December 12, 2007 (technically)
Brenda had been quiet for what seemed like a very long time, absorbing everything Dean had said. Curled up in the corner of the sofa, her gaze had stayed focused on the hastily made cup of instant coffee that had gone cold in her hands. "What you're telling me," she ventured, lifting her eyes to where Dean sat at the other end of the couch looking like five miles of bad road, "is apparently, insanity runs in your mother's family." Her eyes flicked nervously towards the hallway, towards the room where their son, Dean's son, lay sleeping, blissfully unaware of the growing shadows rapidly spiraling in on his family.
"I don't know," Dean replied, the weight of the evening's events evidenced in his voice and posture. "I don't even know for sure that they are related to my mom. For all I know, they could be a couple of loose screws that fell out of the cuckoo's nest and just picked my door to knock on. That's more believable than all this 'long line of demon hunters' crap isn't it?" His voice conveyed just how desperately he wanted that to be true.
"OK," Brenda agreed, tentatively, "but then how did they know your name? How did they know everything, about Sam, about your mom? You certainly don't talk about it." Not even to me, she thought bitterly.
Dean shrugged, "Dad maybe? He's drunk more than he's sober lately. No telling what he's been saying to who while he was three sheets free."
"I guess that's possible," she admitted skeptically, "but why? I mean, even if John was crying in his beer about Sam dying and Mary leaving him..."
"She didn't leave him!" Dean barked, jumping to his feet and immediately felt like an ass. He sagged back down onto the couch, risking a sideways look at Brenda, who did not look happy. "Oh crap," he moaned, "I'm sorry, Bren."
"I know," she sighed tiredly, "You always are. Look, Dean, you called me, two in the morning, practically, no, literally begged me..." she cut herself off. By some miracle, the outburst didn't seem to have woken Little John. An argument most certainly would, so she swallowed down her ire and took a more gentle approach. "This has been a lot for you, I know, but..."
"But I maxed out my credit a long time ago," Dean saved her from having to say it. "I shouldn't have dragged you back into this. It's my problem to deal with. I'll just go." He started to rise.
"No," she stopped him with a soft hand on his shoulder. "You're here. You've already told me everything. Let's just do this now so I don't have to wonder when the other shoe will be dropping."
Dean had not, in fact, told her everything. He'd stopped short of the part about demons hunting anyone with Campbell blood. He couldn't imagine a scenerio where that would have ended well.
His nod was more a surrender than an agreement. He'd been through the wringer and his nerves were stretched to the point of snapping. He knew he'd pushed his luck with the explosion. Going along with whatever Brenda wanted was just safer, easier. Obediently he eased back into his seat almost relieved to been absolved of the decision.
"OK," she started fresh when he was settled, "even if John was talking about...everything, where he could be overheard, why would anyone track down his address and show up talking about all this crazy demon stuff? That'd be a lot to go through for a joke on a total stranger if it was a good joke. For a sick one like this, it just doesn't make sense."
"It's not impossible, though." Dean pointed out. "There's some pretty messed up people out there." His voice and posture conveyed how much he needed it not to be true, because if any of it was true then maybe his mother really was... gone.
Branda chewed at the inside of her cheek, considering it all. "I think you should call the police." she announced conclusively.
Dean had already considered that. "And tell them what? A couple of guys, claiming to be family, showed up at my place, said some weird stuff, and left without causing any damage? They'd write it all down, file it, and forget it, just like they did with Sam."
"Well," Brenda speculated, "maybe there's a way to find out if they really are family, like a records search or something."
"Sam would have known just how to do that." Dean observed glumly.
"I'm sure we can figure it out ." she tried to sound confident.
Dean lifted his head to meet her eyes. "We?" he repeated, certain that he must have misheard, not daring to hope otherwise.
Brenda sighed heavily, resigning herself to the inevitable. Dean was a drug that was hard to get out of your system, and like it or not, she was hooked. "Yes, we," she confirmed, not sounding entirely happy about it. "I'm all you've got, remember?"
Dean didn't know how much to read into that. He studied her face for a clue, holding his tongue for fear of assuming too much, or too little. Seconds passed, and it felt like he'd let the silence go on too long. Nervously, he licked his lips and leaned the tiniest bit towards her, ready to plead a misunderstanding and deny everything if things went south.
She didn't close the distance between them, but she didn't pull back, didn't issue any sort of protest either. Her eyes locked with his as she struggled with her own internal conflict. "Dean," she said softly, "I..." She would never finish that sentence, interrupted by the terrorized scream of a young voice that pierced up the hallway, cutting through the early morning quiet and sending Dean vaulting over the back of the sofa to barrel towards his son's bedroom.