Weary head to rest

Halfway through the graveyard, Sam found himself more than a little grateful he hadn't told Dean where he was going – or got his brother to come along. Cemeteries in LA were one thing, but Sam could only imagine the sort of remarks Dean would make at the sight of this place.

It was a peculiarity of the Winchester boys that despite their job, they liked their graveyards old, small, a little overgrown, out-of-the-way, mysterious-looking and above all simple. The only one of those criteria this one fulfilled was the first. Beautiful, sure, but still. Sam knew better than most that cemeteries could be more dangerous than any other place in a city.

Besides, this was personal. Not that it wouldn't be for Dean; it was just… more so… for Sam.

The monument Sam was looking for was one of the most famous in the cemetery, and it was hard to miss, tall and imposing as it was.

He knelt down in front of the square headstone, looking rather ridiculous, he didn't doubt, and laid a hand against the stone, smooth and still sun-warmed though the sun was sinking rapidly, a chill breeze blowing.

"Wasn't expecting you here," a voice said from behind him, soft and sad, and Sam jumped in surprise, turned to face his mother.

"I- just-"

"I don't mind, Sammy," Mary said, kneeling next to him.

"I remember him a little," Sam admitted. "From when we – from the thing with Sammael, you know? Not that I've got your memories or anything. But I do remember a couple things."

Mary smiled, reached out to trace the name chiseled on the stone with one deft hand.

Samuel Colt.

"Hello, Father," she said softly. "I've come home."

Sam wound his fingers through hers, gripping tight.