Just something that's been on my mind.


Mrs. Davys watched the black Impala disappear down the driveway. She'd tried to convince Mr. Winchester to stay a few days longer, even shamelessly appealing to the boys' need to stay put for a few more nights. Poor things looked as road weary as they come and running a small Bed and Breakfast in the middle of nowhere, believe you me; she knew bone deep tired when she saw it.

Still they left and so she resumed her chores about the house, her mind drawn to the strange little family. She couldn't help but wonder if the tired had less to do with travel and more to do with the conspicuous lack of a mother. The man still wore a ring, which he would absently rub without seeming to notice he was doing it, and seemed relieved when the matronly hostess knew exactly what to do with the baby, as though he were still getting use to being the primary caretaker. The older boy didn't talk much, at all actually, but when she absently brushed his head one night at the table he had leaned into her touch and the lost look in his eyes made her very soul ach for him. No, they hadn't been without their mother long, not long enough for the grief to wear off or to figure out what to do without her presence in their day to day lives. Time would help, but that was poor consolation now.

Mrs. Davys started cleaning the bathroom and frowned. "Where in the world…?" The soap dish was empty. "I just put out a new bar this morning. Losing your mind, Kat." She scolded herself reaching under the cabinet for new bar. Task finished, she reached in the linen closet for some fresh sheets.


Down the road, in the back of the car, Dean surreptitiously held the small pink bar of soap in both of his small hands and inhaled deeply, slipping it back into his coat pocket before Daddy saw. Mommy. It smelled like Mommy. A thousand memories rushed into his young mind. Most of them more feelings and emotions than actual memories. Feelings of love and safety and soup and singing. He took his hand out of his pocket and brought his hand to his face pressing it against his nose and smiling slightly.

Something in the back of his head told him Mommy wouldn't have liked him stealing, especially not from the nice lady. But when he caught the first whiff he knew he had to have it.

The night Mommy went to heaven, most everything burned up. Everything else smelled like smoke or water, not Mommy. Her scent, though it had lingered in the car at first, was now fading. There was no tangible proof that she had even existed in their lives. All they had was the memory.

"No," Dean thought, "not now." Now he had the soap.


I love how to this day the writers still slip Mary in and haven't forgotten that Dean appeared to be a mama's boy when he was little. Thanks so much for reading!