Flashback time

Sam made himself a coffee in the tiny kitchenette (one kettle, milk left out on the windowsill and a teaspoon rattling around inside a jar of Nescafe), and settled down to wait. He left his cell on the table in front of him in case Dean decided to give in and talk. Fifteen slow minutes crawled by, and Dean refused to say anything. Phil's absence was also beginning to drain Sam's patience. He knew £500 was overkill – far too much money to give someone for what was actually quite a small favor. Sam supposed that Phil could use some of it to replace the ruined bedsheets. It was pretty much all the English cash Dean had tucked away, but Sam considered it a necessary expense if it meant getting answers sooner rather than later. He decided to give it another five minutes before searching Phil out. He poured the dregs of his coffee down the sink and rinsed the mug. It felt wrong to just hang around waiting on something so important. Fuck it, Sam decided. I'm going next door now.

As he got up and opened the door, he could hear Phil's voice down at the end of the lobby. He was talking to a couple of the other guests about some directions to somewhere or other, whilst clutching a couple of printed sheets of paper in one hand.

Too impatient to wait, Sam marched straight over to Phil and butted into their conversation. "Hey Phil – they mine?" Sam got some filthy looks from two of the guys he had interrupted, but he didn't give a crap. Phil looked mildly embarrassed at Sam's rudeness.

"Uh yeah, take them." He handed them over. "Look, I've got some other stuff to be getting on with now, but if you need any more help just give me a shout ok?"

Sam didn't waste time answering him, just turned around. He could hear Phil apologizing to the other guests as he walked away. His heart was pounding with nervous anticipation, but he forced himself to wait until he was with Dean before looking at the two very expensive photographs he had just purchased.

He let himself into their room and went straight over to the bed. Dean was exactly where he had left him on the floor. Sam considered unlocking the handcuffs, then dismissed the thought. Answers first. As he sat and braced himself to look at evidence in his hands, Dean's voice was hoarse. "Last chance to trust me Sammy. Just rip the photos up, flush them down the toilet then we can forget this ever happened."

Sam looked down at his brother. "If this was the other way around, and it was you holding these pictures instead of me, there's not a chance in hell you'd do that."

"If it meant the difference between you staying or going, I would. Cause that's what this is Sam. This is you walking out that door and leaving for good."

"You think I'm gonna quit on you? After everything?"

"You've done it before, for less."

"For fucks sake Dean!"

"I know you Sammy. I know what this will mean to you. You won't get it, you won't understand and you'll hate me. So I'm asking you…no I'm begging you. Flush those photos and let this thing go. Please..."

Dean had pulled every emotional trick in the book to convince Sam to leave this alone and for a moment it did cause Sam to waver as he weighed up the options. Was finding out the truth really worth distressing Dean like this? The weight of the photos in his hands was heavy. But his heart – and his need to help his brother through this mysterious traumatic event - was heavier.

"Dean – something's happened that's eating you alive and you're asking me to just ignore it. How can you ask me to do that?"

"Because I'm your brother and it's my job to stop you getting hurt."

"How many times do we have to have the same argument? It goes both ways! I'm sorry Dean, but I've made up my mind. I need to know what's going on with you."

"Dammit Sam!" Dean kicked out at the nearest bed frame in frustration, cracking the wood. His body slumped in defeat. "Do it then. Just…know that everything I've done, I've done for you."

He turned away as Sam finally looked at the two photos. Both were timestamped one week earlier. The first had Dean in it. It was black and white but the resolution was sharp enough to pick out the joy in his eyes as he stared at the blond woman in the photo. She was walking beside him just outside of their hotel. The second photo showed the woman on her own, Dean just out of shot. She was looking upwards and he could see the soft line of her face, the warmth of her eyes, a hesitant smile playing on her lips. He was looking at his mom, alive and healthy just one week ago.

"Amara brought mom back." Dean's voice was thick with emotion. "After she and Chuck made up."

"Amara brought mom back?" Sam's echo was barely a whisper.

"When I found her she was wearing the same nightgown from that night...the night she…" He swallowed, but it didn't make talking any easier. "She was confused, didn't even know who I was. It took a lot of persuading to get her to accept I was Dean – her Dean. She didn't even know what year it was."

Sam couldn't put the photo down, couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away from her. She was so beautiful. "Three weeks." Sam had tears in his eyes as he stroked the image of her face with a fingertip. "Three weeks ago, when I got taken, that was the day mom came back?"

"Yeah. Sammy I…"

"She was there, wasn't she? When you got me out. She really was there?"

Dean looked sick. "Sam…"

"You got to be with her for three weeks." A teardrop fell onto the photo. "The only three weeks she had back, and they kept me from her." He looked up, tears streaming down his face. "And then she…because of me…" He couldn't find the words.

"Sam – she was desperate to find you. To save you. She might not have known how to work a cell phone, but she was never going to give up on you. And when Cas worked out who took you she was here like a shot, working the case day and night…"

Grief ran like a fever through his body: Sam was suddenly unable to sit still. He took a dirty t-shirt and began rubbing at the sigils he had painted on the walls.

"Cas! Castiel!" He called to the angel, shouting out, praying for him to appear.

Cas's first instinct at seeing a safely returned Sam was to smile in delight. But as he took in the situation around him: Dean sitting on the floor handcuffed, face as pale as he had ever seen it, and a tear-streaked Sam standing above him with an expression he couldn't read at all, his pleasure changed to bafflement.

"Sam, Dean what's going on?"

Neither brother replied so he looked around the room again. Saw the photos lying on the bed. This time asked them again more forcefully "What's going on here? Where's….where's Mary?"

"She's dead Cas." It was Dean that spoke.

"Mary's dead?" Castiel was shocked. "When did this happen?"

"Around 48 hours ago." Dean said. He knew, almost down to the minute, when the bottom fell out of his world.

"I'm…so sorry. How did she…?" He trailed off as neither brother would even look at him. "Sam? Please – talk to me. Why did you call me here?"

"You met her?" He answered, unaware of just how bitter he sounded.

"Yes I did, several times. Why?...oh…" Castiel realized why Sam had asked. "You mean you didn't?" His tone was a mixture of sadness and horror. He reached out to the younger Winchester and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sam shrugged him off and began to pace about the small room.

Cas felt Sam's dismay as if it were a solid object. "Why is Dean handcuffed to the wall? Did you do this?"

"Yes." He stared at Cas. "And you know why? Because he kept her a secret from me. He never told me she came back, and he was never going to. I had to find out on my own!" He pointed to the photos on the bed. "The only interaction I will ever have with my mom was through a cell door and he let me carry on believing that it was just a hallucination."

"Dean is this true?" Castiel was puzzled. "Why didn't you tell Sam about Mary's resurrection?"

Dean didn't answer him, spoke directly to Sam instead. "Why'd you call Cas? He doesn't need to hear any of this!"

Sam read between the lines - Dean didn't want his friend to know what he'd done. Well, tough. Cas had a right to know. "He met her. He knew her. She died and he's family. I got more reasons, but for now I just want you to answer his damn question…"

There was a painfully long pause before Dean shrugged in resignation. "When we finally found you, you were out of your mind with trauma. You thought she was an illusion and yeah, I let you go on believing that. I did it to spare you all the guilt and pain that I knew you'd feel, and I don't regret it – not for one moment. I'd do it again too, if it meant keeping you from feeling the way I feel right now."

Sam knelt down in front of his cuffed brother. "If I thought that was all there was to it, I'd understand. You know I would. I'd be pissed, sure, but I'd get it." He spoke softly now, his top lip curled in suppressed anger. "No – what I want to hear from you is the stuff you AREN'T telling me."

Dean jerked his head back. "There is nothing else!" His eyes flickered over to Castiel in desperation.

Sam noticed, looked up at the angel. "That's the other reason I wanted you here Cas. How far does this conspiracy go? Did you and my brother and my m..." He clenched his fists, "…Mary all sit cozied up together in the bunker, working out how best to hide the truth from me?"

Castiel looked anguished. "I didn't know of Dean's plan to keep this from you, I promise..."

Sam's jaw clenched. "I believe you. Look you can go if you want – you don't have to be a part of what's coming next."

"I understand that you're upset Sam, but I'm not leaving until you release your brother."

"What? Why? You think I'm gonna do something crazy? Hurt him?"

"No...I didn't mean that…I…"

"I'll be honest Cas, I do want to hurt him. I want to punch him in his lying face until my fists break. But that's not the way I'm gonna play this." Sam's voice was like steel. "No - Dean's not walking away without telling me the truth. We might end up dying of old age sitting in this room, but I swear to god we aren't leaving until I hear it directly from his mouth."

"Why are you doing this to yourself Sam?" Dean shouted. "She loved you! Why can't you just accept that? She was our mom, and she loved us both."

"Our mom? OUR mom? It was a blood lock Dean! How could you think I wouldn't notice that it didn't work for her?" He pointed at Dean's bandaged arm. "That she had to use YOUR blood to set me free? How long have you known that she's not my mom?"