Dean

He quickly scouts the perimeter of the house, one hand on the angel blade he'd brought with him. Just because the inside of the house was safe, it didn't make the rest of the property protected.

Dean spotted his mom's blonde hair glowing in the darkness, the faint porch lights somehow reaching her at the end of the packed dirt drive that marked where the road turned away towards Anna's safe house. His chest was tight as he watched her stand up, brushing the dirt from her jeans.

Even though she was younger now than he'd known her - hell she's technically younger than him right now - she's still his mom. All he really wants is to hug her tight and have her tell him everything was going to be alright, that his and Sam's crazy plan would work and that she loved them.

"Hey," Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, we should get back to the house. Even with these traps, it's safer behind Anna's wards." His mom looked up at him, and even in the dark he could see the irritated determination in her eyes. Eyes that only barely concealed her deep hatred of him. It hurt. Even if he couldn't really blame her for being angry with him. After all, the last time they'd seen each other was right before that yellow eyed demon bastard killed her parents. His grandparents. Their family.

"Okay. But you said you would explain everything when we had a minute." She picks up the jug of holy oil, and begins to pour a trail leading up the road to the house, so that it can be ignited from the safety of the front stoop. Dean stares at her blankly. His mom pauses what she's doing to glare at him.

"We have a minute." She insisted. "Why does an angel want me dead?"

Dean had been hoping that Sam would do the explaining for him. He glanced around them, scanning the empty roadway with practiced ease, trying to stall for time.

"Cause they're dicks?" He offered. Mary fixed him with a stern glare - one he remembered in fuzzy light filled childhood memories of forgetting to put toys away or not understanding how to play nice with baby Sammy yet.

"Not good enough. I didn't even know they existed, and now I'm a target?" She scoffed, entirely unimpressed by his flimsy excuse. Dean groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"It's complicated." He tried to deflect again. What the hell was he supposed to tell her? The truth? His mom capped the holy oil jug and set it down on the wooden porch. Dean hadn't even realized that they'd walked all the way back to the house.

"Fine." She sat down on the front step, looking up at him. "All ears." There was a challenge flashing in her eyes. Dean crossed his arms and glared at a spot just behind her right ear, unable to look at her.

"You're just going to have to trust me." He pleaded.

"I have been trusting you all day." Dean dropped to the step next to her and buried his face into his hands.

"It's kinda hard to believe." He mumbled. The stair creaked as his mom stood up.

"Then I'm going to get John, and I'll take our chances without you." His hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm, panic flooding through his system. She can't leave. She can't.

"I'm your son." He blurted out in a panic, eyes wide. Mary froze, one hand gripped tightly over his wrist, prepared to throw him off of her. Dean forced himself to look up at his mom, meet her square in the eyes that she gave Sammy.

"What."

"I'm your son. Sorry, I don't know how else to say it." Dean sighed, looking away from the shocked disbelief in his mother's eyes. "We're… from the year 2010. An angel zapped us back here - not the one that attacked you - our's is friendlier." The grip on his wrist grew tighter, and Dean looked back up at his mom. It took everything he had to not flinch away from the rejection that was waiting for him in her face.

"You can't expect me to believe that." She breathed out slowly. Dean looked down at his hands for a moment, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. Trying to pick out the few faded details of life with his mom that he could still remember, the shining beacons of love and normalcy that had been stolen from his life - the very memories that had pushed Dean to hunt without question all his life.

"Our names are Dean and Sam Winchester. We're named after your parents." Tears pooled in her eyes, but Dean didn't look away, instead smoothly reversing her hold on him so that he was holding hands with his mom. "When I would get sick, you made me tomato-rice soup - cause that's what your mom made you. And instead of a lullaby, you would sing 'Hey Jude' cause that's your favorite Beatles song." His mom looked away, tears falling down her cheeks as she shook her head, looking anywhere but him.

"I-' Her words caught in her throat, tripped up by a sob, 'I don't believe it. No." She denied, even as her hand tightened in his. She let out a breathy sob, desperately gasping for air as she cried.

"I'm sorry. But it's true." Dean tried to pull away, his own eyes stinging. This denial was exactly why he hadn't wanted to tell her the truth.

"I raised my kids to be hunters?" His head snapped back up. His mom's voice had broken over the words, the heartbreak on her face as plain to him as the blonde in her hair.

"No. No, you didn't." Dean reassured her quietly, taking a slow breath to keep hold of the iron grip he currently had over his emotions.

"How could I do that to you?" She asked helplessly, her eyes fixed on him, memorizing every tired line on his face, every faint scar the peeked out from under the collar of his shirt. Dean shook his head, even as he let his mom grab his other hand to hold them in a death grip.

"You didn't do it… Because you're dead." She reared back from him, like she'd been slapped. Dean finally looked away from his mom, his own pain bleeding into the tight grip he has on her hands.

"Wh- what happened?"

"The yellow-eyed demon." He told her bluntly. Resignation crossed her face as she remembered what had happened the last time the two of them had met.

"No." She whispered, bowing her head over their joined hands. Dean plowed on, the words falling out his mouth faster than he realizes that they're coming out. Truth really does set you free.

"He kills you, and John becomes a hunter to get revenge. He raised us in this life. Listen to me," he tugged on her hands, forcing her to look up at him with her tear stained face. "Listen. A demon comes into Sam's nursery exactly six months after he is born, November 2, 1983. Remember that date. And whatever you do, do not go in there. You wake up that morning and you take Sam and you run." He insists, holding his mom's hands so tightly he's almost surprised she hadn't pulled away yet.

"And what- what about you, and- and that girl in there who came with you. Who is she? Is she my daughter? Did you find her while hunting or-" Dean shakes his head, carefully loosening his hold on his mom.

"Don't worry about Anna. She's a- a, she's a friend of ours, we met her long after you died and Sammy was in college - Sam goes to Stanford Mo- Mary." Her hands tighten again.

"What about you? And John?" She whispered. Dean shook his head.

"No, you take Sammy and you run and you don't look back, not even for one second you hear me?" Dean told her fiercely, even as his mom shook her head.

"That's not good enough Dean." Sam's voice behind them makes the two of them jump, his mom yanking her hands out of Dean's and leaping to her feet. Dean swore in his head - it was the second time that night that his brother snuck up on him without him noticing. He was looming in the doorway behind them.

"Wherever she goes the demon's going to find her. Find me." Sam's voice was quiet. He had that look in his eyes that told Dean his brother had just come up with a plan that was going to get one of them killed.

"Well then, what?" He snapped at his brother. Sam shrugged, his shouldering hunching in on himself. Even though he was gigantic, in that moment, Dean's little brother managed to look small.

"She can leave Dad, that's what." Sam sighed, then looked over at their mom, who was standing near the porch railing. "You gotta leave John." Sam insists, staring at her as she hugged herself in her suede jacket.

"What?" Sam's eyes never leave their mom, meeting the mirror for his own eyes steadily as he quietly repeated his plan. A plan that Dean realizes was probably their only option.

"When this is all over, walk away. And never look back." Dean's head snaps back towards their mom, agreeing with his brother.

"So that we're never born. He's right." He breathed out. Mary shook her head, tears slowly streaming down her face.

"I-I can't. You're saying that you're my children, and now you're saying-" Sam gently cut her off.

"You have no other choice." Dean nodded, a tired smile cracking across his face, even though it was the last expression he wanted to make.

"There's a big difference between dying and never being born. And trust me, we're ok with it, I promise you that." Never born… Never has to be four years old and watch his mother dead and burning. Never carry that small bundle of brother out of that smokey house. Never learn how to fire a gun, never learn how to lie so smoothly he could walk into any police precinct in the country and con his way into their files, into their morgue, into their interviews. Never watch Sammy die in front of his eyes, never sell his soul and never go to hell. Never drag Anna out of her retirement, towards her dive into that Devil's Gate. Never leave her to burn and be tortured Below while he gets a conveniently timed angel rescue.

Never miss out on a dozen opportunities with her because he's a damned coward. Never have to find her in a bughouse, out of her mind, and so violent he has to wonder if putting her down would have been kinder than to drag her around the country in the back of his car.

Never born is different than dying. Dean's already died - more than once even. Might be better to never have been born at all.

"Okay, well I'm not." His mother snaps, her arms folded tightly around her middle, as she watches them both with a mixture of horror, pity, resentment, and something else that Dean is afraid to even try and define. Sam stepped out of the doorway, closing the screen carefully behind him so that it won't bang.

"Listen, you think you can have that normal life that you want to bad… but you can't. I'm sorry. It'll all go rotten. You are gonna die, and your children will be cursed." He begged her, moving to stand next to Dean. Mom just shook her head, her breathing hitching with soft sobs as she struggled to reply.

"There- there has to be a way." Dean shook his head.

"No, this is the way. Leave John." His mom shook her head, her breathing evening out as the shock slowly began to wear away.

"I can't." She insisted. Dean resisted the urge to grab her and shake. Why couldn't she see that it would be better for everyone if she just followed their plan? That way he and Sammy wouldn't have to suffer, Dad wouldn't have to watch her die, she wouldn't die. And that's before he factors in the Apocalypse. Dean tried to convince her again.

"This is bigger than us. There are so many more lives at stake-" His mom cut him off, one hand flying to her chest as she leaned towards them, as if she could force them to understand.

"You don't understand, I can't." She snapped. Both of them reeled back a fraction at the rage in her voice. Their mom took a step back, her hip bumping up against the railing that ran around the entire porch, softening at the shock she likely saw in their faces.

"It's too late. I- I'm pregnant."