Brother, Father, Mother

AN: This episode leaves me speechless every time I watch it. I probably can't do it justice but needed to write something for it anyways. Here's a little tag to Dean confronting Mary, heavy on angsty-emotionally-hurt Dean.

Supernatural isn't mine. I just borrowed some of the – in my humble opinion – best lines ever written for the show for this fic (hope that's okay).

It was an illusion, a dream in Mary Winchester's mind.

The scenery was framed by a cozy kitchen in a house that was only a distant memory for Dean. Mary – Mom – wore a beautiful, mint-colored summer dress and an apron, baking apple pie for a much younger Dean. She was smiling, joy shining in her eyes. Her son sat at the kitchen table, looking forward to a homemade, sweet deliciousness.

Dean – the real Dean, rough-faced and flannel-clad and very much grown-up – was an intruder to this peaceful family life. He stood by the door, warily watching the bizarre scene.

To him, this image of his mother was just a fading memory. This happy woman, enjoying an afternoon with her four-year-old son, had died over three decades ago. Dean could detect almost no resemblance between this apple-pie-baking, humming person and the woman who had been brought back to life a few months ago. The new Mary wasn't what he remembered. She was distant, cold, hard.

It hurt.

He'd wanted her back so bad. His whole life having a mother had been his greatest desire. He had always held onto the few loving memories he had left of her: cooking her greasy Winchester-surprise when he was sick, singing him a lullaby when he couldn't sleep, her blonde curls and kind eyes… and the sweet smell of warm apple pie.

But now that she was back, nothing was as Dean had imagined. He was brutally knocked out of the skies. The mirage of his flawless mom had long ended in smoke. Literally.

He stared at her, unbelieving.

Mary didn't even seem to notice her adult son lingering in the doorway. She shuffled past him several times, never meeting his eyes. No, scratch that – this wasn't about noticing. Because this wasn't Mom from 1983, not really. Dean knew that this woman playing house was doing exactly that: pretending. This wasn't an actual scene from a happier past. This was Mom brought back to life in the present, hiding away in her own memories. Dean was sure that she did notice him. She just disregarded him.

And that stung.

He'd longed for his mother to be there for so long. And even though things were complicated with her, and she wasn't what he'd pictured for pretty much forever, he couldn't lose her now. He couldn't just give up. He would always fight for family. And right now, part of his family – his mother – needed him. She was trapped inside her own mind, losing her grip on reality.

Being ignored by his own mother was painful. But no matter how much it hurt, Dean had to jolt her out of this dream sequence. He had to remind her of her family, of the world out there, so they could get past this.

Dean took a tentative step forward, still staying close to the door. The woman before him still didn't spare him a glance, seemingly too busy with chores.

Gears were grinding in his head, weighing options and words. Dean hadn't exactly made a plan of what to say. But now that he was painfully aware of the complete neglect by his mother, he knew he had to go with his heart. And his heart galloped in his chest, silently screaming, raising long-buried memories.

This was it. Memories. Getting Mary back to reality required giving her a taste of the unadorned, bitter truth.

„You lied to me," he suddenly heard himself say. He kept his voice flat but internally Dean was already shaking. He was well aware that he was about to go down a dark road – there was no way around it.

"I was a kid," Dean continued, hands balling to fists to prevent them from trembling. He was trying hard to not let it show, but anger was welling in his gut. He stared at his mother, tensed.

"You promised you'd keep me safe."

That's all I ever wanted, his raging mind supplied. Safety, peace, a happy family. Dean Winchester had never asked for much, had given much more in life than he'd taken. But simply having a mother, a father, a parent to be there for him, that was what he'd needed the most his whole life. And he'd been denied that wish almost all his life.

All those years ago, his mother had broken her promise. In consequence, Dean's concept of safety had fractured. And that had broken something inside Dean. He felt a mix of sorrow and frustration burn in his chest, but he tried to keep his face straight.

"And then you make a deal with Azazel," he spat out, anger suddenly surfacing after all. He tried hard to hold his fire and not come any closer to her.

On the day Mary Winchester made a deal with the yellow-eyed demon, she had doomed her whole family – determining the tragic course of her unborn children's lives. Dean thought back to one of his time-travel adventures, seeing for himself how his mother had sealed the deal with Azazel with a kiss. Dean briefly shut his eyes against the grotesque memory. Containing his seeping rage was getting even harder.

Focus!

He pried his lids open, his gaze instantly fixating on the person he was speaking to. He folded his arms across his chest, staring intently at his disinterested mother.

Nonetheless, Dean's voice didn't waver when he continued. Not yet.

"Yeah, it saved Dad's life," he admitted.

He'd witnessed the resurrection of John Winchester. He had come back to life because of Mary's demon deal. And Dean was fully aware that his mother had had good intentions, he really did. But he also knew that this decision, saving John, had started a whole lot of bad.

Dean took a deep breath, gaze following his mother acting the innocent – serving fresh pie to his four-year-old counterpart, a sweet smile on her face. Dean only barely resisted the urge to scoff at the absurdity of it all. Instead, he recollected himself for his next words.

"But I'll tell you something else that happened. Because on November 2nd, 1983, old Yellow Eyes came waltzing into Sammy's room because of your deal."

Dean briefly closed his eyes again, jaw clenching against the memory of the day that had changed his life – his family's lives – forever. It was the day his mother had gone up in flames. Azazel had come to collect Mary's debt, cursing Sammy with his demon blood. It had happened thirty-three years ago, but Dean could still smell charred wood and burning flesh, thick smoke filling his nostrils. His stomach churned, acid threatening to rise in his throat. Dean swallowed and blinked his eyes open just in time to see his mother walking past him.

Mary put down a ridiculous dotted oven cloth, smirking at kid Dean who was busy enjoying his pie. She was still ignoring adult Dean's presence as if she hadn't heard a single word. She then left the kitchen and silently headed for the crib in the next room.

Huh? No, this was—

Dean turned around and gave the living room a quick sweep, his brain trying to work out what was so odd about it. Wallpaper, photos, cabinets, rug, recliner…? No, something else was… wrong here. Then it suddenly clicked. This wasn't the room Dean remembered Sam's crib to be in. Dean was pretty sure that his little brother had never had a wooden crib like this one in the living room, but only in his nursery on the second floor.

The nursery that had gone up in smoke.

The nursery in which Mom had been pinned to the ceiling.

The nursery that would forever be remembered as Mary Winchester's crematory.

Dean's heart sank. He swallowed thickly. It made sense that Mary was altering her own recollections, eschewing her death place and all the agony from the past. She was running from her own mind, her own painful memories, everything that could hurt her.

Dean almost felt sympathy for her. But not quite. She couldn't run anymore – he wouldn't let her.

He pushed back from the doorframe and followed his mother to Sam's crib, still quietly raging about her not batting an eye. For God's sake, Dean was spilling his guts to his mother, finally coming clean about all the crap that had been building up inside his mind for thirty-frigging-three years. And she said nothing, she not even so much as looked at him.

Dean was getting angry in his desperation to get through to her.

He came to a halt right next to the crib, taking a moment to watch his baby brother Sammy. The tiny bundle – wow, it was hard to believe his giant brother had once been this small – was giggling with joy, his little hands grabbing for his mother. Mary smiled and bent down to lightly pat his chubby cheek.

Aw, Sammy.

It took a lot of effort for Dean to pry his eyes off the peaceful scene. He'd always wished for Sam to have a mother caring for him. Sam had had one for six short months, and he didn't remember any of it. Even worse than Dean, Sam had grown up a half-orphan, completely deprived of any kind of motherly love.

Now the image of Mary caressing his little brother's rosy cheeks just made Dean feel sick. He didn't feel warm and fuzzy watching his mother with baby Sam – this wasn't real, hadn't been for a long time. He only felt resentment.

"You left us. Alone," he told her. Every word came out clipped and strained. He focused his piercing gaze at her unfazed eyes again.

Still no reaction.

Come on!

Dean was getting evermore frustrated. His mother's total lack of acknowledgement only added to the already simmering anguish in his chest from his own painful words. His rough upbringing hadn't exactly taught him expressing emotions with actual words – so, admitting he felt abandoned by his mother was especially hard for him.

But he needed to reach her. He needed his mother to know. She needed to know the damage she'd caused. So, even though it wasn't easy – when were things ever easy? – Dean gritted his teeth, forcing himself to continue speaking.

"Because Dad was just a shell. His perfect wife – gone. Our perfect mom, the perfect family—"

He felt his throat close up, muting him for a moment.

Dean breathed slowly, then uncurled his hands, spreading both his arms wide before they fell to his sides again, limp. The motion was a poor imitation of the world. Because that was what had happened when his mother died – Dean's whole world had imploded, shattered beyond repair. His family had never been the same afterwards.

He felt his stomach drop, the memories of the aftermath of his mother's death almost choking him.

John Winchester, once loving and warmhearted and the opposite of the kind of men Mary had known from her hunting days, had turned cold in his rage and grief for his wife. He'd never been able to get over her death, he'd never gone back to being just a father. Until the day he died, he'd been merely a soldier seeking revenge. He'd become a hunter, and along with him, his kids had been forced to be hunters, too.

For a long time, Dean hadn't challenged his father's path. He'd gone along because family was everything to him. Only after Dad's death he'd started to see things for what they were. That Dad had loved them in his own way – but even though he had been alive and present in their lives, he'd mostly left Sam and Dean to their own devices.

Dean clenched his jaw again. He became woefully aware that both John and Mary Winchester had forwarded their responsibilities as parents to their children.

"– It was gone. And I—" Dean summed up, his voice quavering by now.

He felt stifling heat bursting from his chest, his heart twisting. His whole family had been gone, lost to death and destruction. He was vibrating with anger, fury, desperation – a thousand emotions battling each other inside his mind, preparing him for an inevitable confession.

There was a beat of silence, Mary still not acknowledging Dean. His cutting eyes fixed on her long, blonde curls.

Then, the next words spilled out of him like he had bottled them up an awfully long time – which, truth be told, he really had – now rushing out of him all at once.

"I had to be… more than just a brother."

So much more.

"I had to be a father."

He paused, briefly.

"And I had to be a mother."

There it was, he'd said it. He had to be a mother because Mary wasn't.

"To keep him safe."

Along with the last sentence, he pointed at baby Sam in the crib, emphasizing every word with such an intensity that he could almost feel them like burning hot blades piercing through his heart. Dean's words echoed in the cold emptiness of the room for another second.

He'd shelved these thoughts away for years but had never said the words aloud. Doing so now didn't give him any relief though. Instead, the weight of the words almost seemed to crush him. Dean's legs didn't seem to work properly anymore, feeling stiff and wobbly at the same time. He locked his knees, staring at an indifferent Mary Winchester while replaying his own words in his head.

Brother... father... mother.

Those few words were pretty much Dean Winchester in a nutshell. Still, they barely scratched the surface of the tragedy that was the Winchesters' lives – Dean's life. From the tender age of four he had known his role. From that fateful day forward, he had stopped being a child and had become a surrogate parent. He had told Mary so a few months back during a fight, but she wouldn't listen.

"Dean, don't be a child," she'd said. "I never was," had come Dean's dead honest reply.

And that right there, this three-word-statement, should have been enough to tell Mary a lot about the kind of person her son was. But no, she hadn't even reacted to the confession. To Dean, it had been yet another reminder of how much of her kids' lives Mary had missed.

Dean Winchester, at the time of her death a little squirt himself, had been forced to be a parent to his kid brother because their real parents had bailed on them.

He'd been the one to read him stories. He'd been the one who had taught him how to tie his shoes. He'd been the one to take care of a sick or hurt Sammy. Dean had always been there for Sam. Always. There had never been apple pie or lullabies, not in their lives full of fighting and fear. But Dean had done just about anything to not let his kid go short. Dean had raised his little brother to be the brave, good man he was today. And hell yes, he felt pride at how great a person Sam had turned out to be. All that despite Dean's own struggles – because he himself had never had anyone who cared for him like a parent.

And yeah, all the responsibility, for Sam, for himself, had too often been a load. A heavy weight on too narrow shoulders. But this had never ever diminished Dean's love for his little brother – to the contrary.

The brothers had been each other's family their whole lives. Having Sam was a gift. It was the greatest thing in Dean's life. He felt infinite brotherly love for this kid, so much that he would always put him first. His kid brother Sammy was everything. He gave him purpose, direction, love. Sam made Dean feel needed, like he belonged. And even if it was mostly Dean being protective of Sam, his younger sibling was, more than he knew, taking care of Dean, too. Just by being.

His little brother's love was far more than Dean felt he deserved, and he wouldn't trade his geeky, brooding Sammy for anything in the whole world. Seeing his brother smile made up for a lot of crap, almost anything – but still, even the strong bond he shared with the most important person in his life couldn't replace having real parents.

Sam and Dean probably had this unique connection because they had never had parents. In a way, they most likely wouldn't even be this close if it wasn't for all the pain and grief they'd had to get through together.

It was a realization that had Dean swallowing against a thick lump in his throat. He was shaking, inside and outside.

Mary just blinked, distressed, seemingly focusing hard on flashing baby Sam a frozen smile – all to avoid the bloody, hurting reality in the shape of her adult son. She still didn't look at Dean.

"And that wasn't fair," Dean finally said, admitting to the heavy burden he had taken by replacing a father and a mother. He had sacrificed his own childhood, his life, everything. And that was just too much for one person, let alone a kid.

Yes, he would do it all again for Sam.

But it freaking hurt.

"And I couldn't do it. And you wanna know what that was like?"

Every syllable was pained, loaded with emotions he wanted to push down so badly. But he couldn't, not anymore. All the pain and suffering from thirty-three years of loss and grief rolled through him like a tsunami. By now unshed tears clouded the scenery. Now Dean was the one walking past his mother, pushing past her to the other side of the crib. He straightened his back, almost as if rearing up to fill her vision. Mary still avoided his piercing gaze.

"They killed the girl that he loved," Dean then explained, his voice trembling.

Breathe.

"He got possessed by Lucifer."

Breathe.

"They tortured him in Hell."

Breathe.

"And he lost his soul. His soul!"

His breath stuttered, anger and pain almost suffocating him. Wetness blurred his vision and he blinked, his whole body aching from the emotions rushing through his mind. Mary was still turned away from him, but he could sense her small frame shaking. What he couldn't see was her torn expression.

Dean had listed only a handful of all the tragedies his little brother had had to go through, particularly furious at the last one. Sammy had lost his freaking soul. And a whole lot of other crap had followed that. Dean hadn't been able to protect him. He'd been unable to be brother, father, and mother all at once. He'd failed his kid brother – and that hurt, it hurt so damn bad.

Dean gulped back another wave of emotions.

He didn't tell his mother about any of what he himself had gone through. Raising a little brother all alone, fighting monsters, giving his life to save Sam's…

He'd carried the weight of being a big brother for so long, he didn't even care anymore. In his mind, there was just Sam and his suffering. He himself had been tortured, he'd been to Hell, he'd spent a year in Purgatory, but none of that had destroyed him because he could handle his own suffering. However, what he couldn't handle was his little brother in pain. It was Sam's pain that hurt Dean the most. His sibling's – his soulmate's, really – suffering was what crushed Dean's heart. Sam's pain was Dean's pain. Simple as that.

And all this time, despite his loving kid brother telling him otherwise over and over again, he'd been truly convinced that he was failing his brother. That whatever bad happened to Sam, it was Dean's fault. He had blamed himself all his life, heavy guilt being his constant companion – because despite his best efforts, he'd not been able to save Sam from all evil.

Should have looked out for him more.

But bearing all that blame, that wasn't right, had never been. Because all those years ago, Dean had been a kid himself. He'd never asked to be a parent. He'd never wanted this burden. And he'd done his best, in defiance of the hand he'd been dealt. No, Dean might not have been able to protect Sam from everything, but that wasn't his fault. At least he had tried, was still trying – he was the only one who ever did because this, being Sammy's protector, had become his freaking job thirty-three years ago.

And then it clicked in his head.

Mom – Mary – had started all this. Mary had set all those wheels in motion. Mary Winchester's selfish choice of making a demon deal had caused ripples and eventually massive waves of agony. She had caused her own son so much pain, both her sons. All the pain, all the loss, all the grief, it all came down to her. Sam, Dean… even Dad's demise was on her, Dean figured.

Mary Winchester had hurt everyone Dean loved.

He felt the blood drain from his face, rushing into his chest. At this moment, Dean braced his feet against all the guilt that had clouded his mind all these years. Because Dean wasn't the culprit, not really.

Mary was.

"All because of you."

A beat of silence.

"All of it was because of you."

He couldn't breathe. This was just too much. The overwhelming pain of saying these words aloud to his mother needed to go somewhere. A single tear slipped from Dean's eye, and he slowly shook his head in frustration.

This woman, Mary, she was the reason Sam had suffered so much in his life. It was her fault he had never gotten to marry the girl of his dreams, had kids and a house, become a lawyer – all of it had been ripped from him because of her. Sam's chance of a normal, happy life had been perished because of her, gone up in flames long before he was born. And along with Sam's dreams, Dean's shot at normal had died, too.

Dean shuddered, his expression twisted and pained. His heart was hammering against his ribs, echoing loudly in his head. Except for a slight tremble in his hands, he stood motionless, starkly contrasting the hurricane clashing in his eyes.

Mary should have been a mother to Sam, should have protected him. She should have been there for her children. She should have loved them. She should have – God dammit! Dean was furious. Yes, Mary should have done a lot of things. But instead, she had caused Sam, and therefore also Dean, nothing but pain.

The weight of this realization seemed to crush Dean anew, his chest tightening, his eyes burning.

He sucked in a shaky breath, gathering all his courage for the next three words, which were preying on his mind, already forming on his tongue. It took everything to force them from his lips, but he needed to get them out.

"I hate you," Dean finally whispered.

A heartbeat of heavy silence.

"I hate you!"

His voice cracked, warm tears finally trickling down his face. But he didn't care. He didn't even try to blink the dampness away. Dean was welling with disappointment and anger, mourning a parent who had never been there for him and Sam when they had needed her the most. He became painfully aware of the deep rift between his mother and her family.

I hate you.

Those were the three words which had just rolled off his tongue whereas a million others were still stuck in his throat. If Mary just looked at her son, she would see the devastation in his eyes, the countless contradicting emotions colliding in them.

Yes, Dean did feel hatred towards his mother for what she had done to her family, to Sam – and confessing that hurt massively, like a punch to the gut. But that wasn't the only thing he felt. Something thick and deep crawled its way through his mind – another emotion slowly spreading through his body and worming to his heart.

Then it hit him like a brick.

He realized that his mother wasn't the idealized version of a parent he'd cherished all his life. She wasn't perfect. Had never been. No one was. Not Dean, not Sam, not Dad. And Mom wasn't either.

She hadn't known about the damage she would cause her family by saving the life of her beloved John all those years ago. And she hadn't wanted any of the tragedies following her death to happen either, Dean conceded. Mary had acted out of love, laying the foundation for her family's way of taking care of each other. There wasn't anything more winchesteresque – geeky Sammy would be proud of Dean for using that one – than sacrificing yourself for the ones you love.

And what was the ultimate excuse for screwing up if not love? Dean silently huffed to himself. He was no stranger to that formula.

As devastated as Dean felt, he still hadn't given up on family. He never would.

Family was everything.

And Mary was family.

Yeah, Dean had been forced to be many things – a father and a mother – when he should have been allowed to be just a brother and a kid. But he was something else, too: a son.

Dean's chest blossomed. Finally, he could put his finger on the nagging feeling that had wormed its way through his heart. At that, something loosened in him. Dean took a deep breath and then broke the deafening silence along with the unbearable tension in the room.

"And I love you."

He shook his head, breath hitching, voice trembling.

He'd said it.

I love you.

Within minutes he'd told his mother that he hated her and that he loved her. Hatred and love seemed to be two opposites and yet Dean felt that they weren't mutually exclusive. Admitting to feeling both towards Mary Winchester was just the truth. So, confessing this, he didn't feel light or free or relieved.

He just felt… whole. Like a puzzle piece that he'd been missing for so long clicking into place at last.

His family was complete. His not-so-perfect, hurting-each-other, sacrificing family. It spoiled nothing to say that families weren't always fluffy and kind and cuddly. Even, or especially, the oh-so-bonded brothers bickered and squabbled almost on a daily basis. Sometimes Dean wanted to bite off his annoying little brother's head. Still, he loved that kid all the same. That was family.

Being family was supposed to hurt.

At that, a brief memory of Bobby saying something similar years back flashed in Dean's mind. Man, he missed him – his gruffness, his kindness, and his wisdom. And that's when his heart finally thawed.

"Cause I can't – I can't help it. You're my mom…" he shakily inhaled.

Mary didn't look at her oldest son pouring out his heart, but Dean could sense her discomfort, her sadness. After everything he'd said, she was probably expecting Dean to despise her, he thought. And he did, kind of. But he also loved her. Now, apparently, his confession of love was too much to bear for Mary. Hell, it was too much to bear for himself. But that didn't stop him. Dean was so close to getting through to his mother, he could feel it.

"And I understand. 'Cause I have made deals to save the ones I love. More than once…" he admitted, breaking his gaze away from his mother. His eyes searched the room, taking in old-fashioned furniture, faded wallpaper and framed photos of a happy family.

Then Dean looked down at his baby brother in the crib again. And he let his mind take him to some of his darkest memories.

Among a ton of cosmic-level choices Dean had made for Sam, and Sam had made for Dean, was one that wasn't any different from Mary's.

Dean Winchester had followed his parents' footsteps in sacrificing himself for his loved ones. He'd given his life, his soul, to bring back the one person he loved most. Sam. A lifetime ago, his brother had died in Cold Oak for the very first time (which probably was an odd thing to say for anyone else, oh well, the Winchesters weren't anyone). Sam had been lost to this world. Murdered. Dead. And the memory of Sam's lifeless body sagged against his own still made Dean shiver.

So, Dean had done what Mary had done in 1973 for John. He'd done what John had done in 2006 for Dean.

He had brought back Sam from the cold grip of death. He'd made a deal, fully convinced of his good intentions, just like Mary.

And as punishment Dean had died a year later, his soul getting dragged to Hell. And he'd been fine with it because he had saved his little brother. That deal had brought back Sam, yes – but at what cost? His little brother had suffered so bad when it was Dean's turn to die. Dean had left Sam behind, grieving, mourning, all alone – just because of his selfish choice. Just because Dean loved his little brother too much to let him go, he had sentenced Sam to suffer the horrible pain of outliving his sibling. Dean had done to Sam exactly what he himself couldn't handle.

Dean had caused Sam infinite pain.

And to this day, it was hard for Dean to forgive himself entirely for what he'd done. Yes, Dean was especially hard on himself. And maybe he'd never given himself true absolution for all his failures. But Sam had. A long, long time ago, his little brother had forgiven Dean for the pain he'd caused. And then Sam himself had inflicted pain on his big brother because he'd thought he was doing the right thing. And Dean had forgiven him, too.

That's what family was about. It wasn't about being perfect but about loving someone despite their flaws – loving someone because of their flaws. In fact, love was simultaneously the greatest weakness and the greatest strength of the Winchester family. Love was what always lead them astray, forcing them to sacrifice everything – and it was the only thing that could bring them back together again. Family was love. And love was about being willing to repair and to heal when something was broken.

Good-hearted, kind Sammy had proven as much to his sibling many times. He believed in love much more than in hatred – he loved Dean so deeply, no matter the pain their love sometimes carried with it. And Dean believed in his little brother. Sam was his anchor and his compass. So, if Sam could forgive, the one person who had suffered at so many hands and on so many levels, then he just had to do the same.

"I forgive you," Dean finally offered, eyes closing in peace, a brief smile playing at his lips. Then he looked up, facing his mother. He was trying to compose himself, anxiously waiting for her to finally look at him.

"I forgive you. For all of it. Everything."

Dean's voice wavered, but his body remained completely still. His heart was pounding in his chest, pumping his veins full of newly found strength. These words, granting forgiveness, finally lifted some of the pain from his heavy heart.

Dean was at peace.

He could practically sense the metaphorical rift between his mother and him heal just a little. It would take some time to be repaired fully, but right this moment something like warmth and light already washed over him, giving him hope that they could come back from this. They would, he knew it.

"On the other side of this, we can start over, ok? You, me, Sam. We can get it right this time."

And he meant it. Clean slate and all that. What had happened in the past couldn't be changed. There was only the present and the future. Dean wanted a future with his family. He wanted a mother, for himself, for Sam – even if she wasn't perfect. Even if their family wasn't perfect.

He leaned forward, his slightly shaking hand gripping the edge of the crib.

"But I need you to fight, right now, I need you to fight, I need—" Deep breath. "I need you to look at me. I need you to really look at me and see me," Dean pleaded. He rarely ever did that, but right now all his love, all his desperation bled into his voice. He wanted a fresh start with his mom, his family, and he needed her to acknowledge him.

"Mom, I need you to see me. Please."

Come back into reality with me.

Dean waited, refusing to give up on family. No frigging way was he ever going to quit. He stared at his mother's back turned to him. There was a split second of tension, the air seemingly stretched to breaking point.

Suddenly, he saw her move, and his heart fluttered, hope and light in his eyes. Mary finally turned around. She locked gazes with her son, looking up at him, moved to tears. Her eyes gleamed brightly, fixing on Dean in recognition.

"Dean?"

And that was the moment Dean Winchester finally made peace with his mother. He offered absolution, and she accepted it with one look.

"Mom."

The end.

AN: Thanks for reading. This is hands-down one of my favorite scenes of the entire series. The way Dean is conveying all these emotions… it always gets me. So, I hope I didn't ruin this. Please let me know what you think.