Winchesters Never Say Die:

A Tale of Mothers, Memorials, and Mickey Mouse

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

A/N: On this first Mother's Day without my amazing mom, I find myself nostalgic as I look back at the stories celebrating Mother's Day I have written over the years for these broken boys I love so much. What Mom's Do, What My Mom Gave to Me, and What a Mother Leaves Behind have been some of my favorite stories to work on and What Mom's Do is still the story I receive the most comments on from you the readers. I think that is telling of the role mothers play in our lives, even when or maybe especially when someone else has filled that role. I am envious of the writer I was last year, six months ago even, the one who relied on fertile imagination and years of working with children to relay grief and pain to the reader, intermingled with what I pray is always a theme of hope. I am no longer afforded such distance, but I still believe that a mother's love is relentless, incapable of being destroyed, untouchable, even by death. It never dies. In fact, perhaps I believe it even more so now that I understand it to be true about my own mother. This one is for her.

RCJ

"But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin."

Mitch Albom

"Go fish."

"You seriously don't have a two?" Dean Winchester looked up from his hand of cards at the challenging directive delivered with unwavering confidence. Skeptical as always, he regarded the earnest face across the kitchen table from him. "I find that hard to believe."

Dark, guileless eyes returned his gaze. His opponent gave a quick shake of her head, twin blond pony tails bobbing. An achingly familiar dimple flashed when she grinned. "Go fish, Uncle Dean."

"You heard the kid. No deuces for you, Deuce." Caleb Reaves, Knight of the Brotherhood was currently sporting a makeshift cape, left over from his earlier attendance to a tea party held by the resident princess, a paper crown sitting askew atop his head. He looked ridiculous. Dean ached to tell him as much in a way that would not have been fitting for innocent ears. His best friend tapped the deck between them with a wolfish smile. "Go. Fish."

"I wasn't talking to you, Prince Never Charming." Dean ignored Caleb, looking again to the little girl gripping a handful of cards close to her chest. He kept his voice sugary sweet. "Mary, honey, you sure you don't want to check again for Uncle Dean? Maybe you misunderstood, I asked for a two."

Caleb leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "Are you seriously accusing our innocent, sweet, five year old niece of cheating you at cards?"

"No." Dean glared at Caleb. "I'm accusing her insufferable, conniving, Uncle Caleb of leading her astray just like he used to do with her old man back in the day. Was corrupting one generation of Winchesters not enough for you, man?"

"I never had to cheat to beat you at Go Fish, Dean." Sam Winchester stopped his perusal of the pile of mail before him long enough to shoot Dean a grin. It was lopsided and easy, which took the sting out of his insult to Dean's intelligence. "Nor any other game for that fact. I was way beyond my years when it came to outsmarting you, big brother."

Dean bit his lip to keep from a typical comeback as the other member seated at the table loudly cleared his throat. Mackland Ames might have been hidden behind the latest edition of The New York Times, but Dean had no doubt the man was paying more attention to the conversations around him than to any headline.

"Was Daddy always smarter than you, Uncle Dean?"

The question was voiced as one might ask if the sky had always been blue and cats always had claws. Caleb laughed outright. Dean was sure he heard a soft chuckle from behind the newsprint, although Mac attempted to mask it with a well-timed cough. Mary, Sam's adorable, yet precocious daughter was staring at Dean again, her hand of cards forgotten in lieu of this latest inquiry. The kid was almost as relentless as her dad had been at five.

"Your old man has always thought he was smarter than me and most everyone else, Kiddo. That doesn't make it true. Over confidence is not his best quality by a long shot. I hope you're a little more humble."

"Humble means not to be too proud or puffed up." Mary looked towards Mac. "Right, Grandpa?"

Mac snapped the paper, lowering it with an undeniably proud grin flashed in the little girl's direction. Like his son, Mac had not spared the next generation of Winchesters his own version of influence. Dean's children had a library of books before they were old enough to read. Sam's daughter was no exception. "You're exactly right, Mary. Humility is a very noble virtue. One all princesses and princes understand and take to heart."

"But one hard to pull off when you're practically perfect," Caleb added, tugging one of the little girl's pigtails. "Royalty or not."

"Your Uncle Caleb, despite being far from anywhere near perfect and as 'unroyal' as they come has always had a hard time with it." Dean jerked a thumb in his brother's direction. "It's not even in your daddy's vocabulary despite Grandpa Mac giving him a thesaurus before he was your age."

When Sam didn't admonish Dean's attempt to sully his reputation in front of his daughter, Dean turned to see if his brother had at least dropped the smile. Sam was staring at the pile of mail, one piece in particular. He accumulated mail at the farm on a regular basis. Jim's address was the only permanent one he or Dean had throughout their childhood. Even when Sam lived at Caleb's place in New York he'd given Dean's address as home. It had become a ritual for Dean to sort the mail, and place it in its own special drawer for Sam to go through on every visit. From the look on Sam's face, Dean wondered if he should have incorporated some kind of monitoring system, a way to assess a possible threat.

"Sammy? You alright?"

Sam's continued silence along with the stricken look on his face jolted Dean's heart. It was not unlike hours before when the black dog they had been chasing on their latest hunt doubled back on them. The animal had leapt out of the bushes to tackle Sam to the forest floor before Caleb or Dean could get a shot off. Sam had been stunned by the surprise attack, losing his breath and the upper hand. Sam was looking just as shaken now. Dean had done with the black dog what he always did, dove in head first to protect his brother. It was as natural as breathing, more instinct than any conscious decision.

"What is it?" Only now Dean couldn't see the enemy. The farmhouse's kitchen was the same as it had always been, sunny yellow wallpaper, cornflower blue curtains, the smell of cinnamon toast in the air, yet it was as if an invisible force had invaded their home, pouncing out of the shadows as easily and as unexpectedly as the black dog.

"Jessica."

The name was filled with as much pain as the yelp Sam had let loose when the creature had attacked.

"What?" Dean was certain he had not heard correctly. He wasn't sure if it was the incredulity in his voice or Mary's question of 'who's Jessica' that freed Sam from the latest assault. Dean watched his brother put down the envelope, didn't miss the slight tremble in his hand. Sam cleared his throat, flashed his daughter a perfect dimpled smile though it was nothing like the one he'd given Dean earlier. This smile was a mirror of the one Sam had given Dean when the dog was dead from Dean's blade, when Dean and Caleb had helped his brother up off the ground, steadied him to make sure he was still in one piece. The one Sam had forced and maneuvered into place to prove he was fine.

"An old friend of mine."

Caleb snorted. "Understate much, Runt."

Dean kicked his best friend under the table.

"Is it bad news, Samuel?" Mac folded his paper placing it to the side of the table as he leaned forward, his face creased with concern.

"No," Sam shook his head, holding up a gold and cream monogrammed card. "It's an invitation to a dedication-a memorial of sorts. It seems Jessica's family helped fund a new space at the Cantor Museum at Stanford, a wing for students' work. They are celebrating the ground breaking with a ceremony this weekend in Jessica's honor."

"What's a memorial?" Mary asked, the game of gold fish completely forgotten. She had eyes only for her father. Dean wondered if she had picked up on the emotion now charging the room. The dogs had. They gathered at Dean's chair, pressing their bodies against Dean's legs, tails beating on the linoleum.

"It's a way to remember someone who is no longer with us," Mackland answered. "Like the display of masks your grandmother and I took you to see this week when you visited us in Manhattan. Remember I told you the artist created each one in honor of a child who had lost their lives in atrocious acts of school violence."

"I liked the butterfly ones the best." Mary returned her solemn gaze to Sam. "Is your friend dead, Daddy?"

"Yes." Sam's face stayed frozen into that smile. Dean looked to Caleb catching a reflection of Sam's true feelings in his gold gaze. Dean didn't need to be a psychic, not when it came to his brother. He'd felt the stab of pain every bit as much as Caleb. "She died a very long time ago, sweetheart."

"You should go." Dean wasn't sure what prompted the suggestion but it was as natural as him going after the black dog, wrestling it away from Sam before slitting its throat. Sam rarely spoke about Jessica, about his life those years at Stanford. Dean suspected going back to law school, finishing his degree, had helped Sam heal some of that hurt, but old wounds ran deep. "It will be good for you, Little Brother."

"I think that's a splendid idea," Mac chimed in agreement before Sam could voice the refusal Dean knew was coming. It was in the sudden stiffness in Sam's posture, the way his brother's jaw tightened, eyes growing darker. Mackland pushed on despite the warning signs that no negotiation would be on the table. "In fact, all of you should go."

"What?" Dean had not expected yet another surprise attack. He was suddenly on the defensive along with this brother. He had every intention of offering to keep Mary at the farm, to spend a long weekend entertaining his niece with his Knight's help of course. Caleb would not have an option of blowing off a Guardian's order. "All of us can't go."

"Why not? It's the perfect weekend for a getaway. Samuel's birthday is just around the corner," Mac continued undaunted."You three have only finished a harrowing hunt. Everyone is away. If only Ben could join you…"

"Ben has finals coming up and it's not exactly a good time for me to be gone either," Dean interjected. "I'm manning the farm solo this weekend."

Juliet and the boys had made their yearly pilgrimage to Florida to spend the weekend with Juliet's grandmother Hannah. When the boys were small Hannah had visited them, Juliet's mother sometimes joining her. Now JT and James begged to go to their great grandmother's condo, which happened to reside on pristine beachfront property, just a romp from the Atlantic Ocean.

"I find myself a bachelor this weekend as well," Mac interrupted. "Esme is also visiting with her mother."

Dean shook his head, seeing the doctor's ultimate strategy. It was Pastor Jim worthy. Sam's birthday was not the only important date coming up on the calendar. Sunday was Mother's Day. He glanced at Caleb, who rolled his eyes at his father's blatant scheming. Sometimes Dean believed the former Scholar still saw them as little boys in need of protection from a Hallmark holiday of all things.

"I know for a fact that you had the weekend shift at the garage covered in case the hunt was prolonged, and I believe I'm quite capable of taking care of the dogs and horses. With Esme away, I was also hoping to have some research time in The Tomb. This would provide me much needed peace and quiet to focus on my work. You'd all be doing me a favor."

"Of course we would." Dean was not naïve. Over the years there had been countless distractions planned for their benefit. Impromptu hunts, well-timed visits to the farm, even one disastrous camping trip in Colorado where Dean had lost his favorite pocket knife and his appendix. Dean had always believed Pastor Jim the mastermind behind the well-meaning machinations, but since the Pastor's death Dean had to wonder if Mac hadn't been the inspiration all along. After all, as a motherless boy raised solely by a grieving father Mac had every reason to understand the pain of being without a mom on a day set aside for celebrating her.

"It sounds like a good time to me." Caleb pitching in lots with his dad didn't surprise Dean as much as his best friend's agreeing to go to California. In general, The Knight avoided coastal states.

"Because you love the beach so much, Damien."

"California has other attributes besides the Pacific Ocean, Deuce."

Dean narrowed his gaze. "So Hollywood is calling your name? You once compared LA to Hell, but with hot chicks and plastic surgeons a plenty."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Disneyland."

"Disneyland?" Mary gasped as if Mickey Mouse himself had just been lowered through the roof on a flashing stage with a strobe light. Dean felt the turn in the game as the little girl's eyes widened and her rosy little cheeks flushed. "Where Mickey and Minnie live?"

Caleb nudged Mary. "Don't forget the princesses, Princess. They all have castles there."

"Et tu brute," Dean murmured under his breath.

Caleb had always joined in with the older hunters in their mission to make Mother's Day about anything other than what it was set aside to celebrate. As a kid, Dean knew his best friend had to realize he was being shielded as much as Dean and Sam, but as he had grown older he'd taken up the gauntlet where the Winchester brothers were concerned. Apparently, he saw Mary as needing a bit of that protection now, too. Mary's mother might not have been dead, but she was absent, as good as a ghost in Caleb's book.

"I had forgotten about Disneyland," Mackland locked gazes with Mary. "You've never been, have you, my dear?"

"Never," Mary bounced in her seat. "Can we go, Daddy? Can we please?"

"Mary." Sam sighed. Dean felt bad for his brother. He almost regretted that he had inevitably opened the door for Mackland's grand plan, even though he'd done so believing the trip would be good for Sam, and more importantly it would be a solo journey. "Disneyland is hours away from Palo Alto where the memorial is taking place. It's nearly in San Diego. Besides the memorial is on Saturday. We haven't got the time to plan, let along undertake such a trip."

"We have a jet." Caleb glanced to his dad. "At least Dad has a jet and access to a corporate suite in almost every major city in America, including San Diego."

"What good is money if it can't make things happen?" Mac's grin grew, his gaze staying on Sam. "Leave everything to me. I will set up the flight, the hotel rooms and the tickets to Disneyland. I would enjoy nothing more than making this trip possible for the four of you, Son. Consider it an early birthday gift."

"Grandpa has magic just like Mickey Mouse," Mary chimed in, clapping her hands. "He likes to make important things happen."

Mackland chuckled, basking in the adoration. "I have found certain credit cards to be as good as a magic wand."

"Technically, Disneyland was my idea, Runt."

"You're not being very humble, Uncle Caleb."

"Cut off at the knees by our sweet, innocent five year old niece." Dean pointed at his chagrined Knight. "Seems someone else agrees not everything is about you, Damien."

"Actually, this isn't about any of you," Sam spoke up, anger momentarily replacing dismay. "It's about Jessica."

"Of course it is, Samuel." Mackland's smile faded, his voice gentling. "I would never want to overshadow the purpose of this trip. I only met Jessica once, but I have a hard time believing she would not want you to come, to join in an opportunity to celebrate her life, to honor the impact she made while she was here. If you were to bring your family, and make some special memories along the way, I can only imagine that would have made her extremely happy."

"I can make a mask for the museum, Daddy," Mary offered. She reached over and placed her tiny hand atop her father's. "A butterfly one, with glitter and everything."

"Thank you, Sunshine." Sam was staring at Mary, all anger and trepidation erased by heart struck adoration. The lopsided, easy grin was back. "Jessica loved butterflies."

Dean recognized it as the moment his fate was sealed. Fear of flying be damned and so much for dodging the Disney bullet with his boys. He raised his gaze to Caleb, who tipped his ridiculous crown. Dean shook his head in resignation.

"California here we come."