A/N 1: Ah, the fic that almost didn't see the light of day. I wrote this about a month ago while my electricity was out again. I had typed it out and it was all ready to be posted when the file got corrupted and I lost the whole thing. Thankfully, I had handwritten most of it so I was able to retype it, though I almost saw it as a sign and was about to cut my losses, haha. It's a bit different than the original (that version being lost forever) but hopefully still good.

Reminisce

"What was Mom like?"

It was an innocent enough question. John looked up from his papers that were spread out on the battered table to gaze at his six-year-old. Sam stared back at him wide-eyed and nervous. He seemed to be instantly regretting the question.

"What was your Mom like?" John repeated thoughtfully. "That's a tough question, Sammy."

"Why?"

"It just is," John answered. He said nothing else as he shuffled through his notes.

"Oh," Sam said disappointedly. The little boy rested his head on his arms and continued to watch John work. His sneaker-clad feet barely grazed the floor as he swung his legs in boredom.

John let out a tired sigh. It was not as if he didn't want his kids to know what their mother had been like. He just wasn't too fond of angst-filled trips down memory lane. Besides, it was far too difficult for him to describe Mary in just a few words. In fact, John felt that sometimes Mary had even been a mystery to him. Describing a woman his son had no recollection of at all seemed almost impossible. Nothing he could say would ever be enough.

John's voice was unusually soft. "Your mom . . ."

Sam's head snapped up.

"Your mom was . . ." John repeated, not sure how he should finish. "She was great."

"I know that," Sam sighed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, she was a really kind person. Everyone couldn't help but like her. And she was a really good cook too," John added as he pushed away his bowl of cold chili.

"What else?"

"What exactly are you looking for, Sam?" John wondered. He felt his kid was after something specific that he just could not bring himself to ask.

Sam just shrugged his shoulders and looked at his hands.

John scrubbed his weary eyes. He knew this day would be coming ever since Sam reached his asking questions phase at the age of five. John had noticed how curious Sam's face had been on his first day of school. Sam had stared at all the other children with their mothers. Seeing women who were soft and warm and kissed their children's cheeks in goodbye was completely foreign to the kid. That had only been the beginning of Sam finally realizing that his family wasn't like other families. And that he himself was nothing like the other boys in his class.

"Was Mom . . . happy?" Sam asked quietly.

John was pulled from his thoughts by the question. "Of course," he answered automatically. He couldn't help thinking what an odd question it was for a six-year-old to ask. Though to John, there had always seemed to be an old soul lurking behind Sam's eyes.

"That's good," Sam said.

It had been good. Sure, he and Mary had fought sometimes like any other married couple. But John had truly loved her, and nothing came to mind that made him think she hadn't felt the same.

"Is that all?" John asked wearily.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam said.

Dean suddenly walked into the tiny kitchen, completely oblivious to the conversation. He grabbed a bowl and spooned a large amount of chili into it. Dean sat beside Sam in a rickety chair and started eating as if it were the best thing to have ever graced his lips.

Sam decided to change tactics and turned towards his big brother. "Dean, what was Mom like?"

Dean's spoon paused in midair. John waited to see if his freshly turned eleven-year-old could come up with something that would satisfy his little brother. John seriously doubted it.

"I don't remember her that good," Dean finally answered, putting down his spoon and pushing the bowl away.

"You gotta remember something, Dean," Sam argued.

"You've seen pictures of her."

"Yeah, but what was she like?"

Dean frowned thoughtfully at his brother as he shifted through the few vague and foggy memories he had of his mother. After a moment, he said, "She told funny stories sometimes. And she made good chocolate-chip cookies too."

"What else?" Sam asked as he perked up in his seat.

"She'd tuck me in every night and say . . ." Dean said, not finishing his thought.

"And?" Sam prompted.

Dean did not answer. In his oldest son's moment of silence, John found himself chiming in, "She smelled good."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "She just smelled like . . . Mom."

Sam had no idea what that even meant, but he trudged on. "Tell me something else."

"I don't know how much more we can give you, Sam," John said.

"Why not?" Sam asked indignantly. "You knew Mom a long time."

"Not long enough," John smiled sadly.

"But – "

"Sam, that's enough now," John said sternly. "I've got work to do, and you need to be getting to bed. Both of you."

Dean immediately stood up to drag Sam off to the room they were sharing in the drafty old cabin. However, Sam would not budge from his seat. There was a stubborn glint in his eye as he watched his father.

"Dad?"

"Sam."

"Was she a good mom?" Sam asked softly.

John stopped writing in his journal and looked up in surprise. "Your mom was a great mom."

"The best," Dean agreed.

Sam seemed to take that in. He then looked nervous again as he tried to ask another question, but the words did not seem to want to come out.

"What is it, Sam?"

He took a deep breath. "Did . . . did she like me?" Sam practically whispered.

That question made John's heart ache. He reached out his hand to muss Sam's already unruly hair. "Of course she liked you," he said warmly. "Your mom loved you and your brother very much."

"Oh, okay," Sam said grinning widely and looking completely reassured. He then let Dean guide him to their room without argument.

When John heard the bedroom door close, he let out another tired sigh and closed his journal. He then stood up to get his kids some extra blankets so they wouldn't turn into Sam and Dean-sized ice sculptures. As he did so, John could not help but realize how exhausting it was taking care of his boys without Mary. Single-parenthood was oftentimes more tiring than hunting, and that was definitely saying something.

A/N 2: You might notice John doesn't tell Sam much of anything, lol. I originally had many more memories being shared, but then decided against it. Men, I think, are naturally vague by default, especially those Winchester men. :) Hope you enjoyed!