oOoOoOo

Voices rang from the small home, a formerly abandoned Catholic house of worship once known as St. Gabriel's. The house sat at the edge of Sioux Falls, about a mile south of Singer's Salvage Yard. The home was white and located in the center of a rolling meadow accessed by a end of a long, snaking driveway. The afternoon sun baked the dwelling and wilted the early season flowers in the window boxes. The air outside was still. Crickets and tree frogs filled the air with their heat wave opera that acted as a suitable soundtrack to the hot tempers and loud voices inside.

In the kitchen, Mary Winchester narrowed her eyes and folded her arms while forcing a smile onto her face. Her long, blond hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail and the dark circles under her eyes stood out prominently on her pale skin. Her jaw was set firmly and her shoulders held squarely as she kept her gaze focused. It was nearing 4 in the afternoon, technically Day 1 of school summer vacation for her sons, and already the mother of two was biting back her tongue to count aloud the number of days until the new school year started.

She had arrived home for the day just after the lunch hour and now was on the verge of tearing her hair out because her firstborn, an attitude ridden 15-year-old, was tap dancing on her last and fraying nerve.

Mary was on edge since she woke that morning. She wanted to blame it on her lack of sleep. She tossed and turned all night in the heat of the South Dakota weather. Their house's lack of air conditioning, but it wasn't weather that kept her from peaceful sleep. No, the dreams did that, her nightmares. In each, she would come home to find her children missing, their beds cold and empty with no clue where they were or how to find them.

The dreams were old and had stopped for a while but then suddenly returned with a vengeance that week. The reason for that was obvious: Her sons were leaving again. True, this departure was planned and would only last few days. They would also be with one of the best bodyguards she could ask for, but that did not mean she liked it or was happy about it. Letting her children out of her sight to go to school was hard enough. Letting them leave the state and hike miles into the wilderness without her made her heart thump fast and caused icy pains in her stomach.

Her lack of rest and enormous level of stress was making her testy and snappish. In normal circumstances, needing to give one of her children three reminders to do his chores would not make her happy, but it would not put her in full lecture mode. But this was not a normal circumstance. Mary's mommy worry senses, were in overdrive. Her patience was down to its last few strands, but she held herself together as best she could.

She took a deep breath, and leveled her cool, pale and determined eyes on a set of bright green irises nestled in a thick mat of dark lashes that gazed back at her challengingly. Mary realized that she needed to go into full motherly guilt mode. While she knew Dean was a tough, mildly arrogant and practiced cool customer at times, he had two known weaknesses in the universe: pretty girls and family. She put on her best smile and played her card carefully.

"Sweetheart, let me explain something to you," Mary said in a calculatedly and stern manner. "When a woman gives birth to her child …"

"Oh, shoot me now," Dean groaned loudly then attempted to leave the kitchen en route back to his room.

However, Mary was swifter than his departure. She reached her arm around him and steered him back to the table, which took a bit of stretching now that he was nearly taller than her. She guided him back into the chair at the kitchen table and kept her hold on him firm over his shoulders as she continued.

"Childbirth is very painful," Mary continued. "Have I ever told you that I was in labor for 12 hours with you, Dean? It was agony."

"More than I'm feeling having to listen to this?" he wondered dryly.

"Imagine breaking 20 bones at the same time," she nodded.

"Are they all large bones or little ones like pinkie toes and…," Dean began but was silenced by her blazing stare.

"It's 20 bones, Dean," Mary told him firmly. "Big or small, 20 is a lot. And it's painful, more physical pain than you've ever experienced, sweetie. Do you know what I was thinking the entire time I was giving birth to you?"

He flashed a quick and impish grin.

"If John ever comes near me again, I'll castrate him?" he offered. "Guess you forgot about all that pain a few years later, or we wouldn't have Sammy, huh?"

His smile radiated from his bright green eyes and offered their own comment: She really should have known better than to leave him that sort of open ended question. Despite her festering frustration with him, she nearly caught herself smirking in return. She dug her fingernails into her palms to hold her composure as she stared back at him flatly. After a moment, Dean's grin slowly faded, and he dropped his eyes sullenly as he did not get the reaction he sought. Instead, Mary looked at him with her disappointed mother expression—the one she knew he called a 'bitch face' when he thought she was out of earshot. As aspects of remorse and contrition began to seep into his expression, she sighed.

"No," Mary said, squeezing his shoulder then patting him gently on the back. "I kept thinking it did not matter how much it hurt me because the reward of meeting you was going to make every moment of torture worth it. I suffered pain so blinding that I nearly broke your father's hand as I squeezed it, and I did that just for you. Now, how do you think I feel when I ask you to do one small chore to help out around the house, but what I get in return is griping, complaining and a plateful of attitude so that I have to waste my time arguing with you, giving myself a headache?"

"I'm betting you feel like you should have taken the drugs they offered you so you could avoid 12 hours of…," he began but stopped as he caught her full glare yet again.

The smirk faded from his eyes this time as he chewed his lip remorsefully. He knew better than to parry words with her when she used that tone of voice and gave him those kind of looks. She wasn't mad at him, which made it worse. No, instead she was disappointed in him, something that pained Dean probably nearly as much as giving birth to him had hurt her, he guessed. He opened his mouth to try and pull back his answer but knew he was too slow doing so as she launched into the real guilt assault of this tussle.

"Are you giving me all this trouble because you don't think I've gone through enough pain yet?" Mary asked. "Am I that bad of a mother that you think I deserve this aggravation?"

Dean kept his eyes on the floor but did not respond. He knew she was good at this as he felt his shame rise and drain his will to rebel against her. He internally kicked himself for letting the spat go this far. He could see where he went wrong. Any other day, he could have cajoled her rather than riled her, but he miscalculated her focus. The smudges under her eyes and the sharpness of her tone were red flags he missed until it was too late. He sighed and prepared to take his scolding. He didn't like it, but he was still getting used to having parents again. He just thought it unfair that his father and his mother used different tactics.

When John was displeased, he would yell and bark threats of reprisals (no TV, no chances to drive even though Dean had his learner's permit, no going out with friends, no going to the salvage yard to hang out with Bobby). That behavior worked for Dean. The teen considered himself a cause and effect kind of guy. Action and reaction. He could follow his father's militaristic style and get on board with it, even if he didn't always appreciate the outcome (after all, grounded was nearly Dean's middle name this year). But at least his dad's approach made sense and was predictable. Dean understood the man's rules (even if he didn't always agree with them). They were firm and disclosed upfront by the guy. Oh, and his father had an unspoken agreement about emotional boundaries. John Winchester didn't do guilt. He had expectations. He told Dean what he wanted plus how and when he wanted it done. At the start of the chore/order, John let Dean know precisely what to expect if the teen failed to deliver. It was precise, predictable and logical. They rarely fought anymore for that reason.

Mothers, Dean was still learning, were a different breed—not so different from high school girls because they did not seem to follow any rules. Mothers were harder to manipulate. They were also confusing because some days sarcasm got him grounded; other days, it left her laughing at his comments and earning him an offer to put off his chores for a while and have pie with her to talk about his day. He wondered, exasperatedly, how any creature could function without any identifiable rules and get away with it—especially if that creature lived with retired Marine Corporal John Winchester.

His mother's approach also left him frustrated. His father recognized that Dean was not a child; the man did not treat Dean completely like he was an adult yet, but he gave Dean more mature expectations and offered him respect commiserate with that. John acknowledged and acted like he believed that although Dean needed supervision, it did not need to be constant.

His mother was a different story.

She hovered. She watched. She checked in constantly. Dean suspected she had a spy network in town because she seemed to know everything—good and (more often) not so good—parts of his days before he ever got home. She also knew how to get him to bend to her will without a single threat. It was freaky the way she did that and was probably against all sorts of civil rights… probably (he didn't paid all that close attention in class when they discussed the Constitution). But beyond running her own CIA against her kids, Dean was convinced she also had super powers. She could just look at him a certain way, giving him this impossibly sad and hurt expression then get mushy with him. It was torture and manipulation, like Jedi level mind control. She could make him feel like she was hurt or might cry, and he could not think of much he would not do to spare her pain and tears.

Looking at her in that moment, the hint of glassiness in her eyes tugged on his heart while making the muscles in his jaw bunch as he realized he was snared yet again. As Dean slowly surrendered to her unstoppable skill, Sam walked into the room. He lugged his backpack for their camping trip the next morning with him. It was bursting at the seams with supplies but was perfectly balanced for the hike. He'd been packing and re-packing it for a month to get it just right (unlike Dean who threw everything into his bag an hour earlier). Sam knew he was more eager for this trip than Dean, but he hoped his big brother would take the excursion seriously and enjoy it.

Sam certainly was going to enjoy it.

It had been a long time since he and Dean had an adventure. Not that Sam was knocking having a real home and parents. He wouldn't change that for anything, but he kind of missed the afternoons in Chicago when it was just him and Dean wandering around, riding on Dean's bike and exploring all the old buildings in the rundown blocks surrounding the orphanage. That was fun and exciting, and he missed it a little bit. Going to the woods, to go camping for real, with Dean was all Sam had dreamed about for weeks. So, hearing their mother speaking to Dean in her lecture voice, the one that usually preceded him getting sent to his room not to leave for entire weekends, did not bode well. After all, they were supposed to leave before the sun came up the next day.

"Oh god, what did you do now?" Sam groaned dropping his pack loudly on the floor. "Tell her you're sorry and won't do it again. Please."

"Why do you automatically assume I did something wrong?" Dean snapped.

"Because I know you," Sam shrugged. "Mom, whatever he did, he's sorry. Really, he is, like deep, deep, way deep down, probably where you can't see it. I'm sure of it, and even if he's not, you not going to ground him until after we get back, right?"

Sam turned his soulful hazel eyes on her and blinked preciously—the way he did naturally and also knew often made her pause and reconsider whatever punishment she was about to dole out. Not that she punished him often. Taking his brother's interruption as a chance at escape, Dean patted his mother on the shoulder.

"Wow, that's kind of disrespectful, telling you when you can discipline your son," Dean shook his head as he turned a strategically disappointed expression to Sam. "I think maybe Mom needs to explain to you about childbirth and warrior way of the woman. I think her little speech might mean more to you, Sammy. Right, Mom? Think about it: When I was born, the whole pain of having a baby was a surprise to you. With Sam, you had time to think about it and know what was coming at the end, which means you knew what you were getting yourself into. You obviously wanted him more than just out of curiosity. It's like you went looking for the pain. That's twisted, Mom. You ever sought some help for that?"

Dean grinned despite his brother's warning face (a budding bitch-face the kid was apparently learning from their mother). In Dean's opinion, Sam was too interested in pleasing their parents to see that sometimes they liked it when you took initiative and pushed the boundaries a bit (but only a bit). Sam always brought home stellar grades in all subjects. He got awards at school for his projects, helping others, perfect attendance, and model behavior. He always did what was expected. For that reason, he hadn't yet learned how to read people.

Dean did not fault his younger brother for this. It was partially Dean's own doing. He protected the kid for 10 years, keeping adults away from the boy as much as possible; telling him to keep his head down and his mouth shut. Not drawing attention to himself for Sam meant pleasing whoever was in charge: case workers, foster parents, teachers. Dean was the one who felt his job was that of a soldier and scout. He tested the territory, found out who they could trust and protected his brother at all turns. Now that they were living some place safe with people who were family and legitimately cared for them, Dean no longer had to play that role so constantly. Sam, however, still relied on his former survival training of appeasement.

"Dean, shut up before you make whatever you did get worse," Sam grumbled as Dean began to move away but was halted.

"No, he's right, Sam, I'm very twisted," Mary agreed, not letting Dean slip away so easily. She kept her arm over her oldest son's shoulders. "However, my point, if you had bothered to listen, was that if giving birth to you caused me that much pain, there really is nothing else you can do to top it with your mouth or antics. So I am letting you know now, whatever you're think you're going to get away with today, I can outlast it. I always will. Do you know why?"

"Because you're twisted and enjoy pain?" Dean offered skeptically. Mary nodded. "So you're like Schwarzenegger in 'Predator' going after the alien that's stronger, faster, and smarter than he is?"

"A bit like that, only with the determination of the Terminator," Mary smiled knowingly. Speaking Dean, as she and her husband referred to it, required an agility with pop culture references and the skill to joust with just the right amount of sarcasm to keep him listening.

"Wow," he nodded seeming impressed. "I never realized you were such a head case. I thought that was Atilla the Marine's bag."

"Oh honey, your father has nothing on me when it comes to crawling through hell," she smiled. "So, to get back to our original discussion. This is the last time I am telling you: Stop stalling, stop griping and stop complaining about the weather. Get out there right now and finish mowing the lawn before your father gets home, or you'll be mowing it in the dark with him watching."

Dean scoffed than moved toward the door. He put his hand on the knob and looked back at her over his shoulder with an expression of defeat and disgust.

"Just so we're clear: I didn't inherit the masochist gene from either of you," he said. "I'm pretty sure making me do this in 90 degree heat with 98 percent humidity is a form of torture and child abuse. I'm certain it's against the Geneva Convention."

"We aren't at war, Dean," Mary called sweetly as she waved at him pleasantly.

"Speak for yourself," he grumbled as the door banged loudly behind him.

Sam hung his head then shook it as he watched his brother scuff his feet in the driveway and listened to him bitching out loud to himself about being treated like slave labor. Dean, Sam figured, always made things harder on himself than he needed. His older brother did not start many fights or get in many with his parents, but every single one Sam observed seemed easily avoidable. Dean simply grouched a lot about everything. Bobby always said it was just a teenage thing, and Sam hoped he was right because that meant Dean might outgrow it someday so he wouldn't have so much trouble with adults. Sam worried about that because he worried about Dean. He always had, but Dean never let him help. Sam sighed and turned his eyes to his mother. She did not look mad. Of course, she rarely looked mad at Dean when he would act like a jackass, which was plenty often lately (something Sam would not tell Dean but knew that Bobby would, although the junkman preferred to use the term 'idgit' when he did it). Sam smiled apologetically.

"When I'm 15, I promise I won't be grumpy like Dean," Sam vowed.

Mary grinned then reached over and kissed the top of his head before ruffling his hair.

"Actually, sweetie, I think you'll probably be worse," she said confidently and smiled as her voice brightened. "Now, are you ready for your big trip in the morning?"

"Uh huh," Sam nodded eagerly as he beamed with excitement. "I'm all packed, and I went over Bobby's list twice. Plus, I read all the books he and Dad gave me at Christmas. I know everything I need to know about the woods and hiking and First Aid. I'm all set. Go ahead. Ask me anything about our trip, and I bet I can answer it."

Mary sighed and pet his face.

"How am I going to get along without you and your brother here with me?" she asked with a sorrowful sound.

Sam grimaced. Their father was okay with the boys going with Bobby—he had planned on joining them until just this week when his work schedule changed due to one of the mechanics getting hurt in an accident. It was their mother that was not sold on the camping trip being a great idea. Sam did not mind what Dean called their mother's 'hovering.' Having a Mom to do that felt nice, normal and comforting. For some reason, it made Dean uneasy. Bobby said it was a form of fear—that Dean still did not trust their good fortune at finding their family so he held on to the fear he would lose them somehow. Sam didn't see how that was possible. Mom and Dad were definitely keeping them. Sam figured it was more likely that Dean was just used to not having anyone watch him or care about what he did. Sam was used to it. Dean always watched out for his little brother. Whether it was in the dirty and cold homes run by the mean foster parents or the dirty and cold orphanages run by the pedophiles, Dean always seemed to watch out for his brother, so Sam always had a hovering parent in Dean. It was only recently that Sam was staring to realize that, in his memory, his big brother never had anyone like that looking out for him. No one other than Sam ever seemed to care what happened to Dean until their father found them in Chicago a year earlier.

Realizations like this, the way a family behaved and needed each other, were coming to Sam more and more lately. He didn't know if it was simply the fact that he was growing up or that he had a complete family to observe now. For example, until his mother asked him her sad question, it never occurred to Sam that letting them leave (even if it was with Bobby for just a few days) might scare her.

"You'll be okay," Sam assured her quickly with a hug. "We won't be gone long, and you'll have Dad here so you won't be lonely. Plus, all our stuff is still here so it won't really be like we're gone at all."

Sam didn't know what he said that did it, but Mary's eyes suddenly filled with tears. She held him tightly for several moments longer than he expected. She then kissed the top of his head before leaving the room without another word. He was puzzled by her reaction and made a mental note to ask Dean about it later. Sam might be good at pleasing people and making sure they liked him, but Dean seemed to understand people more (even though he seemed to piss them off a lot).

oOoOoOo

After finishing the lawn, Dean rode his bike to the Salvage Yard a mile up the road to get away from the house as he was even angrier when he finished the lawn than when he started. That might have something to do with getting stung by a wasp or just being pissed that he got stuck mowing the stupid lawn when he felt certain it could wait a few more days. He launched into that diatribe with Bobby only to have the junkman turn a hose on him with a terse growl to grow up and cool off.

Two hours later, Dean stood in the doorway to Sam's room. The radiant orange walls made the heat of the room seem 10 degrees hotter. Dean scoffed and threw a balled up note left on his bed by his brother. The page bounced off the young boy's head from where he sat on his bed reading another of his wilderness books.

"Hey," Sam grumbled a picked the projectile off the floor. "I just left you the note to remind you…"

"I'm not an idiot, Sam," Dean said. "I know I need to set my alarm and make sure my bag is packed. What did you really want?"

Sam chewed his lip and blushed at his subterfuge being so apparent to his brother. Not that it really surprised him. Dean seemed to understand him better than anyone, always had. Sam just didn't want to put into writing what he really needed to talk to Dean about in case someone else saw the note. Sam was worried. His mother's odd reaction earlier and how quiet she was during dinner made his stomach flutter. Sam ate alone with her after Dean took off for Bobby's when he finished the lawn. The quiet and tense meal bothered Sam. He told his big brother about it and his conversation with their mother in the hopes that Dean could tell him that nothing was wrong.

Only, that's not what happened.

"You said what?" Dean groaned and tossed a filthy look at his little brother. "Smooth, Sammy. And you call me a jerk?"

"What?" Sam shrugged as he slid off his bed and started to follow Dean down the hall. "What's the problem? What I said is true. Dad is going to be here with her, and all our stuff will still be in our rooms. I wasn't wrong. Hey, where are you going? Dean?"

Dean held up his hand to halt his brother's pursuit. Dean then huffed and trotted quietly down the stairs. The ground floor was quiet and devoid of life as he made his way through the living room and into the kitchen. From the window over the sink, he spied his mother sitting in a chair near the garden staring out at the scraggly meadow that stretched to the far tree line. The sun was just dipping below the horizon.

Dean sighed and slipped out of the house, dragging his feet on the carpet of freshly mowed grass to let her know he was approaching. His mother had a sixth sense when anyone came near her, but it was always best to announce yourself Dean learned because if you did manage to startle her she went into ninja mode (which he thought was kind of cool); he was still looking for the right moment to ask about that.

"Did Dad call?" Dean asked as he approached her chair. It was not odd for John to work late at the garage, but he usually notified them when that would happen. The Impala was still not in the driveway.

Mary looked up with her eyes appearing slightly red and puffy. He hated knowing his mother could and did cry. It did not happen often, but whenever it did, it made him feel guilty, like he should have known it might happen and done something to prevent it. The desire to fix the problem before it drew tears from her was always strong in him.

"Yeah, a little while ago," she said smiling and answering in a soft voice. "He had to finish the last rush job. He should be home soon. I think it's safe to say that he and the other guys at the garage are going to let the owner know this new policy of 'same day repairs' isn't wise when you don't know what repairs are going to arrive for the day."

Dean nodded and settled on the grass beside her chair, sitting with his legs folded and his elbows resting on his knees. It had been a dry season so far. Mosquitoes were absent and only crickets filled the field. He paused for a few moments. There was no point in asking if she was bothered by Sam's comment still. Her eyes told that story. He didn't blame his kid brother for not understanding, but it amazed him how someone as smart and amiable as Sam could make such a bonehead blunder in the first place.

"It is just a camping trip," Dean said, lifting his eyes to look at her profile. "We'll be with Bobby the whole time. Me and Sammy will be home before you miss us that much."

"No, you won't," she replied and turned a sad smile to him. "I trust Bobby, but I will miss both you and your brother the second you leave the house."

Dean swallowed dryly as he nodded his understanding. He had worried about this, even had talked to his father and Bobby about it. When they first began planning this excursion, Dean offered to stay behind. At that time, it was going to be Bobby, his dad, him and Sam on the trip. Dean actually wasn't all that interested in camping. This was Sammy's deal. The kid was eager and excited. Dean thought it might be fun, but he could find other things to keep him entertained during his summer vacation that didn't include taking a piss in the woods and trying to avoid running into Big Foot (which his father assured Sam a dozen times did not exist).

Dean also did not like the idea of leaving his mother alone during this trip. It surprised him that his father and Sam weren't more bothered by it (or more precisely, were not bothered by it at all). So, it made Dean less keen on going, but once his dad had to bail due to the garage being short-handed, Dean knew he couldn't back out. He trusted Bobby implicitly, had since nearly the first day they met, but he couldn't leave Sam alone like that. At least if their Dad was going, his little brother would have had enough people watching out for him. Two grown and responsible men who cared for the little guy was a fair substitute for one big brother, Dean figured. After all, his Dad was a former Marine and Bobby was tough as nails, plus he was a hunter of some sort (Dean had overheard a few of his out of town friends say something about it earlier in the year). But when Dad's plans changed, Dean knew his place was watching out for Sam. Old habits, like looking out for his baby brother, didn't disappear just because they had a real family now.

"We'll be back," he promised. "You know that, right?"

She looked at him with misty eyes but said nothing. The look pained Dean in ways he could not describe.

"Any chance you'll miss us enough to not make us eat lima beans or broccoli when we get back on Monday night?" Dean asked with a grin. Mary's smile became a little less sorrowful as he joked. "I'm just saying, absence and fondness; there are a lot of ways to show your appreciation, Mom."

She reached out and cupped his cheek lovingly and sighed.

"You're entirely too sweet to be a smart ass so regularly," she said. "Is that why you came out here, Dean? To make me feel better?"

"Who?" he scoffed. "Me? Nah. I'm just…. Uh… well…" He nodded and shrugged. "Yeah. Sammy said you were, you know…"

Dean looked sincerely back at her. His relationship with his mother surely appeared like one of extremes to an outside observer. They did a fair amount of verbal sparring over the chores she gave him and her expectations of him. There was sometimes shouting in the process. Other times, she could sit peaceably beside him and neither would say a word or feel the need to speak, and it could feel like the best moments of the day for both of them. In truth, Dean never got mad at her, and he felt certain she never got mad with him. There were moments of frustration but never real anger. His greatest fear, anytime he made a mistake, was not of the punishment she might dole out but in the disappointment she might feel because of him.

"I'll be fine, honey," she assured him. "I'll just be a little lonely without the two of you making noise in the house. Who am I going to talk to when I feel that night owl urge?"

Dean grinned. He and his mother were both late night people. For as long as he could remember, he simply could not fall asleep at early hours. No matter how tired he was, sleep before midnight just did not come naturally. Mary was the same way. It was during one of her night episodes of prowling the house a few weeks after they moved in the previous summer that she peaked into her oldest son's room and found his bed empty. A small jolt of fear struck her in the chest until she located him sitting on the back stoop watching the fireflies in the meadow.

That was when they began their late night talks. At first, Mary only asked him about Sam, figuring it was a safe and preferred subject for Dean. There was much he could say. He knew she wanted to learn about their lives when they first returned and settled into a family existence. He was glad to tell her about his baby brother. After a while, he grew curious and asked her about herself. She was his mother, but other than a few hazy memories, he knew nothing about her. She told him about her life growing up, how her family traveled a lot (her father was an exterminator and his company moved them a lot, she said). For that reason, she did not have many friends for long because of it and felt loneliness in a way Dean could understand. Her stories were not detailed and did not precisely paint a picture well enough that he could tell anyone about his family or its history, but it was the start of learning to talk to the woman as his mother and not as a strange lady who wanted to be called Mom.

A year later, their chats were more about present day events and future plans. She was adamant that he would go on to college and do something exciting with his life. Dean often fell silent when she started that topic. He felt a little overwhelmed and awed by her confidence that he could do it. He did not believe in himself nearly as much as she did. Still, despite that awkward subject, his relationship with her was easy and natural. It was not always so with his father. He certainly got along well with John once he learned the man's rules and tolerances, but there was always a bit of a wall between them. John was a former Marine who like rules, his rules specifically. He was the head of the family. Dean did not dispute that (directly), but dropping the responsibility of being Sam's caretaker and bodyguard was not something he could do like flipping a switch.

Regardless of the chest thumping scenes that played out between him and his father initially, there was never that level of friction with Mary. Dean would, nearly always, bend to her will (or profusely apologize for not doing so while offering what he considered a good excuse). He had a weakness for her that he did not understand completely. While he and his brother were lost, he missed both of his parents but for some reason Mary was the one he embraced as a parent first once he accepted they were his family.

For that reason, Dean hated when she looked sad or upset. In that instant, the sadness in her face and voice reminded him that the immediate future probably looked empty to her, or worse, looked a bit like her desperate past. This was not merely a bout of empty nest blues. This was her nightmare in rerun, or so it probably seemed on the surface. Those thoughts brought another issue to his mind.

"Well, call me crazy, but if you are looking for someone to talk to while we're on vacation, you have this guy who lives here and calls himself your husband," Dean suggested. "I wouldn't say he's really great at the whole talking thing. And, let's be honest, he's probably not much good with charming the ladies, but you did marry him for some reason. Any idea what that was?"

Mary chuckled and tweaked his cheek lightly, making him smile and blush. Her eyes feasted on him, as she did to both her children anytime she got to spend focused time with them. They were handsome boys, different in looks but with the same streak of sweetness in them. Dean was visually an interesting mix of she and her husband. He had his father's dark hair and was stretching toward his height, but he had Mary's pale complexion and light eyes. Sam resembled more her side of the family. He had her mother's soulful eyes and her father's chin, but he laughed like her and smiled like John.

"Well, it was the '70's," she chided, knowing he would if she didn't. "Who can remember that far back?"

"Good point," Dean nodded but opted not to continue to joke with her as he felt this was a serious matter. "You think maybe you should find out?"

Mary looked at him with widening eyes and a questioning expression. She was often surprised when her oldest son became insightful without warning. It was not that she doubted he was that clever, it was just that he gave no sign when those moments would occur. He would go from sarcasm to thoughtful in the same breath. Dean had an innate sense about people and their motivations, as if he could see into them, past their bluster and armor. Whether that was because kept himself shielded in both so much himself or he was simply a better listener and observer than most people gave him credit for, she did not know. Still, each time he did it, it caught her off guard. Dean spent a fair amount of time being a typical moody teenager with biting comments and cranky attitude, but he could so quickly cut to the heart of a matter with such sincerity it would often leave her speechless.

"Not to get you all upset again, but there's going to come a day in a few years when Sam and I don't live here," Dean said carefully. "I'll be off doing grown up things. Sam will be at Harvard or whatever egghead school he chooses. We'll still visit and call and everything, but you and Dad need lives too that aren't just about hovering over me and Sammy. If you don't figure that out now…"

"Dean, sweetie, don't worry about me and your father," she said quickly, although her stomach knotted as he hit on one of her other major concerns about her sons being gone for the long weekend. "We're fine."

"When Sam and I were gone, you and Dad weren't together," Dean said with a sullen echo in his words.

It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.

Mary never told him about their decade long estrangement. She was certain John never did either. How he knew was a mystery and not precisely relevant to the topic. She wondered how much he recalled of his youngest days. Both before and after Sam's birth, she and John went through a rough patch. There was a lot of yelling in the house, shouting that either sent Dean hiding behind the couch covering his ears not to hear, or throwing himself between his shouting parents telling them to stop. John even moved out for a few days in the month before the boys disappeared. Seeing Dean's wide, green eyes meet hers with a childlike worry so much younger than his 15 years made Mary's heart clench and raised tears in her eyes again.

"You didn't have us around to give you something in common so you stayed apart, probably mad at each other because of everything that was happening," Dean continued, his voice remaining even but sounding hesitant and wary. "I get that things were rough because we were gone. But me and Sam, we're going to be gone again someday—like with notice and easy to locate addresses and stuff. If you and Dad don't have any reason to be together when we're not around…"

"Oh Dean," she sighed and pet his face again lovingly. She felt his skin burn with a blush under her touch. "Honey, you don't need to worry about that. Everything's okay."

"I'm just saying," he continued awkwardly, "Sammy is kind of a girl about this whole happy family stuff. It's like he read too many fairy tales about happily-ever-after or watched 'Family Ties' and the 'Cosby Show' too much. If you guys get divorced because you don't know who you are other than our wardens and chauffeurs and short order cooks, then Sam will fall apart."

"It would bother Sam a lot, huh?" Mary inquired, looking at him deeply and reading through his blocking and bluster with ease.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I mean, the kid cries at that old coffee commercial about the guy coming home for Christmas to surprise his family. You owe it to the squirt to make an effort not to get divorced out of boredom or lack of interest in being married anymore."

"Okay, baby," she agreed. "We'll see what your father and I can do to avoid upsetting Sam worse than a 20-year-old Folger's commercial."

"Good," he relaxed. "'Cause this weekend is a prime opportunity for you two to… do… whatever. Have fun and crap like that. Just promise me we won't be getting a baby sister or anything next winter. First off, you're like way too old to be punching out a baby."

"I'm not 40 yet," she said sternly.

"You're close and that's like ancient," he insisted. "Next, I claim the winter as mine. You, who was born in during the summer, does not understand how badly it sucks having a birthday in January. Everyone has a cold so they make you sick on your birthday. Next, it's like right after Christmas so the whole getting a gift thing seems greedy. Oh, and not to mention the day is like the shortest in the whole year so I get colossally screwed from that. The least you could do is leave me as the only one in the family with a birthday during that season and not make anyone else suffer such a cruel and wicked fate."

"Cruel and wicked?" she repeated.

"I stand by that," Dean nodded deftly.

Mary chuckled and shook her head. Dean's rambling rants were entertaining and all the evidence she needed that her oldest was not the intellectual slouch he pretended to be so often. Dean was quick and clever. He simply did not place much value in most of his academics. Unless the class had a lab or a practical application, he paid it little attention. Next, the cheek on him spoke of a colorful character with a desperately tender heart, one she recognized from his earliest days. She remained amazed it had survived so many years not being cared for and loved the way he deserved.

"No new babies," she nodded then leaned over and kissed his head. "Check. Maybe we'll just do something safe like go skydiving."

Dean blanched at the thought, swallowing hard as he grew pale in the shimmering moonrise.

"I didn't say you could do anything crazy or suicidal," he worried, prompting her to chuckle harder before shoeing him back toward the house for an early bedtime in preparation for the next day's journey.

It had been many years since Mary looked towards the heavens and offered up a wish or a prayer. She ceased doing that when her sons were taken, but on a whim and with a flutter in her chest, she turned her eyes skywards and spoke with heart as she asked a god she was still unsure she believed in to keep her boys safe and return them to her in a few days time. She watched the stars for a moment with a childish desire to see a flicker of a star or some sign she was heard.

There was none.

oOoOoOo

A/N: More to come. The trouble starts soon.