Two

Back at the motel Mary walked through the small room and gently touched the items that once belonged to Sam. The laptop Dean had thought was left behind in the restaurant was patiently waiting on Sam's bed when Dean walked through the motel's door. The computer fascinated Mary, and Dean had to remind himself that such things did not exist when she had died. Even though she seemed to understand the principle that she had once been dead and was now alive again, she still maintained a very distant, dream like quality. Perhaps it was twenty years in the underworld distorting her mind that used to be so acute and witty. Dean wondered if she would ever be the same again.

Using the Internet, he accessed a local news site on the screen, still covered with Sam's fingerprints, trying to explain it to her so that she could understand how much the world had changed in twenty years. She hesitated to touch the keyboard on the small machine, her hands remaining clutched in her lap as Dean stood above her, pointing to the virtual page. Unexpectedly, as Dean was trying to explain the concept of the Internet itself, she rose to her feet and walked away from the bed. Dean stopped talking while she walked over to Sam's duffel bag and pulled out a faded T-shirt that used to be his. As the shirt emerged from the duffel bag, a pile of photographs tumbled to the ground with it. Dean had seen the photos only a few times, but he knew immediately what was in the picture that would be important to his mother.

Gradually Mary, still holding the shirt, crouched to the ground and picked up the photographs. She had looped the shirt over her clutched fist, holding it against her nose, smelling Sam's masculine scent, much like she had when he was a newborn with that precious fragrance. Dean moved beside her as she sank down on the bed and began to look at them. The first picture was of Sam and Jessica, arms around each other, laughing and teasing in what appeared to be a college dormitory. A faint smile flickered across Mary's face, and for the first time, Dean noticed the resemblance between the two most important women in his brother's life. She was quiet as she looked through the assorted pictures of Sam in various stages of his life. There were moments at college parties, where Sam looped arms with male friends he had never mentioned to Dean. Captured minutes of Dean and Sam when they were younger, posing with their father after a hunt. There was even a small baby photo of Sam, taken when he was only hours old in the hospital.

At last she spoke, "Tell me about Sam."

"Sammy?" Dean echoed before he could stop himself from using the dreaded nickname.

"What was he like? Was he okay? Was he hurt?" Mary asked, instantly thinking back upon the fire and how she had ran for Sam to save him from a being who had ultimately taken her life.

"Hurt? No, no, he wasn't hurt. He was…" Dean paused, unsure how to describe Sam to his flesh and blood mother. It shouldn't have been so hard, but it was, and it hurt so badly. "Sam was brilliant. He was always the rational one out of Dad and me. He went to college. Stanford University out in California. I guess he was even going to law school, he was that smart."

Mary smiled, still not meeting Dean's eyes, but remaining focused on a photo of Sam by himself in what appeared to be a park-like setting. There were numerous trees in the background, and Sam himself was slouched against one, looking into the camera. It was an impromptu photo, and even though Dean knew how much Sam disliked to have his picture taken, Sam looked comfortable and at ease. He wore a baggy T-shirt with the Stanford emblem, and his eyes smiled beneath his shaggy brown hair.

Now there would never be another smile.

"What happened?" she asked.

"His girlfriend, Jess, the blonde chick in these pictures…she died."

"How?"

The simplistic word hurt Dean, realizing what he was not only going to have to say, but to admit. "Like you," he finally forced himself to answer. This did not appear to affect Mary in the least, even though Dean was back in Sam's apartment, pulling his brother off the bed as Sam yelled and clawed at Dean's back. Dean was back in the house with his father yelling at him to take Sam and run while his mother burned on the ceiling.

"He joined you and John after that then," Mary finished for him.

"No, not Dad. Dad's been missing for months now. We can't get in contact with him. We've just been searching across the country for him without any luck," Dean admitted. "I keep trying to call him, but there's nothing. Dad's somewhere, but we don't know where."

"Where exactly is Sam now?"

The ultimate question, Dean thought bitterly. "Sam…is…" He sighed, rising to his feet and walking to the window to turn his back on his mother. This is what he had been willing to die for, and now that she was back, now that she was living, he couldn't remove his mind from what Sam must have experienced to give this to him.

When had they ever really cared for each other that much to be willing to give the other their mother in trade for eternal death?

"Sam is gone," Dean finally said, crossing his arms to the window where the sun slowly began to set. Before Mary could ask any further questions, he continued and spilled out the words rapidly, unable to stop himself, "This man came to us and told us that he could allow you to come back to us…if one of us went in your place. And, we didn't…we didn't want to go, but to have you back…to have Dad back, too. It was, god," Dean gasped, struggling again not to cry. He was starting to believe that he had done more crying that entire day than he had for that year. Either he was crying or swearing, and swearing, somehow, just didn't seem all that appropriate in front of his mother. "And Sam went. I couldn't stop him. He just…went…And now, he's gone."

"He gave himself up for me?"

"Yeah, that was just the way Sam was. Unselfish like that. He wanted me to have you back because he couldn't remember you. He wanted you to be able to live again and for Dad to quit hunting and come home."

"He gave himself up for you."

Dean looked out the window, as he felt his mother's hand begin to rub his back as she had when he was so young. "You feel guilty for staying behind." It was a direct statement. No question needed.

She had always been able to see right through him

Dean nodded mutely.

"Maybe he'll come back."

"No, that was part of the deal," Dean explained. "Once we accepted, we could never come back. For you to stay here, it was how things had to be."

"I want you to do something for me, Dean," she said.

"Anything."

"Call your father."