Flashback chapter

"How long have you known that she's not my mom?"

Words that had been smouldering under the surface ignited into fire as soon as they left his mouth. He saw Dean struggle against the blow, then slump in defeat.

"Since you left for College."

Sam wasn't sure what he had been expecting Dean to say. Maybe for him to look up in surprise, scorn etched into his eyes, and bluntly ask what the absolute fuck he was talking about. Or maybe for him to say that he had only just found out himself, that mom had literally only just told him three days ago and he didn't even believe it anyway. Instead, his brother had punched the air out of his lungs. College? That was like twelve, thirteen years ago!

He sat down on the bed, winded. Mary wasn't his mom? She really truly wasn't? No wonder dad had treated him differently to Dean. Why he always felt like he didn't fit. How the hell could Dean have kept something like this from him? Sam felt something crawling around underneath his rib cage. Like fire ants trying to eat their way out. He rubbed hard at his chest with bandaged hands, but the sensation only worsened. Dean looked alarmed, like Sam was about to have a heart-attack, then looked up at Cas, silently asking if his brother was ok. Cas's placating gesture said that he wasn't imminently about to die from sudden shock.

Sam felt like it though. His chest was burning with a thousand acidic questions that needed to get out. The intrinsic question was 'why didn't you tell me?', but that wasn't what he asked straightaway. The answer would only be bullshit anyway.

So he settled for the next biggest question, trying to keep a lid on the fury until his brother had spilled his guts on the entire story. "How did you find out?"

"By accident, I think." Dean shuffled uncomfortably on his ass, but didn't ask Sam to release the cuffs. Sam knew why. Dean would find it easier to admit the cold, hard truth under duress, rather than if he were to volunteer the information freely.

"You think?"

"Around a month after you left, dad sent me to a storage hold to pick up an old lore book. It was almost empty, nothing in there except for a few hardbacks and a crate of old junk. Here's the thing - I don't know if he trusted me not to look around, or if he sent me there with half a hope I would sneak a look at what was at the bottom of the crate."

"And you looked."

"Of course I looked! It was a bunch of old letters in dad's handwriting – don't tell me you wouldn't!"

"That's really not the issue here Dean. What makes you think he wanted you to find them?"

"Why send me there otherwise? You ask me, that lore book was just an excuse to put me and those letters in the same place - he didn't even so much as glance at it when I got back." Dean sighed. "But he was mad at you for leaving Sam, you know he was. Madder than hell. I don't know his reasoning, but that's the only thing I can think of."

"You think him sending you to find those letters was what…some way of punishing me for leaving? Was he hoping you'd tell me?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"You didn't talk to him about it?"

"I didn't bring it up Sammy, I wasn't going to have that kind of conversation with Dad!"

"You never spoke about them at all?" Sam asked, even though Dean's words rang true. Dad wasn't the easiest person to talk to, especially about something like this. His brother would sooner give up junk food or sex than talk to dad about something so explosive.

"Nope. Never. I don't know if he even knew I knew. I mean, maybe he figured something was up – I was supposed to come straight back with the book but instead I just went to the nearest no-name town and spent two days trying to chemically redact the memory of what I just read. It didn't work."

"What did they say Dean?" The anticipation was like experiencing an anti-Christmas. Instead of getting something good, Sam knew he was getting a steaming heap of heartache, but still he leant forwards like a kid about to open his biggest present. "Who was dad writing to?"

Dean brought his knees up, rubbed his forehead against the denim like he was still trying to erase the memory. "I can't do any more of this sober. You can't expect me to talk about this shit without a drink in my hand…"

Dean's automatic go-to when things became difficult was always to get hammered. Not that Sam was going argue – getting hammered might help dull the emotional chaos. Or make it worse. He wasn't sure which, but didn't really care at this point. "You want one Cas?" The angel shook his head. The bottle of Tesco Scotch was on the desk, and Sam picked out a glass from underneath some Chinese cartons. He poured himself a seriously large measure, then gave the bottle to Cas, to give to Dean. He didn't care how childish it looked.

With a flicker of hurt in his eyes, Dean swallowed a good third of the amber liquid in one go. Sam let him take that drink, then was back on him, relentless. "So, the letters…"

"They were soppy love letters to mom, written after she died."

Castiel spoke up first. "If they were deeply personal in nature then I really don't think your father would have been comfortable with you reading them."

"Oh and you'd know that how?" Dean lashed out defensively at Cas's disapproval.

Sam interrupted, agreeing with Cas. "Didn't you feel like a shit reading something so obviously private?"

"Of course I did! And then I got over it." Dean shrugged. "You want me to tell you what was in them, don't you Mr Hypocrite?"

Sam's anger flared, he was a heartbeat away from spending more of Phil's money by throwing his whiskey tumbler though the hotel's glass window. Instead he swallowed it down with a good mouthful of scotch before asking, tensely: "What did they say?"

Dean stared at the label on the bottle, like it would tell him what to say next. It didn't seem to provide him with the answer so he just drank instead. "The ones at the start, the ones not long after she died, they were mess. All kinds of guilt and shit, really heavy stuff. Then he started updating mom on me: my school grades, first time I held a sawed-off, that kind of thing." Dean began to stumble over his words. "It wasn't until you were about to start kindergarten, that he first mentioned anything about…this, about…you."

The glass Sam was tightly gripping cracked. The alcohol soaked into his bandages, stinging the cuts on his fingers. He wanted to ignore it but the sharp pain cut through his mental fog and gave him pause. Be careful what you wish for, that's what they say, isn't it? He had done everything in his power to force this out of Dean, and now, suddenly, he didn't want to hear a single word of it anymore. Sam bitterly wished that Dean had kept on lying. In that moment he couldn't bear to look at his brother for giving in to his demands. Yes, he knew that Dean was suffering as much as he was, and that one kind word of forgiveness from Sam would be the first building block in putting all this back together. But he didn't. He was too mad at Dean for not telling him…and also, irrationally, for now finally telling him.

Startling Cas and Dean by suddenly leaping up and heading for his bag, Sam dug out the lock picking kit and went to work on the connecting door. The sodden bandages made it awkward, so he ripped them off and dropped them on the floor. This time when Sam entered the room, his only thoughts were on the woman who had died when he was just six months old. The woman who stomped her eldest son unconscious so that she would be the one to save Sam from that cell. Or, as a cynical thought intruded, so that her real son wouldn't have to die in order to save the cuckoo in the nest.

No, he thought, she wasn't like that! But how would he know? He didn't know anything about her, not really. Over the years, he had regularly dreamed about her, and had always pictured her a perfect mom. Flawless. Mary was utterly idolised by both her sons. Why should his fantasy of what she was like change just because she wasn't technically his mom anymore? The question of who his actual mom was surfaced like a shark's fin, before swimming away for the moment.

He wandered around the bedroom that was a much cleaner mirror of their own, taking in the faint scent of strawberry. He went into the bathroom and picked out the lipstick stained tissue from the waste can.

If she hadn't died saving him, if Dean had reached his cell door first, he would probably have never learned the truth. Sam would have cried on her shoulder at the loss of his brother, and she would have been stuck consoling the son that wasn't really hers. The thought left him shaking and nauseous and he couldn't get out of her room quick enough.

Walking back into their own bomb site of a room, Sam noticed Castiel had freed his brother's wrists. Dean had barely moved though, except to almost finish the bottle. He sat against the cold radiator as if it was giving off warmth.

"Sam," Cas rose to meet him. "should I leave now? You and Dean still have many difficult things to discuss…"

"It's up to you." Sam shrugged. As far as he was concerned Cas was family, so anything that Dean had to say to him, he could also damn well say to the angel. Castiel looked so uncomfortable as he wavered, unsure of what would be best. In the end, he went into the bathroom to give them some privacy. He obviously didn't trust leaving them entirely on their own in case they injured one another.

Sam sat down on his bed. Cleared his throat. "First off, dad is my dad right? I mean he has to be. I'm a Winchester – I couldn't have been Lucifer's vessel otherwise…and the blood lock worked…"

Dean looked up incredulous. He had the face on that Sam had hoped to see when he asked if Mary was his mom. "Of course dad is dad!"

"But I'm not a Campbell."

"You are." Dean saw Sam's confusion. "Look – it's complicated – let me tell you what I found, ok? And then what mom said..."

"So you were ok speaking to mom about this then?"

"Hey, I didn't want to! Wasn't ever going to. But as soon as we found out about the blood lock I had no choice. I saw her face when we found out only a 'blood of my blood' sacrifice would work. I mean it Sam, it wrecked her that she couldn't be the one to get you out." Dean looked at Sam in all seriousness. "Whatever you might think, she loved you. She was your mom in all the ways that counted…"

"She knew me six months Dean! Maybe less! How could she have possibly looked at me the way she looked at you? Especially as I was a reminder of Dad cheating on her. I mean he must have cheated on her, right?"

"No! Well, yes…but it's not like that Sam! Just shut up for five minutes and let me finish a goddamn sentence already." Dean finally stood up. The combination of booze and sitting cramped up for so long caused him to sway. Sam made no move to help him as he stumbled over to the desk and leant against it for support.

"You wanted me to talk…so here it is in all its horrendous glory. Merry fucking Christmas Sam." Dean didn't try to hide his bitterness. "A year or so after they had me, mom said they tried for another kid. And tried, and tried. Nothing happened for over a year so they went to a doc. There was some kind of complication that she didn't go into. They tried a few different kinds of things but nothing took." Dean ran a hand over his mouth, his face. "I was around three when dad came home one night in a real strange mood. Belligerent, was the word mom used. They had a fight, dad walked out. When he came back a couple of nights later mom said he was hungover, a bit spaced, but mostly ok. Apart from them not getting pregnant, things were good for a while until… until nine months later when some distant cousin of mom came and confessed she just had John's baby."

"…who…what?" Sam's throat was dry.

"Her name was Shirley. Shirley Watson." Dean's also found himself getting hoarse, so he lubricated his voice with the remaining scotch. "She was some cousin of a cousin of mom. They were friends when they were kids but she married young and moved out to Florida. It took a run of bad luck, and I mean real bad luck, to get her to move back to Lawrence."

Shirley Watson. Shirley Watson was his real mom's name. It sounded so weird, so wrong. "What happened to her?"

"In the space of about a year her life fell apart. First off, her husband died. He got buried under a mountain of grain he was transporting from a warehouse. Suffocated." Dean shuddered at the thought. "Then… then her baby girl got taken by a local serial killer."

"…she had a baby?" It was barely a whisper.

"Sam…I'm…" Dean was struggling. "She had a daughter. Almost two when she died. Your half-sister I suppose. Which kinda makes her mine too, sort of." It didn't, but Dean wanted it to. "They caught the guy but he killed himself in his cell before his conviction. He confessed everything to a lawyer, but mom didn't go deep into the gory details. After that, Shirley lost her job then her house. Most of her mind too, by the sound of it. She had an elderly father who brought her home to Kansas to look after her. When mom found out her old friend was back they had a try at reconnecting, but Shirley was pretty broken. Then, to the surprise of everyone, Shirley got pregnant. Wouldn't say how, and wouldn't say who the father was. It was only once she gave birth that she told mom everything. She was frightened – nothing about the pregnancy seemed normal and she was convinced she was going to die at any moment. Mom was shocked, obviously, at finding out what her and John and done. Dad denied, denied and denied some more that he had run around with another woman. That was all he wrote in those letters to mom. Even though she was long dead he begged Mary to believe that he hadn't cheated. But Shirley was insistent that the baby was John's. You were about three days old when she all but shoved you into mom's arms and ran out of the house." Dean went to reach out to touch Sam, then pulled back. "Three…three days later she was dead. A car wreck. I'm sorry man, I really am."

If Dean was expecting Sam to get all tearful and weepy, he was mistaken. The heat inside Sam was burning so hot it was forging his emotions into something like steel. Every word Dean was saying stoked those fires hotter.

"Looking back now, it's pretty obvious that everyone was being manipulated by outside forces. I mean – those angel dickbags had you destined Sam, same as me. And when mom couldn't get pregnant for a second time you still needed to be born." Dean was on a roll as he put everything together. "I think…I think that dad got possessed the weekend that mom said he seemed off. He wouldn't have known what it was – especially if whatever possessed him was careful. He must have been as confused as hell when Shirley turned up blaming him. And I truly believe that Shirley's run of bad luck wasn't bad luck at all – it was all designed to put her back in Kansas as some kind of backup incubator in case Mary couldn't conceive. She was used, same as dad was."

It all made a twisted kind of sense. Sickening but all too plausible. Dean carried on. "…And that's not all. Mom said when Shirley was pregnant with you she told her she kept waking up with blood in her mouth…"

Sam was repulsed. "...You..you think…?"

"Yeah, I do. The yellow eyed bastard was feeding Shirley blood while she was pregnant with you."

It was all too much. The information overload, combined with the sheer horror of it all, made Sam want to throw up. He ran to the bathroom, pushed Castiel out into the hallway, and crouched over the pan as a cold sweat gripped him. Vomit spilled out, hot and sour. He retched and retched until his stomach ached and his throat burned.

As soon as he could stand, he wiped his face and went straight back to Dean. Sam knew he needed time to process the big stuff – there were just too many revelations and implications to deal with now. The one thing – the only thing – he could focus on clearly was Dean.

"You knew this whole time." His voice was raw, but steady. "Some of it you just learnt, I get that. But you knew enough. When you only had a year left, when you were in Hell, you knew. Even when you were a demon you knew. Each and every time you died, or nearly died, I would have been left forever never knowing. And it wasn't just you that kept me ignorant – no one told me. Not dad, not Azazel, not Lucifer. Why?"

Dean winced at the deceptively calm tone of Sam's voice. "I can't answer that Sam. I mean – I can only speak for me. I didn't tell you to protect you. To keep the memory of mom a good thing in your life. What good would have come from you knowing so tragic? Dad probably felt the same way. And when I wasn't me...when I was a demon, I guess it just wasn't an issue. Your problems weren't on my radar." Dean's outpouring of honesty was like pus erupting from a boil. "I don't know why anyone else didn't say anything, I really don't. Maybe Lucifer didn't know? I don't think the angels knew – Cas didn't."

"It's true," agreed Cas from the hallway. "The dreadful truth behind your conception is a huge surprise to me. I had no idea any of this occurred and I don't think heaven did either. It's not common knowledge."

Sam wasn't convinced. "Azazel was a sadistic son of a bitch – why wouldn't he have told me when he was possessing dad? If he orchestrated all this…he showed me mom…Mary dying – why didn't he tell me the whole story?"

"Because it didn't suit him to? Because he was an asshole? I don't know Sammy, and I don't much care. As far as I'm concerned he did us a favour by not telling. Yeah – don't give me those angry eyes Sam, I'm telling it straight. You didn't need to know."

"I…what?" Sam was speechless.

"Dad was right not to tell you. I was right not to tell you. Sorry if that doesn't fit in with your righteous indignation, but it's the truth."

"The FUCK…?" Just days ago he was locked inside a prison, the target of systematic torture and cruelty. And yet during those three weeks of captivity he never came close to the frustration he was feeling right now. "SERIOUSLY!? You don't think I had a right to know who my real mom was?"

"Everything that happened with Shirley was utterly miserable and highly fucked up, so no. I did what I had to do to make sure you didn't carry all this shit around with you."

"THAT WASN'T YOUR DECISION TO MAKE!" Sam was furious, physically shaking with anger. "How the fuck can you stand there and say I didn't have a right to know? She was my MOM!"

"And you were better off without knowing it! I've had a long time to think about the rights and wrongs of this – and if you hadn't forced this on me I would never have told you. EVER."

Dean was resolute, entirely unapologetic and that was the defining moment Sam knew he had to leave. Whatever happened from now on, they weren't ever getting past this. Dean's autonomous decision – and his utmost certainty that he had done the right thing was unforgivable. Something inside Sam suddenly broke and the raging fire he had been feeling since seeing that photo of mo…Mary burnt itself away. Now all he felt was a kind of numb iciness towards his brother.

Sam had one last question before leaving. "Where are the letters now?"

"I burned them after dad died. It's a shame mom never got to read them but who knew she would come back from the dead? I told her about them and she understood why I did it. Even SHE agreed Sam."

"You burned them. You took something that wasn't yours and burnt it. I can't even…" He picked up his duffel bag and shoved the remaining bandaids, painkillers and antibiotics into it. Dean went to grab his arm, but Sam shoved him hard, pinning his brother back against the wall by his throat.

"Don't touch me Dean. Don't talk to me, or come near me ever again." His voice was cold. "You know what those letters would have meant to me. Letters about me, written in dad's words. You don't even think I had a right to know who my mom really was! And that's why we're done." Sam's bloody fingers had left imprints on his brother's neck. He shoved Dean one last time as he stepped back away from him to pick up the bag. "We. Are. Done."

He looked at Castiel as he left the room, but was really speaking to Dean. "If you care anything at all about my 'half-brother' Cas, you'll keep him away from me." He didn't look at Dean as he dropped the barb. "I can't guarantee if I ever see him again I won't do him some permanent damage."

"Sam!" Castiel was shocked at the coldness in his friend's eyes.

"Don't contact me again. Either of you. Just…just leave me the hell alone."

Sam walked out of the room, and out into the streets of London, certain he would never see his brother again.