I don't own Dean or Sam… Not that I want to own them per se, but visitation rights would be nice…

o0o

Sam was enthralled. Chris had shown him himself and his mother, just after he'd been born, when he was first home from the hospital, his mother discretely breastfeeding him, singing to him off-key – Pink Floyd no less – and just generally loving and taking care of her newborn son. It wasn't all hearts and roses: Chris also showed him Mary cussing at him when he was colicky, Mary exasperated when she burnt dinner while trying to feed Sam and keep Dean out from under foot, Mary trying to appease both sons when young Dean was jealous of the attention the baby was warranting. Dean definitely got his love of heavy metal and his expletive expertise from his mother. Sam could also see that Dean really followed in his mother's footsteps as the natural caregiver in the family. Mary had been an instinctive mediator between the men in her life and had maintained the balance of the differing needs of her sons and her husband.

Because Sam, in learning of Mary, had necessarily learned about John. Sam finally got a glimpse of his father in the pre-hunting days, before everything literally went to hell, before he had lost his wife and before he even knew there was anything supernatural out there. He was literally not haunted at this point in his life. He was just a middle American man with a young wife and family, who's biggest worry was likely something ordinary, such as paying the mortgage or whether to buy a new car. Sam didn't even know what his dad had done for a living before hunting; he'd vaguely thought his dad was a mechanic or engineer of some sort.

Chris hadn't shown Sammy his father to the same degree as they had focused on Mary, but the glimpses Sam had were astonishing. He didn't know this man either. This energetic, carefree man who wore sports jackets, and barbequed on Sundays and who liked to read The Wind in the Willows to his sons at bedtime was almost as much an enigma as Mary was. Sam could remember his father reading to him and Dean, but it was an early memory and was a task that Dean had almost exclusively taken on as he learned to read himself. Seeing his father in this destined to be short-lived phase of his life, made Sam ache for the man his father had become.

They had all lost so much the day Mary had died. Sam still wished he'd had a choice about participating in one-man's obsession, but for the first time he almost understood why John had done it. Because for the first time in his life, his mother was more than just a tragic figure: he'd finally seen her as she actually was.

He closed his eyes, as gratitude to Chris and to Dean for allowing him this opportunity overcame him. Because Sammy knew that while Chris was the one with the powers, and Chris was the one who could pick and choose what to show Sam, that none of this would be happening if Chris hadn't cleared it with Dean first. Because Dean, who had apparently been through his own ghostly visitations and who knew what a life-altering experience it could be, had likely decided that the benefit to Sam outweighed the risk to himself and to their relationship. Because Sam did know his brother and while the vaunted Ghost of Christmas Present wasn't present he would bet that Dean was in the bar wondering if he'd done a good thing, and hoping that Sam would still respect him for all the dubious choices he might have made. Sam had often taunted Dean as being the 'good little soldier' and being pathetic for blindly following orders. And now he saw that Dean hadn't been wearing blinders, he'd made his decision consciously and had willfully put family first in the only way he knew how. And Dean was likely wondering if Sam would think less of him for not being more of his own person, for giving up on Sam's ideal of college, for not wanting more than he had.

And even knowing that it might diminish himself in the eyes of his brother, even knowing that Sam would never see him in the same way again, and even knowing that his private moments and motives would be exposed, Dean had opted to let Sammy see, as he yet again put his brother first. Dean who was an oddly private person, who didn't want to burden Sammy and who wanted to let Sam have as normal a life as he could, had allowed this invasion into his past, this unflinching light to be cast on his actions as Sammy finally saw his brother as a person and not just an extension of Sam, or John or even Mary. Dean had known that this could change everything between them, and had allowed it to happen anyway, as it was something that Chris and company had thought that Sammy had needed. And once again, Sammy's needs came first. No matter the personal cost to Dean.

Sam had no idea what he would say to Dean when he finally came back to the motel room, but if anything the experience had made him appreciate his big brother all the more. And not just as his big brother, or as their father's son, but as Dean, himself, warts and outdated music and all.

It had been a very enlightening day.

There was one more memory taking shape around him. Sam was captivated by the sight of Mary in baggy sweats and a Boston Bruins hockey jersey as she gently rocked her infant son to sleep. She was humming what might be 'Beth' by Kiss as she gently tamped out her cigarette and was about to put his young self down in a baby carriage that was pushed up against the side of the couch. The carriage was obviously doubling as a second crib. Mary leaned over to put Sammy down, gently placing Sammy in the carriage. "Sweet dreams, Sam-sam."

"Sam-sam?" newly-minted twenty-three-year old Sam asked Chris. "She called me Sam-sam?"

"That was what Dean started calling you when you were first brought home from the hospital, although in Dean's case it was more like: "Samsamsamsamsam'. Your mother just shortened it. She also called you Sam-son, Sam-Mule when you were fussing, and Sir Cryalot when you woke your brother when he was trying to nap."

In the memory, Mary had pulled the carriage to the kitchen door so she could watch Sam as she started to make dinner. She disappeared into the kitchen and the memory faded around them.

"I sill can't believe she smoked! And liked Iron Maiden, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath."

"She also drank beer, had a huge crush on Harrison Ford, and had a small tattoo on her ankle of a stylized sun. She was going to get a star put on her other ankle, but…"

"She died." And Sam felt fresh tears well up in his eyes.

"Yes, she died." Chris paused to give Sam time to collect himself. He continued gently. "She died and everything changed, but her influence in both yours and Dean's life lives on. You have her smarts and her tenacity and her temper. Dean has her need to put family first, and definitely learned his love for classic heavy metal at her side. You are both your mother's sons, and both are so much more. Yes, her death was a defining moment in your lives, but it is not the sum total of who you are. You've always known that you were more than what your mother's death left you with. Hopefully now you realize that Dean is more than just what you expect to see.

"I don't need to tell you your brother's not perfect…" Sam's inelegant snort acknowledged the vastness of the understatement, "…but hopefully you see that he's found his own niche and just needs his family to need him to be happy. Ok, and he likes killing as many sons-of-bitches as he can. Because he can, and it has to be done. Hopefully you see that he's a real person with his own motives and needs, and not just your dad's clone."

Chris, who now looked like Michael Landon from his Highway to Heaven stint, merely waited as Sam processed what he'd seen. Sam didn't know it but the need to work things through and to categorize and label each experience was very Mary too. He didn't think there was anything more he could do: the rest was up to Sammy.

Sam, for his part, had sat down on the edge of his bed and was idly running his hand over the Mickey Mouse ears. The new knowledge of his brother mostly jibed with what he knew: the 1540 on his SATs still blew him away; but the rest of it fit what he knew about Dean. And it all made sense. And what he knew now explained so much about his brother, explained why he was the good little soldier, why he tried to be the ultimate big brother, why he took his role in their family so seriously.

He was still a colossal pain-in-the-ass who could push Sam's button's like nobody else; in fact Dean had made a specialty of pushing everyone's buttons, but he could do that because he knew instinctively what people needed and could divine what drove them and just what those buttons were. And while Sam had always known that Dean used whatever weapon in his arsenal – verbal or otherwise – that would deflect attention away from Sam and onto himself in times of trouble, he'd forgotten that the sarcasm and abruptness were defense mechanisms and should not be taken as all there was to Dean.

Man his brother drove him nuts. But he wouldn't trade him for anything: not for John's approval, not for the keys to the Impala, not for the death of the thing that killed mom and Jess. Dean was the one constant in Sam's life, more so than their father, more than hunting. And he'd take him just the way he was. Well, mostly.

Sam looked down at the mouse ears he was holding. Heh. Apparently Dean would take him, just as he was, to Disney World. How cool was that?

Sam's grin re-appeared as he contemplated the possibility of getting Dean to pose with a giant Mickey Mouse – with Snow White or Cinderella, sure, but with a giant Sponge-Bob or…

Sam's merry musings were interrupted by the sound of the key turning in the motel room door.

Dean!

Sam hastily stood, shoving the mouse ears behind him, not knowing what to expect. He gathered his courage to the sticking point, took a deep breath to calm himself and prepared to finally see his brother, for what like felt the first time.

Dean stood in the open doorway, calmly looking at his brother and Chris. Calmly unless you knew him well enough to see the rigid stance, the tension in the line of his jaw, the banked fear in his eyes as he awaited his brother's judgment. Chin up, back straight, braced for the worst, he steadily met his brother's eyes.

And waited.

o0o

TBC