Chapter 10: Mary
The 24th of January
The day was shaping up to be... not good. He'd waken up and reached out for Castiel until he had remembered the whole fuckup. That was not conducive to a good start of the day. Also not good for his mood; Sam leaving him frantic text messages about the time they would go out for dinner. Dean had already received eight of those and it wasn't 10 a.m. yet. How stupid did Sam think he was? Seven is not a particularly difficult time to remember.
Fuck, he was dreading that shit. At the station, Williams kept pestering him about what a youngster he was and the guys had gotten him a birthday cake. They had even sung, despite his loud protests. Dean felt beyond antsy. He kept pouring himself coffee and he wasn't thirsty. Luckily, it was decaf.
There were no big emergencies that day, which Dean was eternally grateful for. The stress of the impending surprise party was wearing him down and he really wouldn't have been able to take a fire. Kitties in trees, prying open the car of an idiot drunk driver; that was fine. Next year he was going to lay down the law for Sam: no surprise parties ever. Not that his insufferable little brother would listen. Sam still thought that Dean was putting up an act and that he secretly liked those parties and nothing Dean said could convince him of the contrary.
A little before seven, Dean left his apartment and made the short walk over to Jess and Sam's. They were waiting for him outside. Jess looked wonderful, clothes-wise, but her face and body language indicated she felt otherwise. During the car ride to the restaurant a lot of things about Jess' mood became clear.
First of all, Sam was acting like a complete maniac. More so than usual, that is. Dean kind of understood, because Sam was going to propose to Jess after dinner at his surprise party. And Jess was way out of his league. Yet, she also loved Sam like crazy, so Dean didn't think Sam had anything to worry about. The cheerfulness of Sam was forced and painful, but he continued to laugh too much and talk too loud.
Secondly, apparently Sam had not given Jess her present and this was making Jess crabby as hell. The poor girl probably thought that Sam had forgotten about her in his fever to plan Dean's party. It was Dean's party, because Sam always relegated Jess to the role of unpaid waitress, which she didn't appreciate. Seeing how it was also her birthday and all. The tension in the car got pretty bad, so Dean was relieved when they got out of the car.
That didn't last long. They were standing in front of the Palo Alto Creamery Fountain and Grill.
'You've got to be kidding me,' Dean muttered under his breath. With his track record, they would get stuck sitting in the same spot where he had been sitting with Castiel on their first date. Sam picked up on his discomfort.
'What? This seems like the kind of place Jess and you would like. Don't think I don't know you stuff your faces with junk food when I'm not there,' Sam said and he held the door open for Jess. Jess didn't even look at him as she entered. Yes, this was going to be a great evening.
(***)
Half an hour later.
'This is not good dinner conversation,' Dean protested. Could this day get any worse? He could literally think of only two moments in his life that had been worse. Finding out he had cheated on Castiel and breaking up with Castiel. Immediately, that familiar guilt suffused him, because hello! dead mother. She deserved a mention too. The topic at hand was the exact same dead mother and that night. Stop thinking 'dead mother,' Dean scolded himself.
'I don't mind,' Sam said and, turning to his pissed off girlfriend, 'Do you Jess?'
Jess curtly shook her head, managing to do that and simultaneously not acknowledge Sam's existence. It was beautiful to see. Dean wished he had her skill. If he could just block out Sam's voice and eat his meal that would be heavenly.
It was like Sam to push, but not about this. Dean always shot him down and Sam would miraculously leave it. For some reason, Dean was not so lucky this time and he knew Sam; his brother wouldn't stop until he'd given him what he wanted. Best to get it over with fast.
'I woke up. I went into the nursery and took you out of your crib. Then I went downstairs and called 911. We waited outside on the lawn.'
The information was provided in clipped tones and a monotonous voice. Dean did his best to keep it as unemotional as possible. It was just a thing that had happened a long time ago and had nothing to do with him. What the fuck was Sam thinking bringing this up on his birthday of all days?
'You left some things out,' Sam responded sarcastically. Dean glared at him. Dean's feet were tapping harder and harder against the table and he had to consciously stop them. He steadied his hands against the edge of the table, gripping tightly.
'I really don't want to talk about this,' Dean hissed. His teeth were clenching of their own accord. He needed a drink, a cigarette, Metallica: something.
'I'm withholding your pie until you do,' Sam smugly replied. He leaned back in his chair and Dean had to resist the urge to tip him over. Fuck you, Sam. For the first time since they had arrived at the diner, Jess spoke.
'Sam, maybe...'
'No, it's time he told me. Dad never talked about it either,' Sam insisted. He really wasn't scoring any points tonight. Chances of Jess accepting Sam's proposal were shrinking with the second.
'It's his birthday,' Jess objected and Dean shot her a thankful smile. They were both so angry, but Jess' anger was a lot subtler. It manifested itself in her menacing, prolonged silences and the slight disdain with which she regarded Sam.
'Consider it an early birthday gift for me,' Sam suggested. Do not cause your brother bodily harm, Dean warned himself. There are witnesses. You will go to jail. It was like a comedy reel was rolling his mind, but, honestly, Dean could now totally understand where Cain had been coming from.
'Sam,' Dean begged.
'Dean,' Sam coldly mimicked.
'Jess,' Dean pleaded.
'Talk,' Sam commanded. Maybe it was good. Talking was good. He would tell them and then it would be out there and not just in his head. It would be like one of those psycho babble healing moments that Sam liked so much. Please, do not make me do this. Dean sat up straight and calmly folded his napkin. The lighting in the diner seemed very bright.
'I woke up. Don't know why. The house smelled funny. I went to the closet and took out the glass statue I'd made for mom. Her birthday was still a month away and dad kept telling me I should leave it there, because sooner or later I was going to break it. Of course, I didn't listen. I looked at it for a while. I was pretty proud of it. After I put it back, I heard the sound. A strange crackling sound. I went out into the hallway. The air was hot.'
It was both easier and harder than he thought it would be, because he wasn't there. He was 27 and it was his birthday and he was sitting in a diner with Jess and Sam. Yet, the memory was vivid. He felt small and helpless and afraid, like he had done then. His hands shook, but it didn't bother him.
'Go on,' Sam whispered.
'The air in the hallway was shimmering, like it sometimes does in the summer. I went into the nursery. For some reason I tried to open the window, but I couldn't. You were sleeping and I clicked the railing down like mom had taught me and took you out of the crib. You kept right on sleeping. This is impossible, but I swear I could see the paint bubbling on the wall. The door to the master bedroom was giving off heat; I couldn't get close enough to touch the door handle. I should have tried.'
His throat constricted suddenly, as if his body didn't want him to continue. This was the first part where he imagined something else happening. If he allowed himself to think about that night, this was the first point where a sort of wish alternate universe thing took over. He'd try the door and open it and his mother would come out and everything would be alright. Jess looked at him with this sympathetic look in her eyes that was killing him, so he looked away.
'Dean,' she breathed, but he couldn't take the pity in his voice, so he barrelled right ahead.
'I shouted. 'Mom, mom.' You woke up and started crying. The sound behind the door was growing louder and my eyes were starting to hurt. I went into the hallway and to the other door. I had to stand even further away from it. Smoke was seeping from under it into the hallway. I screamed some more. You kept crying. I went downstairs and dialled 911. The number was next to the phone. A woman answered. I told her there was a fire, and then I hung up. I forgot to give our address.'
Who did that? Who forgot to give their address? He was an idiot. This was the second turning point. If he'd managed to stay clearheaded enough to give their address then perhaps the fire brigade would have arrived in time and their mother would have been saved. So many little things he could have done differently that would have changed the outcome of that night.
'You're doing fine,' Jess said, encouraging him to go on. She'd apparently decided that it was best to let him tell the whole story. Sam simply stared at him, mesmerised.
'Then I tried to go back upstairs, but it was too hot. The smoke stung my eyes and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. I yelled for her again at the bottom of the stairs, until my voice was hoarse and I couldn't yell anymore. You were still crying. I took you outside and waited on the lawn,' Dean finished and, after he had downed his drink, added, 'By the way, Sam, don't count on getting anything for your birthday now.'
His brother grinned and ordered another round of drinks. That made Dean feel a little more charitable towards Sam, but Jess wasn't impressed. She was the designated driver for the evening. That hadn't been so bad. Yes, I had to almost relive it, Dean thought, but it was also a relief. It was probably going to hit him later. Not at the party, Dean hoped.
Right now, he was anxious about the questions or comments Sam might have. Sam was very good at weaselling to the core of the issue and Dean didn't want the core exposed. In fact, if they could all just forget this conversation had ever taken place that would be perfect.
Sam kept blissfully silent throughout the rest of their meal. After several tries, Dean got Jess to defrost a little; after all, she wasn't mad at him. They joked around, but Dean felt Sam's eyes on him. Gauging for weak spots, he thought, cynically.
In the car on the way to the apartment, Sam kept up the not so covert glances. It was as Dean had feared: Sam was itching to talk about it. Not just talk, but analyse and go over and discuss and pick apart. If Dean didn't stop him, Sam would go into full psychology 101 mode, so when he opened his mouth Dean cut him off before he could say anything.
'Drop it, Sam.'
'It's good to talk about it,' Sam insisted and it rankled that this was exactly what Dean had said to make himself spill his guts. In a weird way, it made him resent Sam, for using his own bullshit against him. Dean caught a worried glance of Jess in the rear view mirror and he tried to smile at her. His face didn't cooperate.
'I've talked about it. Now it's done,' Dean insisted right back, trying to infuse his voice with a finality that he struggled to feel. Poor clueless bastard, he thought. With Sam opening up is never the end; it's the beginning.
'Well, maybe I'm not done talking about it,' Sam snapped, true to form.
'Dad doesn't talk about it either,' Dean said and he knew he had made a crucial tactical error the moment the words left his mouth. It was possibly the worst thing he could have said and he could see even the slightest mention of their father got Sam riled up.
'That's your defence? Seriously?' Sam asked. His voice was loud. Both their voices had steadily been growing louder and louder. Jess' shoulders tensed, Dean could see her grip the wheel a little tighter.
'If it works for...' Dean started, but Sam immediately interrupted him.
'But it doesn't work! He's even more screwed up about it than you are.'
Sam was yelling now. Good, angry yelling. Nine out of ten of their fights were about their father. About Dean's refusal to believe that John was not a saint. About Sam's reluctance to accept that John was not the devil. They'd not fought in front of Jess before, though. Sure, she'd witnessed some minor arguments, but nothing serious. Nothing about John. Nothing that involved the two of them almost trying to kill each other.
'I'm warning you. Stop it,' Dean growled. He nodded towards Jess, hoping that Sam would catch the hint and stop. The day had stopped simply being not good; it was turning into a full blown nightmare. Dean thought that he'd rather be at the party than here, which was an indication that things were going horribly wrong.
'No. He's obsessed with it. Fire, fire, fire; that's all he thinks about all the time. Faulty electricians, insurance companies that won't pay out after a fire, the odd pyro. He's made it his mission in life to sue them all and he's the world's worst dad because of it,' Sam yelled. It was true. That was what made it so hard to hear. Dean stared out of the window at the streetlights.
'Shut up,' he snarled.
'He dragged us across the entire country. We've not lived anywhere for more than a few months. We couldn't make friends; we had nothing. And he's still acting as if we don't even exist!' Sam continued. His voice was hoarse and it had reached that whiny crescendo that Dean hated. It made Dean hate Sam. He really wanted to smash Sam's face against the glass. His hands shook with rage. Not plain sorrow or that familiar combination of sadness and anger; just rage.
'Shut the fuck up!' he screamed as he faced Sam. The car swerved and pulled over. They stared at Jess.
'Get out,' she said, calmly. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she looked at them. When they didn't move, she clacked her tongue impatiently and sighed.
'Yell at each other, slug it out: I don't care. Get out of the car right now or I will hurt you,' she repeated. Neither of them doubted she would follow through on that threat, so they stepped out of the car. Before they'd properly closed the doors, the car sped away.
Dean thought they were going with the second of Jess' suggestions: he certainly felt like it. Hitting Sam. Wiping that smug expression off his brother's face. They stared at each other. Sam's face was splotched with red spots. It always got like that when he was angry; not an attractive sight. Dean's fingers curled into fists, so he turned around and started walking.
'Where are you going?'
'Home.'
'You can't, moron. There's a surprise party at the apartment,' Sam called out. Dean turned around. He was serious. He really expected Dean to come with him and party after all this.
'Yeah, I'm in the mood for a fucking party,' Dean retorted. Bobby would probably be there with Ellen and Jo. It wasn't their fault that Sam was a dick. Realising he kind of had to go, Dean groaned. At least he would get to see Jess spectacularly reject Sam. There was no way that she was going to marry him now. Not after everything they'd put her through this evening.
Reluctantly, Dean started to walk in the right direction and Sam fell into step next to him. The silence between them was oppressive. It was cold. Again like that night, but Dean was coping as well as he could. He could look at Sam and not see the baby he had been, which was a good feeling. Sam took a deep breath and Dean braced himself for what was about to come.
'Look, I know this thing with mom...'
Dean halted.
'This thing with mom?' he asked, sarcasm lacing his words. As long as Sam insisted on bringing it up, he'd have to actually say it. This thing, that night; those were Dean's vague descriptions. It was his trauma, so he was allowed to be vague.
'Mom's death,' Sam said.
'I don't want to talk about it,' Dean replied. It was straight up déjà vu. Dean was even nearly starting to yell again. How many times did they have to go over this? They kept covering the same ground: Sam wanted to discuss it, Dean didn't. Sam grabbed his shoulder and Dean almost took a swing at him.
'Tough shit. You know what was the most important thing you said tonight? 'I should have tried.' Well, I should have forced you to talk about this much sooner. I knew that night had screwed you up, but I didn't realise how badly it had screwed you up,' Sam softly stated. The puppy eyes were out and Dean couldn't hit him when he looked like that, so he lowered his fist.
'This is not your fault, Sam. It's mine,' Dean whispered. The pavement was cracked in places and there was not sufficient light to illuminate them, Dean noted. Sam's fingers dug deeper into his shoulder and he forced Dean to look at him.
'No, it isn't. That's the point. I know you like to blame yourself for everything, but you were just a kid, Dean. It's time you start directing this guilt you're carrying around where it belongs. Like James. You didn't lose him in a fire; you fucked that up all on your own.'
That hurt. Even though it wasn't his name. It was Castiel. But there was no difference. The end of his relationship with Castiel and the death of his mother; both were Dean's fault. If he hadn't gotten drunk. If he hadn't gone out again. If he'd tried the door handle. If he'd given their address.
'I should...' Dean said.
'You were four! It was a miracle you woke up and managed to take me outside.'
'I should have...' he murmured.
'It was no one's fault. You've got to stop this self-flagellation,' Sam pushed. It was an uncharacteristic push, because it was so gentle. Dean's brother usually waltzed right over everything and anyone in his way. Dean shook off Sam's hand.
'Self what?' he asked.
'Stop beating yourself up over it. You've saved enough lives to make up for whatever you think you did wrong. For years you've been walking around with this chip on your shoulder thinking you don't deserve to be loved. Well, you do. I love you, Jess loves you, and James loves you. You have to let us,' Sam urged. The second mention of not-his name made Dean wince. He'd prefer if Sam stopped dragging him into it.
'I'm trying!' he shouted.
'Try harder!' Sam hollered back, before adding in a gentler tone, 'And Dean, so help me God, you're going into therapy.'
No, he really wasn't. Dean scoffed and resumed walking. Without wanting to, he pictured Castiel at the party. That hesitant smile, those hungry hands... His eyes, looking right through Dean, recognising every lie he told and loving him despite of them.
'I know I've got issues,' Dean admitted.
'Being aware of your issues and actually overcoming your issues are two very different things; a wise woman once said,' Sam said as he caught up with Dean.
'Jess?' Dean asked, and Sam smiled.
'No, Cristina Yang. From Grey's Anatomy?'
'Grey's Anatomy has nothing on Dr. Sexy M.D.'
'This only confirms your insanity. Therapy it is!'
'I'm not...' Dean protested, but Sam stopped him. Literally stopped him; Dean had nearly stepped in front of a speeding truck that had ignored the red light. After Dean had flipped the driver off, Sam fixed him with a stern gaze.
'Yes, you are. Or I'm never talking to you again,' Sam threatened, which wasn't even close to being as intimidating as Jess' threat.
'That might actually be a relief,' Dean half teased.
'Dean,' Sam whined.
'Yeah, yeah, I promise to get my head shrunk,' Dean agreed. If there was something left of him by the time they arrived at the apartment and if he survived the party then he'd gladly do therapy. 'What do you think of that, doctor? Does that make me a sexual deviant? A pervert as the common folks say? Should I describe again what I did to the professor? This time I'll be more graphic, alright?' The guy would run screaming from the room; Dean would make sure of that. They'd never get to his mommy and daddy issues.
'That was some speech,' Dean said.
'I have my moments,' Sam stated. His face displayed equal parts false modesty and genuine arrogance.
'I'm glad I got to witness one of them. The next one is scheduled at an eclipse, right? Or it comes by every 20 years, like a comet?' he joked and this earned him a playful jab in the shoulder from Sam. Hard to believe that a short while ago they had almost come to blows and now they were right as rain. It was a brotherly thing, Dean guessed.
It had pretty much been like this for as long as Dean could remember. He could hurl every imaginable insult at Sam that he could think of, he could hit him, kick him – and to his shame he had; at times almost beating his brother to a pulp – and push him away. Sam would take it all, not without a fight, and come right back. He was like blood on your shirt; there was no fucking way that Dean would ever get rid of him and Dean felt the same about Sam. Not that Sam had tested his limits as far as Dean had tested his. His brother was too nice to do that, though Dean was sure that at times Sam had wanted to.
They continued in silence for some time. Dean thought about Castiel. If he hadn't fucked it up could he have had that with Castiel? Unconditional love. Like Dean's mother had given him, like Sam gave him. To love Dean with his many shortcomings; would that have been possible? Dean wondered about that.
'Speaking of things that rarely happen. You think dad might come?' Sam asked and all Dean could think was: awkward transition.
'I don't know. 27 isn't exactly a milestone,' Dean answered. If Sam had invited Bobby then Bobby would have passed along the message to their father, provided Bobby had seen him or heard from him. And even if he hadn't; John knew where they lived, he knew it was Dean's birthday. Sam would probably not give him that much credit, but how do you forget your son's birthday? He didn't forget, Sam would say, he simply didn't care. Fuck, Dean hoped they weren't going to get into another argument over this.
'It shouldn't take a milestone for him to show up at his son's birthday,' Sam grumbled, but Dean suspected he kept a few more scathing comments to himself. Thankful, Dean tried to steer the conversation into a slightly different direction.
'Did you tell him that you were going to propose to Jess?'
It was a stupid question. Sam's relationship with their father alternated between nonexistent and severely strained on the few occasions they saw him.
'If I believed for even one second that he cared, I would have tried,' Sam admitted. Another silence followed and Dean couldn't help sighing with relief when he realised they wouldn't get into another fight. He'd lost count of their fights that evening. They rounded the corner of the apartment building when Sam stopped him. It annoyed Dean a bit. The party was right there; he just wanted to get it over with.
'Stop walking. I feel like I'm in an Aaron Sorkin production. Just, stand still for a second. Why don't you tell James what you did? There were extenuating circumstances,' Sam suggested. James, James, James. It was ridiculous what hearing not-his name did to him. He felt a pang of desire rush through him. To have back what he had lost, because it had been good. Good love. Not like those other guys who'd treated him like little more than a cheap lay.
'Like what?' Dean said, sounding disinterested. It had taken him years of practise to sound like that when his heart was racing and his insides were on fire.
'Like that woman who died in the fire after which you went incommunicado for two days. It was in the paper, with a nice picture of her sons. Yes, I can read. It doesn't take a genius to connect those dots. Just tell him about why you made that mistake. He might surprise you and forgive you.'
'Yeah right,' Dean scoffed. That was an extremely crappy reason for doing what he had done. So, not only would he reveal that he was a total asshole; he was also fucked up beyond all recognition. Quite a catch. Who wouldn't want that?
'Dean, there's no reason to be this unhappy,' Sam protested and without looking at him, Dean began the short walk to the front of the building. He had about had it with Sam's protests and objections. It didn't change anything. Sam didn't think Mary's death was Dean's fault: well, whoopty fucking do. Dean still felt that it was his fault and he doubted a few sessions with some therapist were going to change that. Self-pity and self... – whatever it was that Sam had said – maintained over 22 years were hard to shake. Some might say impossible.
'You don't deny that you're unhappy,' Sam said, surprised. Big revelation there again.
'So? I was unhappy before I met him too. I got my chance and I fucked it up,' Dean snapped as they entered the building. They climbed the stairs. Sam held the door open for him.
'Haven't you heard of second chances?' he said, before the loud chanting began. Dean wanted to cover his ears and flee. Instead, he forced a smile to his face and looked around the room. Bobby was there and Jo and Ellen. They were clapping and singing; all three of them completely out of tune. Jess had managed to put on her game face. Pamela was there too, which was a nice surprise. Dean appreciated her harsh wit. Williams and a couple of other guys from the station were drinking more than they were singing. There was another man Dean knew. And suddenly Dean's smile was sincere and his heart skipped a beat.
Sam, you meddling bastard, he thought, but he couldn't be mad. He also couldn't stop smiling or thinking about second chances. Hesitantly, the man smiled at him. The man was Castiel.
(***)
One more chapter to go. Chapter 11: and one thing Dean didn't lose: ...