Mother Courage
K Hanna Korossy
Sam had looked for Dean first in his brother's room, but he should've known better. That was too close to the room their resurrected mother was staying in, and too far from the alcohol. Sam headed to the kitchen.
He didn't see him for a second. Then Sam noticed the open bottle of beer sitting on the kitchen island. A few seconds later, a hand snaked up and grabbed it.
Smiling briefly, Sam detoured to the fridge for another beer—actually, make that two—then came over and slid down next to Dean on the floor, legs pulled up to his chest. It was a relief to be able to do that without the pain that had had its hooks in him the last few days.
Dean hadn't looked over, but he hadn't tensed up at having company. Sam guessed his brother knew it was him the moment Sam turned into the hallway outside the kitchen, even if they were now three people living there.
Three. Sam was still wrapping his head around their houseguest.
Dean hadn't hidden what he was doing, either, and Sam peeked over his shoulder at the pictures he was flipping through. Mom with them when Sam was a baby. Mom and little Dean. Mom and Dad. Of course. Dean actually had memories of her; having her back had to be even more disconcerting for him. Sam tried to think of something to say, but he was pretty sure no one on Earth had ever had advice for something like this.
"Sorry," Dean said instead.
Sam blinked. "Okay. For what?"
One shoulder lifted. "I was so wrapped up in Mom being back, I should've gotten to you sooner. Should've stayed in Missouri with Cas and kept looking." He tilted his beer back, made a face at discovering it was empty.
Sam handed him the other one, and twisted the cap off his own. "It's okay. Weird times, man." He took a sip of his own bottle.
Dean turned his head a little toward Sam. "And then when I saw you, what she'd done to you…" His eyes slipped briefly to Sam's, then he shook his head. "It was like…I don't know, like I wasn't really there. I should've been freaked out, but—"
"It was a spell," Sam cut in.
Dean finally really looked at him, a deep crease between his eyes. "What?"
"A spell. I could tell right away." Off Dean's baffled look, he continued, "How'd she get the drop on you? Lockdown spell? Transport spell? Some other kind of supernatural booby trap?"
"Beamed me in."
Sam nodded. "Right, yeah. And then you were off-balance, so that's how she got the chains and stuff on you, right?"
"I…guess—Some kind of confusion spell? Seriously?"
Sam's mouth twitched. "Tiny British woman in pearls and a pantsuit gets the drop on Dean Winchester? Yeah, I'm pretty sure." It hadn't even occurred to him to be bothered that Dean didn't look upset at Sam's state. Sam himself had been too busy being amazed, relieved, wary, thrilled that Dean was maybe still alive.
"Huh." Dean snorted. "She just shot you."
Sam grimaced; he remembered. He took another drink and tipped his head back against the cold metal of the kitchen island. "I thought maybe you were apologizing for the bomb." Dean looked at him, and Sam rolled his head to meet his eyes. "But I got it, you know? I knew you had to do it." He chuffed. "I still can't believe Chuck and Amara just…made up."
"Yeah, well. Family always makes you a little crazy."
So true. From the archangel brothers Michael v. Lucifer main event, to Eve and her "children," to Chuck and his twisted sister, sometimes it seemed like every fight they faced was about family. Including sometimes their own.
Sam drank, cleared his throat. "So. Mom."
Dean's lips twisted upward. "Yeah. Funny how Amara picked her. I mean, 'what I need the most'? Why not Dad? Or, hey, Bobby?"
Sam didn't bother pointing out that they were actually managing okay without a father figure in their lives. Or that, after Sam, Mary had always been Dean's weak spot. And Dean already had Sam. He just said, "When she first walked in, I thought it was another one of Lady Toni's tricks."
"She's no lady," Dean scoffed. Then he frowned and looked at Sam. "What kind of tricks?"
Sam sighed. "She used…I don't know, some of kind of drug, maybe with a spell attached? I saw…a lot of things that weren't there."
"Like what?"
"You. Jess. Mom. Everyone blaming me, telling me everything was my fault. You know, the usual."
Dean shook his head. "Well, at least they're predictable."
"And, I mean, it all kinda felt like a dream anyway. Since you left, really. In fact, Toni…" Sam's words died, his mouth dry.
Dean's scowl deepened. "Toni what?"
"She, uh…" Sam's gaze shied away from his brother. "She made me think we were…you know. In bed together. For the pillow talk."
"Crap. Sorry, man." That wasn't pity exactly in Dean's eyes, just an honest empathy. That line had been crossed so many times, in Hell, during possessions, that it was barely worth mentioning these days, but that sucked all the more.
Sam nodded and drank. The beer would give him a buzz, make sleep come easier, dreams fuzzier. Soon the past few days would be just another addition to the box full of horrors he kept tucked away inside. He stared at his newly healed foot—thank God for Cas—and took a long breath. "So. Mom?"
Dean turned his bottle round and round in his hand, eyes distant. "I dunno, man. I mean…don't get me wrong, it's awesome that she's here. But…she's not a lot older than we are. And the way she keeps looking at me… I don't even know what to say to her."
Sam nodded, not surprised by a single word of that. For him, he could be glad to get to know the woman, to finally have a Mom. For Dean, she had to be breaking down piece by piece the pedestal view he'd had of her, replacing the mom of his memory. Sam couldn't even begin to sort out how he felt, let alone how Dean did.
Dean pulled in a breath, shoulders coming up. "But, hey, it's gonna be fine. I mean, we got Mom back. That's all good, right? Right." He gave Sam a determined smile and drained the rest of his beer.
Sam managed a just-convincing smile back. Right, all good. He sipped his own drink and tried not to think about what he'd say tomorrow when he stumbled into the kitchen to find his mother waiting there.
Still feeling like this was all just part of a dream.
00000
In the kitchen doorway, Mary Winchester, empty tea cup in hand, silently turned away and retreated back to her room.
The End