AN: I started this story thinking it would take about four chapters to finish. The story led me in a different direction, so it's taking me longer to get back to Sam. But his time is coming. I had a little trouble getting in to Mary's head in this chapter. I decided to think about how I would feel if I missed my kids' entire childhood. I hope it works. Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favorites and thanks for reading.

Chapter 4

Mary sat on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest, waiting for the tears to come only to find that she couldn't cry. She wanted to. She wanted to scream for all of the horrors her sons had seen. She wanted to go back in time and not allow herself to make a deal with the yellow-eyed demon — even if it meant losing John. Because the lost she felt now was so much greater.

She more than anything wanted her innocent little boys back. Instead, they were strangers to her. She didn't know the sound of Sam's voice. Or what was going on in Dean's head. As patient and gentle he had been with her, he was so closed off to her and she didn't didn't know how to break through. So she sat rocking back and forth on the bed until the room began to close in on her.

Easing herself off the mattress, she wandered around the room, noticing how stark it was. How empty and cold it felt. What kind of lives did her boys have if they felt at home in such a bleak environment? She supposed the library was warm and inviting for the studious type, but she guessed that wasn't Dean.

She noticed already that her oldest liked to be moving, doing. Not sitting and waiting. She couldn't imagine him with his nose in a book.

She felt a strong urge to see Dean again — to remind herself that he was real and she wasn't locked into some kind of nightmare. As she headed back toward the common area, she paused in the corridor outside her bedroom and noticed another door ajar. Ignoring the feeling that she was prying, she pushed open the door and entered.

She found the room of a warrior. Guns, axes, knives. Weapons of all kinds adorned the walls. All were immaculate, well-cared for and, she believed, well-used. As if to contrast the harshness of the weapons, the room was softly lit by lamps. The walls were grey but it felt oddly homey. Perhaps it was the record player and a stack of vinyls that seemed to be a centerpiece of the room. Thumbing through them, she noticed that some were John's. She recognized an AC/DC album that was one of his favorites.

Her eyes moved to a desk where one picture of a little boy his his mother was displayed. This was Dean's room.

She examined the photo that, to her, was taken only months before — not long after Sammy was born. Dean's light brown hair that looked almost blonde in a certain light had darkened over the years, but a shadow of those sweet little eyes still remained in the hunter she saw today.

They had taken many pictures that day — of her with both boys. The family together. John with the boys. She insisted to John that she wanted a picture of just her and Dean — to show that he was still her little boy even with a new baby in the house.

Reverently, she placed the photo back exactly how she found it. She caught site of a necklace lying on the bedside table as if it had been intentionally placed a certain way — the leather strap entwined around an amulet. She dared not touch it knowing it must hold special some meaning to her son. It was another mystery — something else she would have to learn about him.

Back in the hallway, she paused again, knowing one of the rooms belonged to Sam. She took a guess and pushed open a door. The vibe in this room was different than Dean's — from the unmade bed to the desk piled high with files. A book lay opened on top. Peaking inside, she saw some passages about pre-biblical lore.

She remembered that Dean referred to her youngest son as a 'geek.' Looking at this room with its many books and a file cabinet, she believed that. Castiel told her that Sam had been to college for a while, but he left after his girlfriend was killed by a demon. That marked the day he and Dean began hunting together while they searched for their missing father.

She was struck by the differences in the decor that revealed such stark differences in her boys. The fighter and the scholar. She imagined that the two of them together could accomplish anything — just as angel said. Yet, she didn't quite feel the pride she should have — only sadness for them.

Spinning around the room once more, she looked for something that was uniquely Sam's — like the amulet in Dean's room. Her eyes fell to an old wooden box. She took a tentative step forward and allowed her hand to graze the top of it. It would be wrong, she knew, to invade Sam's privacy by looking inside. But she realized she wouldn't even recognize him if she saw him. She hoped he would forgive her as he raised the lid.

Tears sprung to her eyes when she got her first glimpse of Dean and Sam as boys. In the photograph, Dean looked to be in the middle of his teen years. Sam was maybe 12. They didn't exactly look unhappy, but their eyes missed that spark that young boys should have.

She snapped the lid down, closing off those years she missed. Years she could never get back. First days of school. First dates. Graduations. All the big moments in between when she could watch her little boys grow into men. And she missed all the little moments that allow a mother to know her children better than anyone else could ever know them. It crushed her to realize she would never know them that way.

Her knees buckled as she sank to the floor, her tears giving way to racking sobs. She cried for her dead husband, though she still didn't know how he died. She wept for her boys whose childhood should have been happy and carefree but was instead consumed by the evil lurking in the world. And she cried for herself. The life she wanted was long gone replaced by a nightmare where she feared she could never be close to the two people she loved the most.

oOoOoOo

Nervous energy made it impossible for Dean to be still. Maybe it was the full pot of coffee he had consumed over the past few hours. He checked on Mary several hours before, and found her curled up on Sam's bed sleeping. He didn't know how she found her way into Sam's room, but it didn't matter. If being there gave her comfort, he knew Sam wouldn't mind. He felt sure it was pure exhaustion that allowed his mother to rest at all.

He could use a few hours of sleep himself. It had been days that felt like a lifetime since he had slept more than a few minutes at a time. With the copious amount of caffeine rushing through his system accompanied by his all out anxiety about finding Sam, sleep wasn't an option for him. He eased the door closed and returned to the library where Cas was still studying the areas on the map.

"Anything new?"

Cas shook his head. They both knew that their best hope was with the less than reliable former King of Hell. After about a dozen calls to Crowley, Dean still didn't have the information he wanted. It was almost dawn now — another day that Sam was missing and possibly dying. And the son of a bitch demon was taking his time letting him know where to search for Sam.

Of course Crowley's assistance wouldn't be free. It never was. The demon was looking to take hell back, and he said he might need a little help with that. Dean's only condition was that it wouldn't involve hurting any innocent people.

"Don't think that this is a blank check," Dean made clear to him. "One favor in exchange for finding Sam's location."

Crowley must have been feeling generous to accept that deal because Dean would have laid siege to hell itself if it would bring back Sam.

Dean glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time asking the rhetorical question that he knew Cas couldn't answer. "Where the hell is he?"

"I"m right here." Crowley suddenly stood in the middle of the library, hands in his pockets looking as if he had been out for an evening stroll.

"Did you find him?" Anticipation filled Dean. Finally, he could do something to find Sam.

Crowley cocked his head. "I'll honor my part of the bargain if you honor yours."

"You know I'm good for it."

"This winged giraffe," he answered, nodding toward Cas, "has been known to renege."

"It's not his deal. It's mine," Dean retorted, his anger flaring and his patience spent. "Where the hell is Sam?"

"Listen, Squirrel. Finding Sam required me to make use of Rowena's services. That's not something I relish. So when I call, you will answer. Are we clear?"

Dean's clinched his jaw and gave his head a curt dip. "Yeah, we're clear."

Once Crowley was satisfied, he lifted his finger and brought it down on the map about 50 miles from the bunker. "Moose is probably here."

"Probably?"

"Rowena's location spell indicates he's there. It's heavily warded against demons and angels, but these Brits are savvy. They may have anticipated a witch's involvement."

"If he's not there …." Dean warned.

"If he's not, we'll keep looking." Crowley sounded almost sympathetic. "You should know a few more things. It's guarded by a team of elite hunters who don't like you."

"Okay." Dean shrugged. Getting past a gang of hunters would be the easy part.

"You'll need to get Moose out fast, so I recommend you get rid of the angel warding first." He pointed his head to Cas. "Fly Boy will come in handy if he can get in."

After a look to Cas, who tilted his head in acknowledgment, Dean look backed to Crowley. "Alright." Though he was afraid to ask, he had to know. "Do you know his condition?"

Crowley helped himself to a glass of bourbon as he answered. "I would hurry if I were you."

Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes and looked away from the smirk on Crowley's face. It was the second time he had heard that. He could not even consider the possibility that he would be too late to save his little brother. Already, his mind was ticking off options for how to take out an elite team of hunters so they could get to Sam. His bet was that an angry big brother and a fallen angel would be no match for them.

His thoughts shifted, contemplating which weapons he would need when he remembered he promised Mary to keep her updated. Glancing in the direction of the sleeping quarters, he saw her standing there. He gathered from her red-rimmed eyes that her nap had not been restful. And by the look on her face, he knew she heard everything Crowley said.

And Crowley was at the top of the list of people he didn't want to know about her being back. He twisted his gaze back to the demon, who's expression confirmed that he knew exactly who she was.

"You've been busy making deals this week," Crowley commented.

Dean gave him a deadly gaze. "If you tell anyone about this, I swear I will kill you myself."

"Oh, you're such a tease," Crowley winked. "Not to worry. I have my own mother to think about. Mothers back from the dead are such a burden. Take my word for it, they're more trouble than they're worth."

With the last word off his tongue, he popped out with the glass of whiskey still in hand.

"Okay," Dean breathed, more as way to make himself focus. He pushed aside the churlish comment about mothers returning from the dead. He didn't care if Crowley believed he made a deal to get her back. He didn't give a damn what the demon thought as long as he kept his mouth shut.

But Mary was another story. He turned to her, hoping she wouldn't push the issue. "We have a location for Sam."

"I heard," she said. "When do we leave?"

"No, no, no." Dean did his best to remain calm, but the thought of her coming along terrified him. "Not we. You need to stay here. Cas and I will …."

"I'm going with you, Dean," she insisted, her voice firm. Her expression defiant.

"No, you're not." Dean matched her defiance. "You need to stay here where it's safe."

"I'm not staying here while you risk your life to save your brother."

"You haven't hunted in 40 years," he tried.

"Ten to me," she rebutted.

"Still too long," he countered.

"I still know how to hunt. I'm not the person you think I am."

"You're exactly who I think you are. You're my mom and I'm not going to let you get hurt."

"It's not your responsibility to keep me safe!" she shouted, her frustration evident.

Dean refused to bend to her will, despite her angry tone. He raised his voice to match hers. "I will not lose you again!"

His words silenced her, but only for a moment. "If anything happens to you or Sam, what do you think it would do to me?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of a way to make her understand. "If the people who have Sam find out who you are …." He paused, searching for a way to voice his fear. "If they know, they could use that against me. I can't risk that, Mom."

She considered his comment before she answered. "Don't call me Mom."

Dean froze at the implication of what she meant by that.

"And don't call me Mary. Not while we're hunting. Not while we're getting Sam. Call me Sue or Bernice or ... or ... hey you."

He blew out a breath as he wrapped his head around what she was saying. He couldn't treat her like a mom while they hunted for Sam. He couldn't let the pretentious Men of Letter bastards find out that his beloved mother, whom he had idolized for the past 30 odd years, was back from the dead. He got what she meant, but he wasn't ready to go along with it.

"They don't know that I'm back, do they?" she quizzed. "Unless Crowley tells them."

"No, he won't say anything." Dean knew that Crowley was more likely to use the information for himself later.

"Treat me like I'm just another hunter, not like something that needs special care."

God, she was so determined. Dean always thought his dad was the most strong-willed person he'd ever met. His father met a challenge like a bull, charging in without giving a chance of resistance. Not bothering to explain himself. He just expected obedience. His mother was just as hard-headed, but her style was more about finesse than about pure force. Damned if it wasn't just as effective. But Dean was pretty hard-damned-headed himself. If this was going to work, she would have to follow his rules.

He locked down his outright terror and stared back at her with hard eyes. "I'm in charge. Okay? You agree to that first or no deal."

"Deal."

"Okay," he nodded. "Cas, she'll need a tattoo against demon possession."

"No, I don't," she said. "I have one. I got it after your grandfather was possessed and killed by one."

Dean scrunched his face. "I've never seen it."

"You wouldn't have. It's not in a visible location."

"Oh." He blushed, but forged ahead. "Okay. I'll get you a gun. And a knife."

He moved briskly from his mother to get the weapons, calling to her without looking back. "And I'll call you Charlie."

oOoOoOo

Dean didn't know exactly why he decided to call his mother Charlie. It was the first name that popped into his head. Mary didn't ask and Dean didn't offer why he chose that name.

Charlie and his mother were so different, but they shared some common traits. They were both strong-willed women who were willing to risk their lives to help someone they loved. It never far from this thoughts that he was still around because Charlie risked her life for him. He was determined that his mother would not do the same.

He started calling his mom Charlie before they even left the bunker. He needed it to roll off his tongue, and she needed to answer to it. He gave her weapons — a .38 caliber pistol and one of his favorite knives — and helped her into an oversized hunting jacket that would hide her true size. She responded to the new name every time. Then he gave her a cell phone and taught her how to use it.

Sam left the Impala parked safely in the garage, and Mary eyed the car with interest. "I'm surprised this is still around."

"Dad gave it to me when I turned 16."

"You've taken good care of it," she noticed as she rubbed her hand over the hood.

"Just like Dad taught me," Dean answered, opening the passenger door for her. Her eyes scanned the empty car and he wondered if she could still imagine his dad in the driver's seat — just as he had countless times.

"Are you ready for this?"

She paused only a moment before she climbed into the seat. "I am."

Dean wished he could say the same.

oOoOoOo

The hour-long drive to Sam's location was heavy with silence. Since Cas left ahead of them to scout the area, it was just the two of them lost in their own thoughts. Just before their destination, Dean pulled over. His body was stiff with tension when he climbed out of the car and headed to the trunk.

Cas was already there, his eyes locked in the distance. Mary could see nothing but the trees that lined the road, but the angel was sensing something. Dean didn't acknowledge him and she dared not interrupt the angel as she eased past him.

Dean pillaged around the trunk until he brought out a metal baton. "We need to take out the guards quickly and quietly," he said as he handed it to her. "That means we need to avoid guns."

Their eyes locked only for a moment as she accepted the weapon. Aside from the tension emanating from him, his expression was unreadable.

"What will you use?"

"My fist."

The bite in his voice made her wince even though she knew it wasn't directed at her. She had no doubt that he had the physical strength and sufficient anger to kill a man with one punch if he felt led to. The goal, he said, was to only incapacitate the guards, but he made clear that she shouldn't feel an ounce of hesitation to kill if she felt threatened.

"Whatever it takes to get Sam out," he said, and she agreed completely. She had killed before, was willing to kill again. As long as her boys were safe, she would find no remorse in that. But she wondered how much blood her son had on his hands. She guessed Dean had not even begun to reveal how lethal he could become when pushed. She pulled her gaze away from his dark eyes to listen to his instructions.

"Once inside, we mark through any sigil that looks like this." He texted her the image and told her to memorize it. "Then we find Sam."

"Right."

"Once we find him, he may not be in good shape. Prepare yourself for that. Don't give yourself away because you're worried about him. Keep your cap on, pulled low, and keep your distance. We don't want to freak him out because he sees you. You'll have time for a reunion when we get him out safely."

"Okay." She tried to steady her voice but wasn't sure she did when the gruffness that defined his demeanor for the past hour eased.

"You ready for this?" His gentle voice was back, and she felt ashamed that she needed to hear it.

"I'll do what it takes to get Sammy back."

"Okay, then." He planted the rigid expression planted back on his face and called out to the angel.

"Cas, whaddya got?"

"About half a dozen guards. The house is inside a warded area. I won't be able to assist you unless you find the sigil on the grounds."

Dean turned back to Mary. "I'll take the guards, you look for the sigil. Got it?"

She agreed, but she didn't like the plan. How would he be able to take out six armed hunters? Yet she promised to follow his orders, and he wasn't offering any alternatives. She would, however, watch his back while she hunted for the mark.

She didn't expect the touch from the angel that would transport all of them to a bank of dense trees near a dilapidated house. She hardly had time to acclimate herself before Dean had taken down one of the guards with a simple but effective knock on the head with the butt of his gun.

Dean nodded to her and she followed him into a clearing. His moved swiftly, turning occasionally to make sure she was still with him. Her eyes were on the ground looking for anything resembling the sigil when she felt herself being grabbed from behind.

Dean was right in that she was rusty. In the old days, that never would have happened. But she found that the hunter's instincts came back easily. With a fluid motion, she swiped the baton to the side of the attacker's knee, and was pleased to hear a bone crack. The surprise of it forced the attacker to release her, and she followed up with a second hit against his head that laid him flat on the ground. She raised the baton, ready for make the third hit if he showed any signs of movement, but he lay still.

"Are you okay?"

She raised her head to see Dean with a panicked look that transformed into relief when he saw the hunter on the ground out for the count.

"I'm fine," she answered evenly, still stirred up from the heat of the moment. She ignored her son while she pulled out zip ties to secure the man's hands and feet. She followed that will a piece of duck tape over his mouth.

"Good," Dean said as she watched her, his lips tilting into a smile. He actually looked impressed, but his expression shifted again and he was back to business. He pulled the man behind some shrubbery and continued the path toward the house.

He was a few steps ahead of her when she stopped cold, her attention caught by a grouping of stones and carefully laid pine straw.

"Dean," she called out as she kicked away some of the straw with her boot. She took a step back and looked about 10 feet beyond her location. Dean followed her eyes to the sigil made of stones planted in the ground.

"Move a few stones. It should break the sigil," Dean commanded as he proceeded to lift one of the bigger, heavier rocks. Mary looked around to see if the angel had joined them.

"It must not be the only sigil," she said.

"Nothing's ever easy," Dean noted as he began to move forward again. They made it half way round the perimeter when Mary heard a buzz from Dean's pocket. He pulled it out and read a message. She followed his eyes up to the roof line of the house.

"A text from Cas," he explained. "It's up there. A sigil is on the roof."

He scanned the house for the easiest way up, his eyes landing on a ledge about 10 feet off the ground. He could probably make a running jump to catch the ledge and pull himself up. But that would leave Mary on the ground alone. He glanced around for a place for her to wait where she wouldn't be seen.

"Give me a boost," she said, drawing his attention back to her. He looked dumbly at her, not even considering that she would be the one to climb up the side of a house and onto the roof.

"I can reach the ledge if you can help," she suggested. He was already shaking his head when she gave him a glare. "I'm pretty fast and I'm lighter. I won't make as much noise."

Dean felt like defending himself. Despite his size, he knew how to tread lightly. His life depended on it.

"And you can keep watch," she added.

There was that. Several guards would still be an issue. She would be safer on the roof than on the ground. He showed his consent by kneeling to let her climb on his knee then to his shoulder. She would need his full six feet of height to reach the ledge. Her movements were fluid as she stepped onto his shoulders and pulled herself up.

He kept his eyes on her as she stepped onto a railing, ready to catch her if she fell. But it was obvious she didn't need help. Though he had met her as a hunter, his mind kept drifting back to the mother he knew before she died. The sweet, nurturing, perfect mother.

He tried to shake off those thoughts as he watched her disappear over the roofline. He lowered his head just a moment too late as he felt himself being slammed by a burly man about a half a foot taller and at least 50 pounds heavier. The hit knocked the breath out of him and left him sprawling on the ground gasping for air. Three armed men surrounded him, including the hulkish one who rammed into him.

He had little time to berate himself for his stupidity as the bottom of a boot came barreling toward his face.