Author's Note: I want to apologize that this last chapter has taken so long to get out – returning home required a lot more energy than I anticipated. This chapter picks up mid-conversation, so you may want to go back at least read the previoys chapter.
This is the first piece of fiction I've completed since about sixth grade (many, many moons ago) and I really want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed for their encouragement and support. I've loved writing for you!
Chapter Nine
It was not night outside, strangely and the sunshine and comfortable breeze mimicked that of Sam's earlier walk with his brother. After they'd gone a few blocks, Mary stopped someone who was coming out of a pottery shop and asked if there was a park nearby. Following the directions, they wandered away from Main Street, coming easily to an expansive green space.
It was golf-course clean, with a small lake in the center that had a myriad of ribbon-like tributaries running into it. Wrought iron benches, neatly trimmed trees and small immaculate flower beds gave the impression of furniture in a living space instead of a luscious garden... but it was a comforting place for those whose minds and hearts were in turmoil. It was a perfect place for Sam.
In unspoken unison, they chose a bench near the edge of the lake and sat, Sam leaning back and folding his arms over his chest and Mary pulling her knees up, her toes peeking out from the soft white of her nightgown as she settled in.
Bird songs fluttered in the air and there was a crisp laziness to the scene surrounding mother and son as they sat together, each lost in their own thoughts. Sam started as Mary spoke.
"How are things with your dad?"
"Like what kinds of things?" Sam asked, his voice tired and a little guarded.
"Between you and him, between him and Dean… in general…" she trailed off as Sam rolled his eyes and focused on the grass about three feet in front of him.
"You don't get reports?"
"I told you, I'm not around all the time, and other than general everyone's-okay-or-not-okay, not necessarily," she paused and forged ahead. "Sometimes I am watching and what I see, I have to admit to not being overly thrilled about."
"Well, 'Happy Little Winchesters' kind of went out the window when you went up in smoke," Sam snapped, and then glanced an apology at her.
Mary sighed. There was the anger again. It was justified rage, but it worried her. He didn't really have anyone to talk to and after all of the tragedy in his life, he needed to let some of it out. She wondered if he'd done much of that with Jessica, but thought it was unlikely.
"I know things aren't good right now –"
"Things have never been good with him, Mom, at least not that I can remember."
"He wasn't always like this, Sammy –"
"Save it, okay?"
"What?"
"I don't need to hear about how underneath it all he's really just a great guy who needs my undying devotion and deserves my respect no matter what he's done – I get enough of that trash-talk from Dean."
"Sam –"
He stood, running his hands through is long hair and pacing in front of her. Lowering his voice, he spoke with tight control. "I believe Dad loves us. I believe he's tried to keep us alive and safe. I understand that he was traumatized and heartbroken at losing you," he paused and turned to look at her briefly. "But he wasn't the only one."
"I know," she whispered.
"Our childhood could have been worse, I know that," he said, the frustration fading from his tone.
"And it could have been better."
Sam nodded and looked away, but not before Mary saw the glistening of his eyes.
He spoke almost penitently as he sat back down on the bench. "I know Dad loves us," he repeated. "I just hate what his crusade has done to our lives. It's like we lost you both."
"I'm so sorry, Sam," she said softly, reaching over and placing a hand on his knee. "I wish it had been different." Then she pulled her hand back, trying to give him space to breathe…space to speak.
"It's been hard for me… but easier in some ways than it has been for Dean. I mean, I had him and he made up for a Dad so much of the time. It wasn't until I started to realize how different our family was from other peoples' that I got angry… but Dean knew from the beginning how horrible things were. He had something to compare living on the road and eating nothing but mini-mart cuisine to…"
Sam's voice became barely audible as he leaned forward with his head in his hands. "Dean remembers you. He remembers having a home and being safe and happy."
"And he remembers your father."
Her son's head shot up at this and he turned to look at her. The wheels were turning in his mind and she could see that he hadn't considered this before.
"I will not excuse him, Sam," Mary said evenly. "John has been neglectful to the point of abuse and one day he will have to answer for that, to you and Dean… and to me." Tears welled up in her own eyes, but she didn't look away. "I will not excuse him," she said again. "But I love him… both for the man he once was and for the man he still has the potential to become. And even for parts of who he is right now, I guess. Pain does crazy things to people – and I don't say that as a cop-out, I say it because it is a valid reason that people end up doing stupid, hurtful things to each other."
Sam was quiet as he looked out over the placid lake. "Dean's never talked about Dad… what he remembers about Dad before the fire."
"Have you ever wondered?"
"Not really," Sam answered, hesitation in his voice. "I never thought of him as someone other than the person I saw. By the time I was old enough to have considered it, he scared me too much – made me too angry – for me to care." He looked at Mary, "He was a scary guy a lot of the time, Mom."
"Was?" Mary asked with a hint of humor.
"Okay, he's still a little scary."
"I'll go along with that."
"You get to watch him sometimes, too?"
"Yes." Her eyes got a far away look in them as flashes of the horrors she'd seen John deal with over the years filtered through her mind's eye.
"So what was he like," Sam asked in a hushed voice, interrupting his mother's reverie.
A soft smile found its way to Mary's lips and she thought for a minute or two before she spoke. "Patient. Gentle with you and Dean. A good listener. Generous…" she stopped as she saw the look on Sam's face. "Hard to believe?"
"Patient and gentle are not exactly words I equate with John Winchester."
"I know – but he was different. That's why I picked him out to be your dad," Mary grinned, "That and he was drop-dead gorgeous."
"Okay – let's not head that direction."
"What? It's true. He's still that handsome, actually, if you ask me."
"Um… I didn't," Sam said with a laugh.
"Right," said Mary, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "Where was I?"
"Generous."
"Yes. He'd give a stranger the shirt off his back, and he and Mike had more than one set-to about the 'free' work your dad did on the side for people who couldn't seem to catch a break," she paused as memories continued to flood back to her. "He always took one of those 'angel tags' from the Christmas tree they put up at the bank…the ones to donate presents for kids in foster care."
"A regular Mother Teresa."
"Well, not so much on the nun side of things…" she trailed off with a slight smirk as Sam grimaced. "Sorry. Moving on."
While she understood her son's discomfort in hearing that his parents had actually had a romance, she wanted him to know. Not every detail of course, but Sam's idea of loving relationships was a bit skewed… although he'd managed pretty well with Jess as a teacher from what Mary could tell.
John Winchester had been a passionate and considerate husband – one who remembered things like her favorite flower and that sometimes a woman preferred having the dishes done to being given a box of chocolates (but not always). She wished the love letters John had written her had survived the fire... but then she wished a lot of things had survived the fire. The list included the innocence of her sons, the hope of her husband and, well, herself. Mary shifted on the bench, putting her feet down on the grass and leaning her head against the back, her hands resting loosely on her stomach.
Sensing the shift in her mood, Sam looked over at his mother. When she spoke again, it was barely more than a murmur and he had to lean closer to hear what she was saying.
"We were your dad's life. He was so happy."
"I don't know if I've ever seen Dad really happy," Sam said softly, his own tone contemplative.
"Did you wonder why you never met any relatives? Why you three were just… alone in the world?"
Sam looked at the ground, his brow wrinkled. "I remember asking Dean. He just said he thought you were both orphans."
"I suppose that's true enough."
"I went through more than one phase where I kept hoping for somebody to come out of the woodwork and scoop me up… save me from the misery that was my life," he said with a short laugh. "Eventually Dean convinced me to let it go… he thought it worked that time because he'd converted me to the 'Dad Needs Us' club."
"But?"
"But it was really me that needed Dean – when it came down to it, I knew Dean would never leave Dad and I couldn't imagine being anywhere without Dean. I was about ten the last time I wished for a long-lost relative. I guess I always thought we were kind of like Superman… dropped out of the sky from no where."
Mary smiled, "Apt comparison. The Winchesters seem to have the orphan thing down pat – and the evil-fighting-hero thing too.
"Dad really was an orphan?"
"He never knew his family," Mary said slowly.
"Meaning he wasn't?"
"Now, yes. But he still has family. He just doesn't know it."
Sam stared at her, speechless for an instant and then spoke. "What do you mean he has family? We have family?"
"Your father's pain runs deep, Sam… the tragedy in his life started before he was even born."
"But how could he not know? Why didn't he ever try to find out?" Sam was standing now, pacing and furious. "We've needed them, Mom. So many times we needed someone – Dad needed someone! Dean and I were just kids – we couldn't take care of him!"
Mary's voice was calm as she spoke, but it also held a note of firmness that caused her son to stop and listen to her.
"Listen to me Sam. Your father had no way of knowing he still had relatives. He'd been alone his whole life."
"And how's that?"
"His father was a miner – worked in a coal mine in northwestern Pennsylvania. Charlie Winchester was killed in an explosion in November of 1956, just before your dad was born. John is the youngest of ten children, seven of whom were living at home still – "
"Ten kids?" Sam asked in disbelief.
"Yes –"
"Are they alive? I don't understand…"
"If you'd let me finish a sentence, I could explain, sweetie," said Mary gently."
Sam nodded and looked out at the water, then collapsed on the bench with a loud exhalation.
"When your grandfather died, your grandmother started to fall apart. She thought she was done having children – her last baby was five years old at this point. To be alone, to be having a baby at nearly forty… Sadie had no way to support her family, and no one to help her. She was only seventeen when she married Charlie, and her family hadn't been pleased about the match – she hadn't spoken to them in more than twenty years." Mary paused and looked at Sam, but he wouldn't meet her eyes, so she continued.
"The Winchesters lived in a poor, rural area. The two oldest daughters, Ruby and Maggie had married and moved. One to California, the other to Philadelphia – almost a week's drive from the Winchesters in Gap Springs.
Charlie and Sadie didn't have indoor plumbing or electricity… they were happy enough because they loved each other dearly, but life was very, very hard. Charlie died and your father was born less than a week later. The delivery almost killed Sadie.
The three oldest boys all worked at the mine and one day when your father was only a few months old, they came home from work and found Sadie and the rest of the children gone. No note, none of the neighbors knew where they were. When she returned a week and half later, the children – five of them under the age of twelve – were not with her.
Within the year she was dead, but it wasn't until the few hours before she died that she finally told them what she had done. She'd given them up."
"Given them up?" Sam gasped, his face draining of color.
"They buried Sadie and they tried to find the children… but no one knew where she'd taken them."
As they sat for a few minutes without speaking, Mary could feel the emotion pouring off of Sam in waves.
"He doesn't know about his brothers and sisters?"
"All your father knows is that he was left on the steps of the state orphanage with his name and age pinned to the blanket his was found in. The children were separated – sent to different facilities or adopted by the time he would have been old enough to ask questions."
"I can't believe they separated them! Why didn't Dad ever look for them? Why didn't anyone try to find him? I mean, how hard is it to go through records and narrow things down?" Sam demanded indignantly.
"Times were different," said Mary simply. "Records were not open or… hack-able… the way they are now. They really did try Sam… but there weren't as many resources and communication and information have changed a lot in the last fifty years."
Sam let out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "So we have aunts and uncles. Cousins."
"You do. But I want you to think very carefully before you go looking for them."
"What?"
"I know what you're thinking," said Mary seriously, "and I'm not saying you shouldn't ever do it… but there will be consequences, for you and Dean and also for your dad. Listen to your heart and not just the detective in your head that loves a challenge, or the little boy that wants a family. When the time is right and the circumstances are right, you'll know."
Sam didn't answer immediately, but after a moment he spoke again. "What about your family?"
"I was an only child of only children. My parents were killed in a car accident just after your father and I were engaged."
"So you know all this because you're there? On the 'other side'?"
"Yes."
"You can talk to other people who are… dead? Anyone?"
"For the most part."
He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again and sighed, shaking his head. Unfolding his arms, leaned forward a little, bracing himself on either side with a palm against the cool, dark iron of the bench.
Mary watched his internal conflict and wondered if she should just speak up and make is easy on him. It didn't take a ghostly brain-reader to know where Sam's mind was heading, given the current line of questioning.
"I… can I ask…" he began, struggling to vocalize his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he stared out at the lake – calm and still, in complete opposition to the commotion inside of him. "Have you seen Jess?"
Reaching over, she placed her hand on Sam's and spoke gently, "Yes, sweetie."
He hadn't realized how much tension he was holding on to until she replied, and he leaned back against the bench, stunned and yet not; he'd figured as much… wanted as much.
"Were you going to tell me?" he questioned, the query honest and devoid of anger.
"I figured you'd ask."
Another pause in their conversation and then Sam seemed to rouse himself, and turned to his mother. "So I'm asking. You've seen Jess – have you talked to her? Is she okay? Does she… will I ever…" his words jumbled themselves in both heart and mouth and he stopped, his eyes imploring her to tell him what he needed to hear."
"She's fine, Sammy," Mary soothed. "I promise she is… I see her a lot these days."
"You do?" he said, clearly startled.
"I do," she smiled, "Seems she's part of this little club I've got going…"
"Club?"
"Oh yes," Mary grinned – a Dean grin (though it was probably the other way around, Sam figured). "We Worry For Winchesters – small but devoted membership."
"She… worries?"
"Yes, honey, she does. Just like me, and your grandparents and a host of other people."
"Does she forgive me?"
This time it was Mary who was surprised. "Forgive you for what?
Sam stared at his mother, stone-faced and waiting.
"What would you need forgiveness for, Sam?"
He swallowed hard and looked at his hands, and finally replied softly, "She died because of me. I lied to her, and I didn't protect her… and the demon came after me and took her. Just like it took you."
"Is that what you think? You think it was your fault?"
"Well, you have to admit," he said humorlessly, "it's a pretty big coincidence. The only thing you two have in common is me."
She was kneeling in front of him in an instant, her hands on his own. "Sammy, look at me – sweetie, it was not your fault. You were not responsible for Jessica's death – do you hear me?"
Mary ducked her head, trying to get him to meet her gaze… but it was as if he were frozen.
"And you're not responsible for my death either."
At this, he started and once she had his eyes locked on hers she began to talk again.
"Jessica doesn't blame you Sam, no one does. You have never done anything to cause this demon to come after you, and you can't prevent what you didn't know was coming,"
"But I ignored the dreams, Mom. And I didn't tell her what… what she was in for. What she was signing up for when she decided to be with me." The anguish in his voice nearly pulled Mary's heart out of her chest.
"Oh, Sam," she exclaimed, moving to the bench in a swift, smooth motion and putting her arms around him. "It's not like you knew you were being stalked by the demon – you thought you'd left the hunt. There was no reason to tell her until you were ready… until you felt like the time was right. Warning her would not have saved her, sweetheart."
"But the dreams…"
"Did you know what they meant? Had you ever had a premonition like that before?"
"No…"
"Then how are you responsible?"
Sam didn't reply and Mary could feel him trembling with tightly controlled emotion.
"There was nothing you could have done."
"But it was because of me… my…abilities. I have something this demon wants, and it won't stop until it has me or it's destroyed me – piece by piece by destroying everyone I love." He'd pulled back as his voice rose, and now sat in visible frustration, ankles and arms crossed tightly, his gangly height giving the illusion of a sprawl.
"You don't know that, Sam."
"It's a pretty easy conclusion to come to, Mom."
At this, Mary looked away, realizing that he would easily see through continued reassurances. She might not know the whole story, but she knew that Sam was most likely closer to the truth than not.
"You didn't cause this Sam, you didn't start it. Just as good can be chosen, evil can be chosen. We are here right now – our family is in this position, because of the evil choices of others… others who have been trying to tip the balance of power in the universe for longer than you've been alive."
She placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently. "This fight – it's older than us all," she paused and smiled wryly. "Not to make you feel ordinary, sweetie, but this isn't even about you particularly. You're one piece of a very large puzzle… the demon is another. He could have picked anyone, but he picked you, and now the fight between good and evil is on your doorstep.
There are people who spend their entire lives not sure if the world of the supernatural actually exists, living relatively safe lives, unable to recognize or fight the monsters that evil sends marching forth. They do their part, and it's a worthwhile, necessary part – but they do it in a less dangerous field.
They plant gardens and teach kids how to read while you…" she searched for the second part of the analogy. "You catch bad guys and put out unholy fires. There are people who become part of the eternal battle for human souls in a very tangible and extraordinary way, Sam. You and Dean and your father are those people. What you do makes a difference, and each of you were born with the special gifts you need to take this fight to another level."
"What do you mean?" asked Sam, his eyes widening.
"Most of what I know, I can't tell you," she said, her expression clearly showing her displeasure with the situation. "Just know that what you do has a purpose… there is a purpose to all of it."
Sam sighed and looked away from her and then spoke almost inaudibly. "Is it really worth it?"
"Yes – "
"I mean really, Mom," he said, turning to face her, "if you've been watching then you've seen what we've had to do… the instability, the dishonesty, the blood and the death and the destruction…"
As his voice trailed off he looked at her pleadingly, hoping she could tell him that it was okay to stop, that he'd been right all these years about the horrors he'd lived and the loneliness he's felt.
Mary felt her eyes begin to burn and that sensation of someone standing on her chest, compressing her ability to breathe. "Oh, Sammy."
"How can this be a good thing? You've seen what this 'fight for right' has done to Dad – and what about Dean?" He set his jaw and gave a chuckle that was not intended to indicate humor. "Sometimes I think Dean's the sacrificial lamb in all this – my power drew the demon in, the demon killed you, you dying turned Dad into a walking dead man with a one track mind for revenge… and poor Dean just got dragged along for the ride. At least I've had a taste of normal – thanks to my brother – but what has he had? Since he was four years old, what has he had but pain and loss?" Anger seethed from his entire being, and Mary felt frozen at the strength of her son's anguish.
"This shouldn't be his fight… he shouldn't have had to give up everything… everything…" at this Sam choked and the tears began to leak from his eyes. "He could so do much – he could be so much! It's not fair!"
"You're right Sam," said Mary quietly, "it's not fair."
His gaze shot to hers in an instant of hope.
"And yet, it is what is."
"Yeah, whatever – "
"Sam, if it wasn't you and Dean, it would be someone else." She turned his face with her hand, forcing him to look at her as she spoke. "I hate what this has done to you and your brother. All I wanted was safe, happy, wonderful lives for you both. But from where I am now, I see that someone has to…" she smiled grimly, "someone has to save the world, Sam. And as much as I wish I could hide you boys away and keep you from this fight because I am your mother and I'd do anything to save you … As your mother, I also believe that there is no one I'd rather entrust the fate of all that is good and right to, than my own strong, brilliant sons."
The last words were spoken in a whisper and Mary pulled Sam into her arms, holding him as though she'd never let go.
"I know this is hard Sam," she said, soft and fiercely into his shoulder, "I know it is… and I am sorry. But I know you can do this. You and Dean can do this and you'll be alright. You have the courage and the power to turn the tide."
They sat together for what seemed like forever and still not long enough and then as if they both sensed the sand running thin through the hourglass, they stood with silent coordination. They walked slowly back the way they came and as they reached the entrance to the park, Sam spoke.
"I miss you, Mom."
"I know honey," she paused, looking at him tenderly, "I wish things were different… I wish I could be here for you all the time."
Sam let out a long slow breath and Mary could see the bleakness on her son's face. As she'd done before, often, she cursed the universe for its cruelty in separating her from her family, and blessed it for the moments of sweetness that came occasionally like today. She stopped walking for a moment.
"Sammy. I want you to remember how much I love you and Dean and your daddy. You were my life, my sunshine… and that will never change no matter what plane I happen to be existing on.
Dean has held you all together for a long time with his memories of my love for the three of you. Now you have some memories of your own. Love your father, Sam, and take care of your brother. And remember that no matter how you feel sometimes, you are never alone."
With this, Mary pulled him into an embrace that started awkwardly, but quickly became as powerful and perfect as it should have been.
"Mom!? Mom, what's happening?" Sam demanded anxiously. Mary opened her eyes, no longer feeling his arms around her, his voice reaching her from seemingly far away.
Instinctively she looked down at her hands and saw herself rapidly becoming more and more transparent. Smiling sadly at Sam, she reached out to reassure him and then realized the uselessness of the gesture.
"You're waking up, sweetie, that's all –"
"No – NO!" he insisted, "I need more time! I need you!"
"I know Sammy, but I can't stay –"
"You have to stay!" Sam was shouting now, but Mary could feel the veil being drawn between their worlds and she couldn't stop it.
"I love you, Sam…"
In the blink of an eye, they were back in the motel and Mary watched as Sam bolted upright out of sleep, an agonized cry pushing its way into the cool dawn air that filed the small room.
Dean was instantly at his brother's side, demanding reassurance. Mary saw the fear in his eyes and she watched Sam, waiting to see him choose a course. As she had for twenty-some years. As she always would.
"I love you, Sam," she whispered, knowing he couldn't hear her anymore but needing to say it still – as she'd done so many times while rocking her boys to sleep. "I'm glad you were born."