"Mom, look at me!" Dean grabbed Mary's elbow and she looked down, pulling out of his grip almost like she hadn't noticed it and started to step past him.

Dean didn't let her get far, grabbing her again and wrapping his arms around her so she couldn't walk away. She stood still, stiff in his arms, like she'd continue walking away as soon as he loosened his grip. "You're choosing this," he realized, looking around the kitchen, into the living room where baby Sammy gurgled happily in his crib.

"Mom, don't do this," Dean whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his face next to hers, speaking directly into her ear. "You can't leave me like this, I need you too much. I miss you too much. My whole life, you were gone, and you want to just stay here like a coward? Since when have you been a coward, Mom? You've faced a literal demon to save your family, and now you're going to just hide away in this picture perfect fantasy, hiding from your metaphorical demons? That's not okay. That's not you."

Tightening his grip, Dean hugged her from behind, nuzzling his face into her hair. "I can save you, Mom. I can help you out of here, help you fight those demons. But you gotta let me. You gotta let me be here for you." His voice broke slightly as he added his childhood mantra. "It's okay, Mom. I love you. I'll never leave you."

Feeling her take a deeper breath, Dean sighed when the tension left Mary's body and she relaxed, turning pliant against him. He shifted his arms so they were wrapped around her waist, freeing her arms from restraint. "Let me be here for you," he whispered. "Just… just let me love you, okay?"

Mary started to pull away, and Dean's face fell. He let his grip on her loosen, but she didn't step away, only leaned forward, looking at the illusion of his younger self. As she bent at the waist, her hips and backside pressed tightly into the cradle of Dean's hips.

"Sweetheart," she said softly to the young boy, "go play in your room, okay?"

The child version of Dean nodded and slipped from the kitchen chair, walking out of the room. Once he was gone, Mary turned her head slightly, not quite looking at Dean, but acknowledging his presence.

Dean's heart felt like it was about to pound out of his chest, and his hands rested lightly on Mary's hips. He took a half step forward, pushing against her firmly, his dick hardening in his jeans. And then Mary swiveled her hips and sighed, rested her forearms on the table and pulled her hair over one shoulder.

She still hadn't said a word to him, and Dean didn't trust himself to read the signals properly, no matter how blatant they were. She was his mom, he couldn't risk it. Couldn't fuck it up.

"Do you want this?" Dean asked, his voice strained, one hand sliding around her to rest low on her stomach, fingers splayed wide and holding her against him, the implication clear.

Mary still didn't speak, but she rocked against him, moaned quietly, and shifted her weight to one foot, the other hooking around his ankle.

And that could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was. Encouragement.

Reaching down, Dean grabbed the hem of her pretty, flowered sundress and pulled it up, over her ass to bunch around her waist, exposing her simple cotton and lace panties. He didn't know what he wanted more, to touch or to taste, and as he considered the options, he pulled the panties down. He slid his fingers between her thighs, and she was wet against them and fuck. No matter how much he wanted to take his time, he couldn't. He needed her.

Dean yanked his jeans and boxers down, his dick harder than he could ever remember it being, and when he thrust into her, she felt so fucking good around him.

The noise she made, a strangled, moaning cry, went straight to his dick, and he bent over her, his face against her shoulder blade. As he stroked into her, he muttered against her shoulder, nonsense about loving her and never leaving her, and he bit the fabric of her dress, his teeth catching her skin above the neckline.

She moaned, gasped, encouraging him and moving her hips back against him as he fucked into her.

And he was a grown-ass man, but he felt like a teenager again, because this was his mother, his unobtainable perfect love, and he was going to come too soon. So he reached around, sliding his hand between her thighs to rub her clit, wanting, needing it to be good for her, too.

Mary began to shake beneath him, her body clenching and fluttering around him, and he let go, releasing into her. Through the white noise in his ears, he heard her breathy whisper of "Dean…" acknowledging him verbally for the first time.

And then he was yanked away from her, from the tight heat of her body, from the pleasure of his orgasm, and he looked up, disoriented. Mary sat across from him, eyes closed, and Toni Bevell was slumped, dead, on the floor. Ketch stood over him, face grim.

And Dean's jeans were wet.