AN: Mary's back, Sam's in trouble and Dean is trying to figure out which way is up. If Fade to Black is a euphemism for dying, then Fade to White is one for living. (In this case, a certain person who's not dead anymore.) Spoilers for the Season 11 finale. There are no specific spoilers for Season 12; however, I may have gleaned a phrase or so from the random interviews I've read. This will be a fairly short 4 or 5 chapter story. I know other writers have tackled this but I hope this puts a different spin on it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

It had been a long time since Sam Winchester mourned the fact that his life hadn't turned out like it should have. Many years since he thought it unfair that he was raised without a mother, without a home, without a sense of security. Years since he gave up a dream having a normal life. And a handful of years ago, he fully embraced the life of saving people, hunting things.

But Sam began to reconsider all of it when the sun began to shine again and he found himself refusing to be frightened by the gun pointed in his direction.

Dean was supposed to be the reckless one. The older Winchester brother was the one who charged in headfirst. Sam thought of himself as the rationale one. The one who weighed the options. Considered the consequences.

Hmph. That was a joke. Sam knew that he stopped being rationale when Dean began his murderous rampage thanks to the Mark of Cain. He would have gone as far as he took to save him, the world be damned. Except he didn't know that the world would actually be damned.

So instead of Dean being alive with the mark, he was dead. Blown to smithereens with the Darkness. And Sam was sure he was about to die as well. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

He found himself lying on a lumpy mattress with his feet dangling about two inches over the edge. One hand was cuffed to a railing, and his shirtless abdomen revealed a gunshot wound at nearly the same spot where he was shot only months before. The wound was crudely stitched, though he thought that the bullet might still be lodged in his flesh.

That, he supposed, was his fault. He had tried to use his size and some of his brother's swagger to intimidate the intruder. He knew he was being careless, and he didn't care. He saw a flicker of fear in her eyes just before she pulled the trigger.

Sam wasn't sure how long he had been lying there. Days probably. And his wound was infected now. He knew that because even though the room was warm, he shivered. And his whole body ached and his stomach hurt like hell.

Dean would be so disappointed. In only a matter of hours after the elder brother sacrificed himself to save the world, Sam was in trouble again — dropkicked by a Man … make that Woman … of Letters — from an organization he thought was defunct. But some unknown London chapter thought they knew more about what the Winchesters had been through than Sam and Dean themselves.

So maybe the brothers had gone too far to save each other a few times. Sam knew that was true. But he also knew they risked themselves time and again to save the world and the people in it. And Dean died saving it again. If the sun was still shining in the sky, they had his brother to thank for that.

His chest tightened from the grief, and he sucked in a breath in a vain effort to fill his lungs. There would be no saving Dean this time. Even if Sam could figure out a way to put his brother back together, Billie the Reaper had surely thrown him into the "empty" as she vowed. And as Billie put it, nothing comes back from that.

Any thought he had about how to escape this hell hole faded. How many times had he or Dean done something stupid to save the other? And how many times had that loyalty that had for each other caused a catastrophic consequence that they spent the next months — years even — trying to fix?

Maybe it was time to end this vicious cycle. If neither Winchester brother could survive without the other, maybe they should both go out together. Not exactly together, but close enough. Sam thought that maybe that was the only way. Dean was gone, and Sam could feel that he wasn't too far away from death himself.

Another stab of pain cut through his gut and he groaned. Dean would hate that Sam was even considering giving up. There's no quittin,' Sam could hear those words in his brother's voice. Yet he didn't know how to keep fighting now. Praying to Cas wouldn't help. He saw about a half dozen sigils that kept out angels. Even if he found his way back after being banished, Cas wouldn't be able to get to him.

Sam wasn't even sure what the Men of Letters wanted from him. Hadn't he lost everything? Everyone? What else was there to take?

It's true that he almost caused the end of the world by releasing the Darkness. But he paid for that by letting the very person he was desperate to save march to his death with a bomb in his chest.

Paid in full, he thought bitterly.

Whatever the Men of Letters had planned, he wished they would just get on with it instead of leaving him in this dank room slowly dying.

In a matter of minutes, Sam discovered to be careful for what he wished. Toni whatshername reappeared with a syringe and plunged it into his arm with no explanation. He tried to jerk away, instinctively knowing that it wasn't something to help with the pain or attack the infection that ravaged his body.

"We need to speed this along, Sam. This is just a little something to loosen you up," Toni commented as his eyes followed the needle being pulled from the vein. A flash of light bolted through his brain, followed by intense colors. He felt as though he was floating, but it was anything but relaxing. Sam had the feeling he was about to go on a hell of a trip.

He pried open his eyes, refusing to succumb to whatever Toni was planning for him. When he did, she morphed into only woman he ever really loved. He gasped at the sight of the girl he once wanted to marry before she burned before his eyes on a ceiling. Jessica.

"What do you see, Sam?" Toni asked in Jessica's voice. His last coherent thought was that he was well and truly screwed.

oOoOoOo

Two days earlier

Castiel eased through the door, craning his neck to listen for any sounds that the bunker was still inhabited. He was determined to be more alert than he was the last time he entered with Sam. He failed to sense the intruder's presence. He failed to notice until it was too late the banishing spell drawn in blood on the wall.

He failed to honor Dean's dying request to watch out for Sam.

Cas had no time to react when he saw the woman standing in the darkened room, her hand dripping blood, before he found himself propelled to the other side of the world from Lebanon, Kansas — a world away from the brother he promised to look after.

He landed in an alley in Hong Kong, unnoticed by the myriad of people, with the exception of one elderly man who merely watched with wide eyes as Cas pushed himself off the ground and brushed off his trench coat. At least he was still on Earth.

The angel gave the man a small bow of the head as if it was a completely normal thing to appear from nowhere. Even with his wild eyes looking at Cas, the man politely bowed back.

When Cas exited the shaded alley, he was overwhelmed by the brightness of the sun that once again reminded him of Dean's sacrifice to save the world. He was hit by a wave of grief that made him stagger. He squeezed his eyes shut to the glare and to the sorrow. He didn't have time to mourn now because Sam was in danger.

With his angel powers reduced, it would take days to get back to the bunker. Having been the victim of a banishing spell before, he knew his sense of time was unreliable. As it was, minutes or hours or days could have passed since he was cast out from the bunker. He could already be too late to help Sam.

It was by accident in a moment of desperation that Cas discovered that being possessed by Lucifer had one very important benefit. In his panic to find Sam, he discovered that he could teleport.

"Look out for him, okay?" Dean had asked him a cemetery in Kansas. "Don't let him do anything stupid." After thinking of Sam and thinking of that moment with Dean, Cas was shocked to find himself back in that cemetery, alone this time. When Amara ripped Lucifer from his vessel, a portion of the archangel's grace must have remained. So he tried teleporting again, and this time landed just outside the Men of Letters bunker.

Without taking time to celebrate this newfound power, Cas pulled out his angel blade. He didn't bother with the door. He appeared inside where he knew he wouldn't be seen. He listened and heard nothing. No voices. No breathing. The air was still, silent and empty. He was alone and he was too late.

Still he cautiously searched the bunker, finding the sigil made of blood dried to a rusty brown on the wall. And on the floor just a few feet away was a small pool of blood. He let out a deep sigh, knowing it had to be Sam's blood.

He pushed back the alarm he felt. It wasn't a lot of blood, and Sam could handle himself against what was probably a human intruder. He tried not to think of the possibility that losing his brother made Sam unwilling to fight back.

He examined the sigil and found a few slight imperfections, for which he was grateful. Had she had done a better job, Cas might have been propelled off this planet completely. Yet, it was good enough to know that she was not a novice at this. Perhaps a hunter? Someone the Winchesters had crossed at some point?

The only other clue Cas found was the case that held the key to the bunker. He tilted his head wondering why it was left here. Sam and Dean kept the original key well-hidden and used other methods to gain entry. The only holders of the key should be the Men of Letters. As far as he knew, it was now a defunct group.

Across the room on the floor, he saw Sam's broken cell phone, which meant he wouldn't be able to track him using GPS.

"Where are you?" Cas called aloud to the empty space. He hoped Sam would pray to him. Ask for help. Anything to let him know of his location. He stood silent and motionless for a moment willing himself to hear Sam's voice.

When his own cell phone rang, it startled him back to the moment. "Yes," he answered it abruptly, not bothering to check the caller id. The voice heard on the other end was the last one he expected to hear.

"Cas."

He froze at the sound of that voice.

"Cas," the caller repeated. "Are your there?"

"Dean?" he choked out. He doubted that his friend would use a cell phone to contact him from the great beyond. That could only mean one thing. Somehow he survived the cataclysmic bomb meant to destroy the darkness.

"Yeah, man," Dean answered. "I've been trying to get in touch …."

Cas could hear the Dean continue to talk as he plunged the phone into his pocket, not bothering to end the call. A moment later, the bunker stood empty.

oOoOoOo

"Cas!" Dean wanted to shout into the damn phone when he got no response. But he didn't want his mom to hear him. The thought sounded crazy even to him. His Mom. Here. Alive. After 30 freaking years — 33 actually, but who was counting. He couldn't wrap his head around it. The problem was neither could she. She was disoriented and confused, and Dean's emotions were all over the place. He just needed some help.

"Cas …," he tried once more only to find silence on the other end.

In frustration, he threw his phone on the bed. It had been a hell of a night. Just a day before, he was preparing a kamikaze attack to destroy Amara and now his dead mother was taking a shower in the hotel bathroom while he tried desperately to get in touch with Sam or Cas.

Dean had accepted that he was going to die — ready to make the sacrifice to save the world. Believing that it was his to make because of his part in releasing the darkness. Relieved it was him and not Sam who had to give his life to save the Earth.

But he had to admit he was grateful that he didn't have to detonate the bomb inside his chest. His life had been one trauma after another, but that didn't mean he wanted to die. And he didn't want to leave Sam alone.

As he talked to Amara, he knew he was the only person who could get through to her. This 'connection' they had could finally lead to something good. He knew what she wanted. He understood the complicated sibling dynamic — had lived it with Sam — and he knew that both Amara and Chuck wanted a different ending to this story.

And he could see that Amara was grateful. But he never fathomed the possibility that she would bring his mother back to him. She said wanted to give him what he needed the most. And he supposed that having his mother back was at the top of that list. But like this?

Ideally, Mary Winchester would have never died in the first place. He often wished more than anything that he and Sam had a normal childhood and their Dad would have taken them to baseball games instead of on the trail of the next monster as they searched for the yellow-eyed demon.

He wanted the mother who cut the crust off his peanut butter sandwiches and who would chide him for not cleaning his room or for picking on his little brother too much.

Instead, he found her searching for help while he was searching for a damned signal to his cell phone. The moment he saw her, all breath left his body. In a flash of time, he considered every possibility: That her return was a reward for all of the struggling and fighting and saving the world over and over — or that it really wasn't her. Maybe she was a ghost or a zombie or maybe even a shifter. Or maybe she was just a hallucination and she really wasn't there at all.

Then he considered that if she really was his Mom, what kind of price would need to be paid for her return because there's always a price.

Though he was guarded, he made the choice to believe that this was Mary Winchester because Amara wanted to reward him not curse him. If he couldn't be the innocent four-year old boy who had the promise of a normal life with a mother to keep him safe from the evil in the world, then he was fine being the 37-year-old damaged hunter who would protect her at all costs.

But first, he had to convince Mary that he was really her oldest son. As she shivered in the cold air, Dean took off his jacket and draped it over her tense shoulders. She accepted the jacket but remained hesitant of the strange man who just called her Mom.

When he sensed her apprehension, he backed away, holding up his hands to show that he was not a threat. From one of his trips back to the past, he remembered her being quite a fighter. He didn't want to end up face down in the dirt since he would never fight back. Not against her.

Her expression eased only slightly as he gently prodded for what she remembered.

She talked of the two small children she left at home — was anxious to return to them and to her husband. She didn't know how she ended up in this park so far from them. Where was she anyway, she asked, and Dean couldn't answer because he didn't know either.

She remembered the day as being Nov. 2, 1983.

Since Mary grew up in a hunter's family, she believed the unbelievable. So Dean decided the truth was best. Her eyes widened in horror as Dean asked if she remembered the yellow-eyed demon in Sammy's nursery.

"How do you …?" she spat. Her face turned hard as she accused, "Are you him?"

"No," he assured her, forcing himself to keep his distance. "I'm not a demon and it's not 1983. It's 2016 and I am your son."

Mary scoffed at the idea that the man standing before her was her first born until he explained about the demon that had marked Sam. He told her that she died that night and that their dad dedicated himself to finding the thing that killed her and had raised her sons to be hunters.

Reluctantly, Dean told her that her husband died a decade before, though he couldn't bring himself to tell her John died at the hands of the yellow-eyed demon to save him.

His eyes filled at the memory losing his mother all those years ago and at his father's sacrifice to save him, though he tried not to let it show. He wanted Mary to see that he turned out alright — mostly.

In the end, it was the tears he tried to hide that convinced Mary that the man before her was her son. She could John in his features and herself in his demeanor. Dean sank into the hug she gave him, all thoughts about her not being real dissipated.

She trusted him enough to go with him to the nearest hotel that wasn't the smelly, grimy establishment he usually chose. She needed to get inside and warmed up and he needed a minute to think so he could figure out what to do next.

He found a bland but clean Best Western in the town of Great Falls, Montana. Since the Ritz was out of the question, this would have to do. And it was certainly better than the grungy places he normally would inhabit.

The drive back to the bunker would take at least 15 hours. But first, he needed to find some better clothes for Mary and maybe some food. And he needed to talk to Sam.

Once he checked in, he tried again to call his brother, frustrated at the voice mail message that popped up immediately. So he tried Cas. When his voice mail came up after the fourth ring, Dean ended the call to try Sam again. Something was not right. He could feel it.

"What's wrong?"

He turned to see his mother appraising him. She was as overwhelmed as he, perhaps even more so.

"I was trying to call Sam," he answered as casually as he could. "He's a lot bigger than you remember him."

"On that?" she nodded to the small box in his hand.

"Yeah," he chuckled, holding up his cell. "Phones have changed in the last 30 years."

"I guess that isn't the only thing that's changed," she noted distantly. "You were just a boy, and Sammy was just a little baby."

"Yeah, well, he grew." Dean attempted a smile.

A pained expression clouded her face. "He wouldn't even remember me. I don't know how you could remember much."

"I remember everything." His abrupt reply came with too much intensity. Her absence left a hole in his heart that never went away, but the time he had with her was burned into his memory. "I remember the the song you used to sing to get me to sleep. I remember that the apple pie you made was the best thing I'd ever tasted. I remember that you were a good mom."

Her eyes filled as she stepped closer, brushing a hand across his cheek. "I'm so sorry I left you."

He leaned in to her touch and for a split second, he felt like a little boy again. Yet he wasn't that child anymore. And he wasn't the man he would have been had she lived.

"It wasn't your fault," he managed. "And Sam and I are okay." Not great, but okay, he thought but didn't voice out loud.

Mary's eyes brightened as he again mentioned her baby boy. "Tell me about him."

An easy smile filled Dean's face as he lifted his hand several inches above his head. "He's about yay high." He dropped his hand to just above his shoulder and grinned. "His hair is about yay long. He's a little bit of a geek, you know? Really smart. Smarter than me by a long shot, but don't tell him I said that. He likes to be called Sam, which means of course that I still call him Sammy."

He couldn't help but stare when she laughed at the comment, what he sure was a goofy smile tugging at his lips. He was enthralled by her laugh and how it sounded just as he remembered. He snapped back to the moment when she grew quiet and was staring, equally fascinated by him. And he was uncomfortable by it so he moved the focus back to his little brother.

"He's a good man, Mom. He turned out alright."

"It sounds like your Dad did a good job of raising you boys."

Dean shrugged because of the complicated life they led. He loved his father with everything he had, but the man had his failings.

He still felt the ache 10 years later but he had come to terms with the death that happened so long ago. But for his mother, the loss was still new and raw. He didn't know how to comfort her as the emotions flashed across her face. And he would never speak ill of the man who had taught him so much.

"He did the best he could without you." She nodded, tears filling her eyes. He thought perhaps she would finally break down over the loss, but she blinked away the emotion. They both needed some time to process all of it so he cleared his throat to mark the end of the conversation.

He handed Mary the clothes he bought for her and ushered her off to the bathroom to shower and change, telling her they had a long trip ahead of them to see Sam. She looked down at the denim jacket that covered her thin, white her gown and nodded, a tinge of apprehension still in her eyes. He planned to let her rest for the night, but since he couldn't reach his brother, he was anxious to find him.

It was after he heard the running shower that he finally managed to reach Cas. For only that moment, and it didn't make him feel any better that Cas sounded so stricken.

"I swear, Sam," Dean mumbled to the empty room, "if you did something stupid …." He let the thought fade, not willing to consider the possibility that Sam wasn't okay, and reached over the bed for the phone so he could try calling again.

The sound of his own name jolted him.

"Dean."

He whipped around to see Cas standing in the middle of the hotel room in a dirty, rumpled trench coat.

He released a long sigh of relief to see his friend. "Cas. How did you ….?"

"You're alive."

"Yeah," Dean answered, pushing his own questions to the background. "I didn't have detonate," he explained, pointing the place in the chest that housed the bomb of souls. "Amara and Chuck made peace."

Though it wasn't unusual for Cas to have a look of awkward confusion on his face, Dean supposed it was warranted this time.

"I'm okay, man."

The angel gave him a nod and took a half step toward Dean as if to hug him before changing his mind and stepping back. Dean was more than grateful. He appreciated the sentiment, but he didn't think he could handle any more sappy moments — at least not until he knew that Sam was okay. "How did you find me so fast?"

"I believe a piece of Lucifer's grace may have been left in me. After your call, I flew here."

"Lucifer," Dean considered before offering his own theory. "Maybe Chuck healed you?"

A slight shake of the head revealed the angel's doubts. "Whatever the reason, I am very glad to see you."

"Yeah, me too," Dean allowed a smile before turning toward the bathroom door. The shower stopped which meant he mom would be out any second.

"Listen," he blurted out urgently only to be cut off by Cas.

"Are you with someone?"

"Yes. That's what I've been trying to tell you. Amara …."

"You're with Amara?" The angel's voice sounded panicked and somewhat horrified.

"No, no," Dean replied, appalled that Cas would think that, but he didn't have time to take offense. He nervously glanced to the closed bathroom door and back to Cas. "Of course not. It's not like that."

"Maybe I should leave."

"Don't you dare move," Dean shot out. The panic he had been forcing down was finally coming out. It had taken him the better part of the night to get in touch with anyone. He sure as hell wasn't going to let Cas out of his sight until he had some answers. "Just listen. Okay?"

Cas stilled, tilting his head as a sign he was listening.

Dean huffed out a strained breath, knowing he needed to tell the angel about his mother returning from the dead but he went with the foremost thing on his mind before Cas could disappear on him. "Where's Sam?"

When Dean was met with only silence, his knees buckled. "Cas …," he began before his voice faltered. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he asked again. "Where is he?"

"Sam's missing."

He squeezed his eyes shut, relieved for a moment that Cas didn't say that Sam was dead. But he realized that 'missing' didn't necessarily mean 'alive' and very likely did not mean 'well.' Prying his mouth open again, he needed to ask what happened but was interrupted by the sound of this mother's voice.

"He's missing?"

Cas pulled his focus from Dean, his mouth gaping at the sight of the woman standing in the bathroom doorway. He drew his gaze slowly back to his friend, a questioning look in his eyes.

Dean met the angel's stare with a shrug. "Looks like we both have some explaining to do."

AN: Just a note about the bunker key. I've noticed that even though the bunker was supposed to be impenetrable, it actually has been penetrated a few times. Crowley, a rogue angel, the Stynes and Billie the Reaper have all entered without invitation. So maybe the Winchesters don't necessarily need a key. It's not an important detail, but I thought I'd explain my reasoning. :)