Mary Winchester whispered words she didn't believe into her son's ear;
"Angels are watching over you."
She didn't know what else to say, what else to do. The ten years would be up in two weeks and the only thought worse than leaving her children alone was having one killed along with her. Mary patted her swollen belly coaxing her unborn child.
"Come on Sammy, time to come out and meet us."
The deal was vague enough that the demon could be coming for anything- he had said it wouldn't be her soul, but demons lie. As the final week began she tried summoning it, tried to communicate, to tell it- it could take her and she'd do whatever he wanted as long as he left Sammy alone. No one responded.
Mary wandered through the house with cold despair as the number of days left trickled maliciously from three to two and Sammy stayed inside her- kicking, joyfully innocent to the danger. She went through the motions; cook, clean, repeat. Suddenly she was hungry for the hunt she had long ago abandoned; hungry for a method of salvation. What would happen to Dean? What would happen to John? What would happen to little Sammy? What would happen to her?
With just thirty two hours left on the clock pain soared through her leaving a spark of hope in its wake as she went into labour. She would still die but maybe she could save her son, there was still time. Mary held on to that spark as John drove her to the hospital and she held onto the spark when her labour stretched to twelve hours, not letting the spark die even as the labour hit the twenty-four hour mark. She was a Campbell and she would fight like one.
Mary sighed, exhausted and spent, but continued to push with every fibre of her being. She only had four hours left. She would make it, she had to- Sammy wasn't dying with her.
The tray of instruments clamoured loudly to the floor as Mary shoved them over violently. Why was no one listening? She had yelled at every doctor and nurse and even an unfortunately ensnared night janitor. They didn't understand her urgency. She yelled at John to make them understand. They just gave her more drugs. Useless hospital.
"Get him out of me NOW!!" Mary cried, glaring at the clock that had been viciously taunting her over the last day; it read 11.35.
Mary Winchester kept her eyes fixed on the clock as the minutes ticked down to midnight. The voices and sounds around her just a background buzzing drowned out by the ticking, the movement around her dwarfed by the ominous movement of the clock-hand. Closer and closer to the top. She had failed, Sam would die with her.
Then nothing, no Hell-hounds, no demon, it was one past midnight and she was still in her hospital bed, still in labour. Confusion mixed with relief into a too-bitter beverage, the relief she knew was false, and the confusion would sooner or later melt into too-painful understanding. It was 12.23 on May 2nd when Sam Winchester was born. Ten years to the day of his grandparents' deaths. Ten years since the deal with the yellow eyed demon.
It was nearing one in the morning when Mary put her frazzled brain together and came to the horrifying realisation of the price the demon desired- her son. All Mary had left in her were silent tears. What have I done? She was disorientated and broken, and her barely there mind whispered only one unifying thought; protect Sammy, watch out for Sammy.
Mary sat crying, inconsolable. She held on to Sam with the fierce protectiveness of a mother lioness, no one got near him. The doctors' firm insistence that the child be checked was ignored. The nurses' offers to give them a break treated with a hunters' suspicion. Even John's pleas to be allowed to hold his newborn son were gently refused.
She refused to sleep, barely ate and wouldn't do anything that required her to relinquish her baby boy even for a second. Her body and mind pulled at her, begging for unconsciousness, and john's attempts to persuade her to rest weren't helping matters but she managed to maintain her vigil; she had to.
John had been reluctant to bring Dean to the hospital because he was worried about the state she was in. But Mary wasn't surprised two days later when she saw her eldest excitedly run into the room.
"Hey Sweetie." She greeted as her son climbed onto the bed next to her, "this is your brother Sammy."
"Hi Sammy." Dean said, allowing Sam to grab onto his finger like he had seen the grown-ups doing. Sammy gargled happily at Dean and Dean replied;
"I'm your big brother Dean, and I'll watch out for you Sammy, forever and forever." The child's voice said the words with sincerity that only a four year old could muster. Just like that Mary handed Sammy over to Dean.
And she did so with the same desperation and certainty that John had when he handed Sammy over to Dean six months later.
With the same desperation and certainty with which John would hand Sammy over to Dean every day after that for the rest of his life.