The next morning, Chrys was scanning the newspaper for cases with a cup of coffee in her hand. The boys were eating breakfast at the table with her, each making appreciative noises. You'd think they'd never had waffles before.

A shrill ringing floated through the air, but it wasn't her cell phone, so Chrys ignored it and took a sip of coffee.

"Someone gonna answer that?" Dean asked testily around a mouthful of food.

Bobby shrugged. "Ain't one of mine."

Sam looked at her. "Chrys, is it your second phone?"

She looked up at him for a moment, then lunged out of her chair and ran to rummage through her bag, on the floor where she'd left it the night before. The ringing stopped, and she muttered "Fuck!" before finding the little silver phone. She opened it, hit the dial back button, and waited.

"Green Lake Psychiatric Hospital, this is Kelly, how may I help you?"

"Kelly, it's Chrys Summers. I just missed your call."

There was a beat of silence. "Let me go get Dr. Cook, Ms. Summers."

The formality, from a woman that Chrys had known for several years and has even gotten Christmas cards from, sent chills up and down Chrys's body. She waited anxiously, chewing on her lip.

Warmth behind her had her leaning back into Sam's chest, relying on his strength. He wrapped his big arms around her and let his chin rest gently against her temple, offering much needed comfort.

"Chrys?"

"Dr. Cook, yeah, sorry I missed you. What's going on?"

"Chrys… It's Grace."

Ice formed in Chrys's heart. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

"You need to come as soon as possible."


Sam borrowed one of Bobby's old, beat up cars, and they were on the road less than twenty minutes after Chrys received the call.

She was in the passenger seat, looking out the window, arms wrapped around herself. Sam wanted to help, he just didn't know how. He had lost a parent, of course, both of them, but Chrys's situation was different. Just like all of Chrys's situations were different.

She had been closed off and quiet since they'd left, and it was worrying him. Chrys wasn't great with emotions in the best case scenario, and the way she'd shut down while she was on the call had made him even more concerned.

Should I say something? What the hell would I even say? Will she get mad? Well, one of two things will happen. She'll be grateful, which is less likely, or she'll crush my trachea like an egg and leave me dead on the side of the road.

"Sam, it's okay," she said softly.

"Is… Is there anything I can do to help?"

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "I don't think so. I mean, I don't think there's anything anyone can do. Doc just told me that I need to get there as fast as I can."

Without thinking about it, Sam corrected her. "We."

She frowned and finally looked at him. "We? Huh?"

He glanced at her, then back at the road. He was nervous all of the sudden, and halfway wished he hadn't said anything. He shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. "We need to get there as fast as we can."

She blinked. "Um…"

He smiled a little. She's dense sometimes. "Chrys, when I was standing outside that building in Detroit, getting ready to go in and meet Lucifer, you said, 'we're in this together.'" He looked over at her. "It goes both ways, and not just for the supernatural stuff, Chrys." He reached over and took her hand. "We're in this together, okay?"

Her blue eyes were dry when she looked at him, but there was a storm in them that let him know she wasn't unaffected. "Okay, Sammy," she said softly, threading her fingers through his slowly. "We're… In this together."

"And we'll get through it."

She nodded and swallowed hard. "And… We'll get through it."


"I can't do this."

Chrys gripped Sam's hand hard, and she knew she was breathing too fast and her eyes were too wide as she stared at the psychiatric hospital, but she couldn't seem to help it. Fear was making her heart beat loudly and her limbs unwilling to move, other than to squeeze Sam's hand.

His thumb was running along her skin in a gesture that was probably supposed to be comforting, but wasn't nearly enough. "Yes, you can," he said gently.

She shook her head. "No, I can't. Sam, what… What am I supposed to say?"

My mother is dying. It was something Chrys had known was coming. It would even be a blessing for her poor mother, who deserved some rest, who deserved heaven after everything she'd been through. The peace she'd find in death was a good thing.

However, though the woman hadn't been in her right mind for almost five years now, the thought of her dying scared the shit out of Chrys. I won't have my mother anymore. I'll be an orphan.

Sam squeezed her hand, and she looked at him, wrestling with the panic rising in her chest. "Chrys, you can do this," he insisted. "I'll be right there, or I can wait outside, wherever you need me. But you're strong, you've got this."

His words calmed her enough that she could force her breathing to even out, and she felt herself nodding. "With me," she whispered. "I want you with me."

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Whatever you need, beautiful."


She stalled again outside of her mother's room.

A sympathetic nurse, not Kelly, had led them here, and Chrys's brain had turned off again. She was just staring at the little plaque with her mother's name on it, unable to move forward, unwilling to just run away.

Sam's huge hand on her arm gently turned her to face him. She eagerly let herself get a little lost in his hazel eyes. She didn't really have to think about anything if she was gazing into Sam's eyes.

He cupped her face. "Chrys, we have to go in there eventually."

She felt her heart start to beat faster as panic thrummed through her veins. "What am I supposed to say?" she whispered desperately. "She's not even in there, not really. But I feel like… I mean, I should say something, right? I don't-"

He pulled her into his arms, and she cuddled into his warm, firm chest. She felt his lips on her hair, and her heart fluttered despite the situation.

"You just go in there and tell her what you need her to know. Even if she doesn't… Acknowledge you, she'll hear you. She's in there somewhere, and she'll hear you, beautiful."

She smiled a little against him. "That's some corny ass shit, Sam."

She felt him shake his head. "Not really. I just honestly can't imagine being so far gone that I wouldn't hear you."

The words were so honest, with sincerity soaking every syllable, that she couldn't think of a snarky comeback. So she just breathed him in for a while, letting his scent fill her head and relax her. He held her patiently, never pushing her one way or another, letting her process.

"Okay," she said finally. "Let's go."


Grace was in a hospital bed, her frail limbs dwarfed by the blanket covering them, and by the tubes and monitors hooked up to her. She was pale, but some kind soul had taken the time to brush and braid her thick hair, so she just looked like she was sleeping, not like she was dead.

Chrys sat in the chair next to the bed and leaned forward to take Grace's cold hand. "Hi, Mama," she said gently, trying to rub warmth into her mother.

Grace's eyes fluttered open, and Chrys's heart thumped in her chest for a moment. Maybe…

But her mother's eyes stayed focused on the ceiling, empty and startlingly blue, and Chrys knew that most of her mother was already gone. It had been for a long, long time.

"Mama, I'm…" Her words dried up, and she was suddenly petrified that she wouldn't be able to say anything at this, the last moment she'd have the chance to. Oh, God.

Sam's hands landed gently on her shoulders, and Chrys was suddenly overflowing with words.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears finally gathering in her eyes. "I'm so sorry for what they did to you. You didn't deserve it, and neither did Daddy, and I'm so sorry."

She took in a deep, shuddering breath. "And I forgive you. I'm sorry I haven't told you that before, but I forgive you. For the mental wards, the tests, the hospitals, I forgive you for all of it. You had no idea, you did what any parent would do in that situation. And… I guess I understand why you never believed me, because who would? So, for all of it, I forgive you. And I love you."

She stood, smoothed her mother's long bangs from her forehead, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I love you, and it's okay. Go find Daddy, go be happy, Mama."

Chrys straightened up and reached back to take Sam's hand as the monitors started to go crazy.


Grace Summers died that day, a few minutes after her daughter said goodbye. There was no faint hand squeeze of acknowledgement. Her mother's eyes didn't suddenly clear. Grace didn't wake up and apologize, or tell Chrys she loved her, or say anything at all. She simply died, and Chrys had to hope she'd heard some of what Chrys had said.

"I don't want to do this."

"I know, Chrys, but who else is going to?"

Chrys sighed and rubbed her forehead hard to stave off the headache starting there. "Literally anyone else?"

Sam pressed a kiss to her temple and she leaned into his warmth. "She couldn't have had that much, beautiful. It shouldn't take very long."

She turned and pressed her face into his neck. "I don't want to stay the night in this fucking town," she whispered.

His arm came around her and he held her close. "Deal. We can do this, then we'll hit the road."

The hospital had requested that Chrys go through Grace's meager belongings and tell them what to do with them. Chrys had been tempted to tell them to donate everything sight unseen. Sam had protested, telling her there might be something important in there.

Now they were standing in one of the free rooms in the hospital, and Chrys couldn't help staring at the box with her mother's things in it like it was full of snakes instead.

She heaved a sigh and stepped forward. She was irritated to see that her hand was shaking as she opened the box, but she didn't say anything about it. It wasn't like she could stop it, anyway.

"I'm nervous," she said with a soft laugh. "How stupid is that?"

He was standing behind her, his hands on her hips. "It's not," he said softly. "I get it, I'd be scared, too."

Taking in a deep inhale, she leaned forward to look into the box.

The first thing she found was her mother's shawl. It was thick and silky, covered in a bright floral pattern. It immediately brought tears to Chrys's eyes, remembering her mother dancing, or lecturing, or reassuring her with that same shawl wrapped around her shoulders. "This is older than I am." She folded it carefully and put it next to the box, silently dubbing it the "keep" pile, though she hadn't expected to need one of those.

There were some books of Grace's, several about women's rights, and one trashy romance novel that Chrys was certain her mother would have rather burned than have found. There were some miscellaneous clothes, some identification and paperwork that was mostly outdated, and some postcards at the bottom of the box.

Chrys smiled through her tears as she read through them, holding them so Sam could read over her shoulder. They were from her father to her mother, from when he'd been away for work, or when he'd been travelling in college. They were sweet, and goofy, and they personified David Summers.

"He was… A huge nerd," she said softly. "He was completely, wildly in love with her, and with me, and he never had a problem showing it. He was so… Open. She was never like that, she was harder." She laughed a little. "Probably where I get it from."

He squeezed her lightly and she leaned back into him, again relying on his strength. She flipped to what she thought would be the last postcard, and felt the blood drain from her face when it was a picture, instead.

It showed Grace, smiling just a little, her arm around Chrys's waist. Chrys was laughing, and she appeared carefree, but she could see the hospital bracelet on her teenage self's wrist, almost obscured by her sweater. Her father was doing some sort of ridiculous dance, trying to get them to smile.

Chrys had no idea who had taken the picture, or why her mother had kept it when Grace was so clearly irritated in the image. But the sight of them, being a family for just a moment, completely broke down the rest of Chrys's carefully constructed walls. Her chest heaved, and she covered her mouth with her hand, not taking her eyes off of the photo. Sam's arms came around her waist, and his mouth was at her temple again, murmuring soothing nonsense and kissing the spot gently.

They stayed like that for a long time.


Chrys kept the postcards, the photo, and her mother's shawl. She made very basic arrangements for the body, paid for them, and left without looking back. It was almost midnight when they finally left.

"We can go get a motel room," she said softly. "It's too late to drive back."

To her surprise, Sam shook his head resolutely. "We can go back, there's no way we're staying here tonight." He smiled. "I'm all right to drive, let's go home."

She just stared at him for a moment, then let a smile cross her lips. "Whatever you say, softie."


Sam ran his fingers through Chrys's hair as she slept. Her face was pressed to his lower belly, her head resting on his thigh, and her hair was spread out across his leg and knee. She was truly beautiful, swollen eyes and exhausted face included.

He was incredibly proud of her. The situation she'd faced that day was difficult for anyone, and especially difficult for her. But instead of running away from it, she'd tackled it head on, even if he did have to encourage her a little at a couple of points. He wasn't sure the woman he'd met two years ago would have been able to do that, but maybe he was underestimating her. Sam felt like he was consistently underestimating how strong, smart, or resilient Chrys was.

But for now, three hours into their six hour drive, he just ran his fingers through her hair and loved her.


**Feedback gives me the warm fuzzies and keeps me going.