back to normal."
Normal. Mary was hunter enough to know that 'normal' didn't mean okay. And a few days with adult Dean and Sam was more than enough to know that even 'fine' didn't mean okay.
"So, is this how you spend your evenings? Clean the kitchen and send Sam to bed?"
Dean shrugged. "Usually, yeah. Depends on the evening. We go to the movies, sometimes. Or watch Netflix – TV," he added that fast enough that Mary thought Netflix must be something more than just TV. "Why? You want to do something? We could find a movie or go for some ice cream or something."
Four days ago they were going to the park, playing Chutes and Ladders, singing along to rock songs on the radio, reading bedtime stories…
"No. Just wondering what a typical night is like for you."
"I'm not sure there is a 'typical'. Unless it's 'research, eat, sleep.' That's pretty typical, I guess." He shrugged. "I'm going to check on Sam. You all right out here?"
"I think I might turn in, too," Mary said. Sleep would be better than a few more hours of what was and suddnely wasn't anymore. She followed Dean down to the bedroom hallway, and paused when he went into Sam's room.
"Typical," she heard him say. She took a peek in. Sam was sitting in a chair next to his bed, the huge book open on his lap. His head was down, he was apparently asleep. "All right, Sammy, c'mon. Time for bed." Dean moved the book from Sam's lap to the top of his dresser.
Sam stirred awake. "M'not tired," he argued.
"Right, that's why you fell asleep sitting up, not ten minutes after you sat down. C'mon. Bed."
"Dean –"
"Don't 'Dean' me. Bed."
Four days ago, Dean had been excitedly exclaiming, 'He said Dean! Sammy said my name!' and even though it was obviously just another random sound, Mary had just as excitedly agreed with Dean. 'I think he did!'
Sam grumbled at Dean but moved just enough to stand up from the chair and lay down on the bed.
"Pajamas, Sam?" Dean asked but Sam waved a hand in his direction.
"Go 'way," he answered without even opening his eyes.
Dean shook his head. He tugged a blanket over Sam then turned to leave the room. He smiled at Mary, "See you in the morning, then?"
Four days ago she'd been a mother with two boys who needed her and depended on her. Now, suddenly, they were grown up and only needed each other.
"Good night," she said and smiled back at him and watched him walk to his own room.
Four days and a lifetime ago.
The End.