For mother's sake the child was dear, and dearer was the mother for the child.
– Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Sam was face down on his hard bed in his dark room when the creak of his door got his attention. Dean.
The stress of taking out the Brits, worrying about Dean and his wrecked leg, getting Mom back and finding out she'd been afraid of him all this time, it'd all clamped around Sam's spine and dug in, and since dumping Ketch and Bevell's bodies early this morning he'd been trying to ride out a stiff neck and a blazing headache.
It was probably time for his next dose of horse pills.
Expired horse pills, maybe, but he'd take what was on offer.
He heard the soft sounds of a glass and a pill bottle being set on his bedside table. Yeah, Dean.
"Thanks," he mumbled into his pillow.
"You're welcome, honey."
Oh. Not Dean.
"Mom?" He pushed himself up on an elbow. In the slant light from the hallway he saw her next to his bed. He almost asked, 'where's Dean?' but his brain managed through its agony to point out that's kind of rude, isn't it?
"How're you doing, honey? Is your head any better?"
"Yeah." No, it's not. "A little." Don't lie to her. "No, not really."
"Dean said to give you two pills this time if one wasn't enough. Here, you want me to open it for you?"
She didn't give him the chance to say yes or no, she opened the bottle and handed him two of the expired prescription painkillers. He swallowed them down with the glass of water then collapsed back onto his pillow.
"Thanks." That's kind of impersonal, isn't it? "Thanks, Mom."
"You're welcome, honey. Do you need anything else?"
Is Dean okay? Is his leg worse? Is he taking enough painkillers? "Um…" Wait - you're not really going to thank Mom by asking about Dean, are you? "It's okay. You must be tired."
Mom chuckled. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon. I think I can last a few more hours."
Great, you just insulted her. She came all the way back from the dead and you just implied that she's old and infirm. She's going to leave now and she's never going to –
A cool hand on the back of his neck was Sam's first clue that Mom hadn't left, she was sitting on his bed, lightly pushing her fingers into his knotted muscles. He hadn't been expecting that. "Oh..."
"Is this okay?"
Oh my God, yes. This is perfect. This is everything I ever wanted. Don't stop please don't stop. "It's great." Now you just made it weird. "I mean – it's nice. It feels nice. It's – yeah."
"Good." She tightened her grip, gently massaging the tension out of his neck. "Dean said you get headaches a lot."
"Headaches, yeah. Backaches, too, a lot." Don't whine. She doesn't want to hear your complaints. "But, you know, comes with the job."
"Comes with being so tall, too." Mom gradually increased the pressure, sending warmth down his spine and across his shoulders as she massaged his muscles.
Dean had magic fingers that could massage a stampeding stress headache down to manageable ache, but Sam didn't think anything Dean had done ever felt as good as this did right now. This was Mom. This was his Mom.
"Is this helping?" she asked.
"Yes, you're amazing." Stop it, she's gonna think you're weird.
But Mom chuckled and massaged between his shoulder blades. "Is that the drugs talking?"
"It's too soon for them to have made it to my blood stream. That'll be another twenty minutes." Great, now she's gonna know you're a nerd.
"No, I know. Dean told me precisely how long it takes for medication to start working on you." After a pause, she added, "I'm glad this is helping."
"You're helping."
"Thank you, honey."
Okay, now what are you going to talk about with her?
"I can't imagine how strange this all must be for you, still."
"You can't?"
Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, possession, time travel, hallucinations, wicked witches, gods and Horsemen, killer clowns and suicidal teddy bears…
"For us, 'strange' is kind of a high bar."
"Yes, I bet it is."
Did you just imply Mom is strange?
"I'm glad you came back. I'm glad Dean got into your mind and that you came back. I've been –" trapped, stuck, lost, he tried to find the right word. "I've hidden inside my head. It can be – it can be nice in there. Safe. It can be hard to come back."
Mom sighed, "I'm sorry," and even though he couldn't see her face, Sam could picture her closing her eyes in despair.
Great, she thinks you're blaming her for all the times you were stuck in your head. Blaming her for everything.
"I mean – no, it's not – I just – I don't mean – I'm not blaming you."
"I know you're not, honey. And I know you should. Everything that's happened to you, everyone you've lost, all the pain you've gone through, that's on me."
"No, it's not."
"If I hadn't made that deal…"
"No. Mom, no." Sam pushed himself up on his elbow. "You were a kid. Your whole world had just shattered in front of you. Of course you were going to protect yourself. Whatever it took. Of course you were."
"If I'd known what it was going to cost you, how much you were going to suffer because of it, because of me –"
"But you didn't know. You didn't. All of us, me, Dean, Dad, we've all done – (reckless, insane) – stupid things to save each other. And yeah, a lot of times, maybe even most times, the fallout was horrible, but how could we not try to save the people we love?"
Mom shook her head as he was talking, tears filled her eyes. "I couldn't," she admitted. "I couldn't not save John. But, Sam – if I'd known, if I hadn't gone into your room that night, if – if only I'd been there when you boys were growing up."
"No. I mean – yes, I wish you'd been there. I've wished that my whole life. But the apple pie, picket fence life wouldn't have prepared us to fight. And we needed to be able to fight. Everything that happened needed to happen. It did."
"I just – Sam, I just wish I could – I don't know, apologize or make it up to you. Something. Anything. I feel like – like what I did is always going to be there."
It was always there, it's been always there, in my whole life nothing ever happened to me, nothing, that wasn't somehow caused by what you did.
"You know what, Mom? The world is here because of what you did. It's still here and hopefully it will always be here."
"I'm not talking about the world, Sam. I'm talking about you."
"Everything that happened to me, Mom – if it was up to me to choose, I'd choose the world over me. I always would."
"And I would choose you."
"No, Mom," No, she wouldn't. She didn't know. If she knew, she wouldn't – she shouldn't – she – "No, that's not, I'm not, no. All that matters is -"
"You. All that matters is you and Dean. I know that now. I'm sorry it took me this long to realize it. You're my boys. You're all that matter to me."
"Mom – "
"Just let me hug you, all right? I just want to hug you."
She didn't wait for him to answer, she didn't wait for him to get into a better position. She grabbed him and pulled him into her arms in a hug as tight as he'd ever gotten from Dean or Dad. Maybe even tighter.
"I love you, honey. I love you."
I love you, too. I've loved you my whole life and I think I didn't love you until right now and I know I'll never not love you again.
Maybe say something before she wonders why you're not saying anything.
Preferably something that makes sense.
"I love you, Mom. I – just – I love you."
And Mom kissed him and held him and his stiff neck and blazing headache faded away.
The End.