Chapter Two: The Mother He Never Knew
It was odd. Sam had no idea why he was so nervous. All he was doing was walking into a coffee shop with his mother to catch up with her. Well, maybe that was it. The fact that he was walking into a coffee shop to catch up with a woman who was essentially a stranger to him.
Everything Sam knew about Mary he had learned either from vague, gruff, painful conversations with his father, or from Dean. His older brother had clearly adored the woman, and he told Sam glowing stories about their kind, smart, beautiful mother, about how she cut the crusts off of his sandwiches for him and sang him to sleep and stroked his hair and cooed over her baby Sammy and loved her sons more than anything.
If Dean were here, Sam would probably be completely at ease. He could watch Dean and Mary talk and catch up and bask in the glow of his beautiful, loving mother, getting to know her by watching her talk with Dean. But John and Mary had wanted to talk to their sons individually, and so Dean had gone off alone with John to catch up.
Actually, Sam had to admit, even though he barely knew his mother, he would rather be here with her. Years of resenting his father's treatment of his sons had not quite faded away yet, and Sam was sure that reunion would be quite tense. Dean probably got the worse end of the deal.
The coffee shop Mary had taken them to was a cute little place, all warm brown colors and comfy seating. Very few customers were inside to enjoy the warmth and delicious, cinnamon and coffee smell, and they all seemed a little fuzzy around the edges, easily fading into the background. Sam was vaguely aware that this was just one of Mary's memories and not an actual place, but it still felt very real and warm and pleasant.
Mary ordered coffee with lots of cream and sugar and a scone, and Sam ordered black coffee and, after a moment's hesitation, a muffin. He didn't typically eat sweets very often, opting for salads and protein shakes or whatever food Julie or Dean had whipped up in the bunker's kitchen. But he didn't exactly have to worry about his health or weight in heaven, so why the hell not?
Mother and son sat down across from each other in a comfy booth, and then there was a moment's silence. Sam took a sip of his coffee, trying desperately to think of something to say. If Julie was here, she would already be chatting up a storm with Mary, and if Dean was here, at least he would have some fond memories to reminisce over with her. But it was just him, alone with a woman he barely knew but still somehow loved.
Finally, Mary broke the silence. "Sam, I…I hope you don't mind us coming here," she said uncertainly. "This used to be one of my favorite places in the world when I was younger, and I just feel really comfortable here."
"I can see why," he said with a smile. "It's nice here."
"I'm glad you like it," she sighed in relief. "I wasn't sure you would because, as hard as this is for me to admit…I don't even know my own son."
Sam looked down, unsure what to say. She wasn't wrong, after all. Mary cleared her throat and quickly moved on. "I've been talking to a lot of your friends since Ash found John and I and brought us here. They've got nothing but good things to say about you, of course." She beamed proudly at him. "Apparently, you grew up to be a good man and a hero."
Again, Sam looked down and blushed a little, unsure what to say. Finally, he cleared his throat and asked, "So who all have you met?"
"I talked a lot with your friend, Charlie. She's very chatty." Sam laughed in agreement. "But she's sweet. And she seems to love you and Dean. They all do." Mary stops to think for a moment. "I also like your friend, Jody. Oh, and that man, Bobby Singer. I didn't speak too much with him, but he really loves you and your brother. He says you two are heroes."
"Only because he raised us that way," Sam smirked. "And Dad, too, of course," he added quickly. Although, honestly, sometimes it had felt like Bobby was raising them a lot more than John.
Mary studied Sam for a long moment, an odd look in her eyes. "Sammy…" she started after a long moment, and then caught herself. "Sorry. Sam."
"Mom, you can call me Sammy," he laughed lightly, and it felt so wonderful to call this woman his mother. It felt right.
She laughed too and smiled genuinely at him. "Well then, Sammy…I never meant to drag you and your brother into this. I never wanted any child of mine to ever have to hunt a day in their life, and I'm so sorry to have brought this all on you."
Sam surprised himself by reaching out and putting his large hand over hers on the table. "It's okay, Mom," he said. "There was honestly nothing you could have done to keep me and Dean out of this life." She frowned in confusion, but he didn't really feel like explaining how her sons were the true vessels of Michael and Lucifer, and that they were instrumental in starting the apocalypse so there was no way that the angels and demons would have left them alone all their lives. "Besides, we saved a lot of good people by becoming hunters."
"I know you did," Mary said, studying him with something close to awe. "Your friends tell me that my sons—my sons—have saved the world. Repeatedly. I honestly couldn't be more proud of you boys."
Sam smiled at her, so glad to hear those words from his mother. But she wasn't done yet. "But I've also heard a lot about all the horrible things you've had to go through. No mother wants to hear that her sons have died and gone to hell and sold their souls and drank demon blood and been trapped in hell with the devil himself."
Sam looked everywhere from his mother. She had just been so proud of him, and he didn't want her to know all of his terrible mistakes. The demon blood, Ruby, freeing Lucifer, failing Dean, not trying to save Dean when he went to Purgatory, betraying his brother's trust time and time again, falling in love with Dean's girlfriend…he wanted his mother to love him and not hate him for all of his terrible mistakes.
But then Mary put her hand over his and said in a soft, emotional voice, "Sam, I am so proud of you. No one should ever have to go through that, and yet you did, and you are still a good man."
Sam's throat felt oddly tight. "Mom-" he started, but then he realized he had nothing to say.
Finally, he managed to get out, "Thank you." She gave him a tear-filled smiled and squeezed his hand. Then both of them gave shaky laughs and sipped at their coffee and ate their snacks until their emotions were back under control. The food and coffee were both delicious and the perfect temperature, filling Sam with a wonderful, warm feeling. Heaven food was literally heavenly.
After that, Mary asked about simpler, happier things. She wanted to know what sort of movies and TV shows her youngest son liked. She wanted to know what he did in his spare time, what kind of music he liked, if he was an animal lover, what kind of books he read. Sam was surprised by how much he and his mother had in common. They both liked crime dramas, they both had shown an interest in law because they were brilliant and wanted to help others, they both enjoyed more modern music, while John and Dean were stuck in the sixties and seventies when it came to their music. Mary loved dogs as well, although she actually preferred cats. That led to a brief, entertaining argument between mother and son about what family pet they should get in heaven. Her taste in literature was the same as his and Julie's, and he told her so.
And then, of course, Mary wanted to know all about this mysterious Julie Carters, the woman who had stolen Dean's heart. She had heard from the Harvelles and Rufus and Kevin how her eldest son was with women, so she had been a little surprised to see him with one woman who he so clearly seemed to love.
Sam was finding Mary very easy to talk to, and so he was completely honest about Julie. He gushed about the beautiful, brilliant, funny, tough, kind woman who was his best friend and Dean's girlfriend, although the word girlfriend didn't quite cover it. He rambled on and on about how he and Julie would read together, about how she would kick both their butts in a fight by preying on their hesitations to hit her, about how clever and witty she was, and about how skilled a hunter she was. He told funny stories of them all hanging out at the bunker, her saving him and Dean from some hungry, horny vampires, and stories of her bravely taking on the very Knight of Hell who had once killed and tortured her in hell.
Mary listened to him intently, smiling and laughing in all the right places. After letting him talk for several minutes about this wonderful girl, she finally just asked, "So when did you fall in love with her?"
Sam froze, his face going pale. Mary just laughed, though. "Oh, come on, Sam. You're pretty transparent. You talk about her the same way people talk about old lovers. I'm just guessing that you and Julie didn't actually do anything about it judging by the fact that she's still with Dean."
He swallowed. "Yeah, yeah, I…I was in love with her. And Dean found out, and we fought about it, and it was rough. But she loved Dean, so she stayed with him, and we worked it out. Well, at least until she died." Mary's eyes widened. "That Knight of Hell, Beelzebub, that I was telling you about? He killed her and dragged her down to hell for ten years. After seeing how bad that messed Dean up, I realized he loved her a lot more than I did, so I was able to get over her. Now we're just best friends."
"Well, I'm you were able to work through it," Mary said earnestly. "Although I'm sorry that poor girl had to die and go to hell for it to happen."
"Me too," Sam sighed. "Believe me, I would have done anything to prevent it."
After that, they again talked about simpler things. Mary told Sam more about what she had been like as a child, about the grandparents he had never gotten to know. Sam decided not to tell her about how her father had returned from the dead and Sam's soulless self had worked with Samuel for a few months, at least until the man handed his own grandsons over to be killed by a demon. And he gladly omitted the fact that he had sort of murdered his own grandfather, thinking that was a subject better left unaddressed.
Mary told happy stories of her and a young, happy John Winchester in the early days of their marriage. Sam told her more about his and Dean's childhood, omitting John's neglectfulness and alcoholism as much as possible. And then the two of them just talked about Dean. Finally, a subject they could both talk happily about for hours. And they did. Sam and Mary talked on and on about Dean and their love for him for hours, laughing and chatting happily and bonding over their love of him until they finally felt like a true mother and son.
And for the first time in months, Sam felt really, truly happy. Heaven was pretty damn great, he decided. Dying might be one of the best things that ever happened to him.
Dean found himself really wishing Sam or Julie were here. He and his father had been sitting in silence in a small canoe in a peaceful lake for several long minutes, and he could not think of a single thing to say. If Sam were here, at least he would have someone to talk to. And if Julie were here, she could hold his hand and lean into his side and at least try to make small talk with John. And if John ignored her, she could brush her lips across Dean's neck and he could rest his chin on top of her head and they could sit here in silence together.
Instead, he just stared at his father's back as John hooked bait onto his fishing pole and prepared to toss it out into the ocean.
Fishing had always been such a simple, peaceful, soothing act that Dean had always thought he would enjoy it. Sometimes, when life was too much or he was struggling with anger issues, he would just close his eyes and imagine he was in the middle of an endless, peaceful lake, waiting patiently for a tug on his line. But his father had never taken him fishing or anything, and he had never really bothered to learn himself. Too busy saving people from monsters.
Finally, John spoke. "You know, my dad used to take me out here when I was young," he said in his low, gruff rumble of a voice. "We would just sit here in silence, and I would watch him fish. Even if he didn't catch anything, I still thought it was amazing. And then, when I was eight or nine, he taught me how to fish myself. I loved it. We would just sit out here in silence and wait."
Dean didn't know what to say. Finally, he said, "It's peaceful out here. I can see why you would like it."
"I always meant to teach you one day," John admitted. "But when you turned eight-"
"You were off hunting a djinn, and I was busy watching over Sammy," Dean finished. "Yeah, I remember."
"I always felt bad about missing your birthdays," his father sighed. "But there were people to save and monsters to kill-"
"I get it, Dad," Dean said quickly. "Really. It doesn't bother me. Besides, Sammy was there to keep me company. We played games and he made me a card. It was fun."
"You still remember that?" John asked, a little surprised.
"Of course. I loved when Sam was that age. A chubby little kid like half my height, and he was still probably smarter than me. And he was adorable back then. Now he's just some freaking Sasquatch. Still has way too much hair now, though. But I kind of miss the days when I could just sit on him to shut him up."
John chuckled lightly. "He was a good kid, Sammy," he sighed thoughtfully. And then he added, "And you were too, Dean."
Dean blinked. That was something he had never heard as a child. Good? He was good? He wasn't good. He was a failure, a mistake, the kid who could never shoot accurately enough or fight well enough or run fast enough, the kid who was never a good enough hunter, never a good enough son. All he was good for was protecting Sammy, and sometimes, he couldn't even do that. He was just a huge waste of space, a terrible excuse for a son.
He didn't want these thoughts right now. He just wanted to catch up with his father who he had lost so long ago. He just wanted to be happy.
"I really did mean to teach you how to fish, though," John said after a brief silence. "I always kind of regretted never making time for it."
Never making time for you. Those were the words he left unsaid, but they were both thinking it. Dean quickly pushed those thoughts away and said, "But you taught me how to shoot instead. It's not like you never taught me anything."
"Yeah, I taught my skinny little kid how to shoot a gun that was almost bigger than he was," John said darkly. "Don't thank me for that, Dean. Don't."
Dean looked down at his shoes. John wasn't wrong. It was pretty freaking terrible of him to teach his son how to shoot and stab and fight and kill before he was even ten. He put far too much pressure on his son, demanding more out of him than anyone ever should, expecting him to fight and die for his little brother when he was still a child. That was some pretty bad parenting. But Dean had forgiven him for it.
Or at least he had thought he had.
"You did a damn good job taking care of your brother though," John said eventually.
Dean frowned. "Dad, what are you talking about? The kid died on my watch. Repeatedly."
"But you got him back every time," John said with a small, sad sort of smile at Dean. "You did the right thing."
"The right thing?" Dean repeated slowly. "The right thing?! Dad, I sold my soul! I went to hell for forty years! I broke after thirty years of torture, and I started the goddamn apocalypse! You're not supposed to tell me good job, to tell me I did the right thing, because I didn't!"
John frowned, a spark of anger coming into his eyes. "I sold my soul to save you, Dean. Are you saying I did the wrong thing?"
"Yeah, actually, I am!" Dean snapped. "You shouldn't have done that. I never asked you to do that. I never wanted you to do that."
"So what?" John snapped. "I let you die? Dean, you are my son! I had to do whatever it takes to protect you."
"No, you didn't," Dean said with an anger he didn't know he had been harboring all these years. He slowly rose to his feet in the canoe as his anger took over. "You should have let me die. You and Sammy would have been more than enough to take down Yellow-Eyes, and then all of the rest of that crap, the apocalypse and Cas falling and the Leviathans…it wouldn't have happened."
John stood up as well so he could be eye-level with his son to glare at him. "Dean, as your father I had a responsibility to protect you, to do whatever it takes to keep you alive," John said coldly. "I am not going to apologize for what I did."
"Then where was that protection the entire rest of my life? When you trained me to hunt and kill and put me in dangerous situations ever since I turned eight? Eight, Dad! I was a freaking kid!"
"That didn't seem to bother you then," John frowned.
"Because I was a kid!" Dean shouted. "I didn't know any better. I just wanted to make you proud. But I never could. I was never good enough for you, Dad. Never."
"Dean, that's not fair-" John started.
"No, you know what's not fair? Going and dying and going to hell for me when I didn't deserve it and leaving me with the guilt of knowing my father was in hell in my place," Dean snapped, his anger only growing with every word. Something had happened when he snapped earlier, and thirty-three years of resentment and guilt and grief were slowly pouring out of him, and he couldn't stop it. "You don't know what it's like to live knowing you should be dead, knowing that someone you love is suffering because of you. And you shouldn't have done that to me."
"You think it was easy for me, son?" John shouted, his anger getting the better of him. "That monster Alistair had me for a hundred years before you finally found a way to get me out. One hundred years of that torture, Dean, all for you. And I never broke, not once. And then you, my hero of a son, you break in thirty."
One look at Dean's face told John he had gone too far. The pain and guilt and hurt and anger in Dean's eyes broke his heart. But there was too much anger in John right now for him to apologize.
"You're right," Dean said slowly after a long, tense silence. "I was weak. I was never as good or strong as you, Dad. But I wouldn't have been in hell in the first place if you had actually been a halfway decent parent instead of turning your sons into weapons."
"I did the best I could, Dean!" John snapped. "Everything I did, I did to protect you. You and your brother had to be able to fight to protect yourself."
John had a point, but Dean was too angry to admit it. He just turned away from his father and tried to take deep breaths, looking at the tranquil water and wondering how it could be so calm when he was so furious.
"What happened to you?" John asked softly, honestly curious. "You never said anything like this. Ever. You always just seemed happy to do whatever I asked."
And he had been. What had changed, besides lots of years to look back on the past and grow bitter and angry?
Then the answer hit him, and it was so glaringly obvious he almost wanted to laugh.
Julie.
She has always openly resented his father. Every story he told her about their crappy childhood, about John's anger issues and alcoholism and neglectfulness, every subtle hint that John had never done anything but degrade and demean and look down on his eldest son as inferior made her furious. Dean's stories about John had always been pretty forgiving of the man, but Sam had been brutally honest, and Julie had grown to really resent John for what he did to his sons. She obviously respected that Dean and Sam both loved their father, but she was not afraid to tell Dean her opinion on his father.
And somewhere in their long conversations about the many issues with John's parenting and his treatment of Dean, he must have stopped seeing John as such a perfect idol and more as the man he was: flawed, damaged, and not nearly the parent he probably should have been.
"Julie," Dean said after a long moment, and John frowned.
"Who? Oh, wait, that girl you're with."
Dean's eyes narrowed a little as he turned back towards his father. "She's not just 'that girl,' Dad. I love her."
"So I hear," John muttered. "But what does she have to do with me?"
"Well, she isn't exactly your biggest fan," Dean smirked bitterly. "Sam and I told her enough about you to make her decide she didn't exactly like your parenting skills. And I have to admit, lately I've kind of started to agree with her."
John's eyes narrowed in anger. "That girl has no idea what she's talking about," he snapped. "She doesn't even know me."
"You're right," Dean shrugged. "But she made some good points about the serious flaws in the way you parented us."
"Of course you would think that," John smirked bitterly. "I'm sure you're pretty likely to agree with anything she says as long as she keeps sleeping with you."
"That's not what this is about, Dad," Dean snapped. "This is about us, not her."
"Really?" John snapped coldly. "Because you and I used to get along just fine before you let that bitch poison your mind."
John almost toppled over as suddenly Dean was on top of him, gripping the collar of his shirt in his fist and looking utterly terrifying. John had never been afraid of his quiet, obedient, submissive son before. But he had never seen this side of Dean before.
"What did you just call her?" Dean growled in a low voice filled with fury.
John knew he had gone too far yet again. He just did not know where to stop, did he?
"That was too far," he admitted quietly. "You're right. Now let go of me, Dean, before I make you."
"Damn right, that was too far!" Dean practically roared. "And I would like to see you try."
And finally, John lost it.
Dean hardly realized what was happening as John ripped himself free of Dean's grip. John didn't realize what he was doing either, as anger overtook him and he found himself shoving his son out of the canoe.
Dean landed in the lake with a large splash, upsetting the perfect, calm water. John watched in surprise and horror as Dean resurfaced, spluttering angrily. His clothes and hair were soaked, and once he recovered from his shock, there was a serious kind of anger in his eyes.
John gulped nervously.
"Dean," he said as his son swam back over to the canoe. "Dean, I'm sorry." His eldest son ignored him and tried to haul himself back up into the boat, but it was a struggle. "Dean, here. Let me help you."
Dean ignored him and tried futilely to climb in by himself, but eventually he gave in and let John help haul him back into the boat. Dean quickly pulled away from his father and turned away from him in anger.
"Dean, I'm sorry," John tried again. "Really. I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean to say any of that, about hell and the girl and….all of it. I'm sorry."
His son remained silent.
John forced down his pride and half-begged, "Dean, please…can you forgive me?"
Dean was silent for a long moment, and then he sighed, the tension going out of his body. "Yes," he sighed. "I can. But right now, I just need some space. Let's just go back."
"Of course," John said quickly, and he sat down to begin rowing the boat back to shore.
Dean sat down as well, feeling cold and weary and miserable. His clothes were drying impossibly fast, one of the perks of heaven he supposed, but that wasn't making him feel much better at all.
Maybe heaven wasn't going to be so great after all.