Chapter 2 - The Wake
"It's In Our Blood."
-Sam Winchester to Mary
1.
At the wake, Dean enjoyed the strong homebrew and the stories shared by the other hunters. For the first time in weeks, he felt at ease. He was surprised—and pleased—when he heard that other hunters considered him and Sam "legendary." Usually, hunters like Gordon, Walt, and Roy just wanted to kill them. Maybe he'd tell them the story about killing Hitler.
He wandered down the hall into Asa's office and noticed an Angel Blade on the desk. Impressive. Few hunters, other than him and Sam, had one. Too bad they'd never met. A few minutes later, Sam found him. Dean mentioned that he admired Asa's on-the-job death, which didn't sit too well with Sam. Well, Sammy may not like it, but it was the truth—at least for him.
Even Mom had said hunters all end up the same way.
2.
Sam had been enjoying his conversation with the twins, Alicia and Max, until Elvis interrupted by asking him a question about being possessed by Lucifer. That wasn't a story for a room full of hunters—or anyone, really. The mention of Lucifer – especially now that he was M.I.A – made Sam feel on edge. Sam left the room, wishing he had his running gear.
He was relieved to find Dean in Asa's study admiring Asa's Angel Blade. His relief quickly turned to concern when Dean commented that Asa's death on a hunt was "the way to go." Just recently, Dean had been talking about them retiring someday, maybe even putting their toes in the sand. What had changed? Sam still worried about what his brother had done in Idaho – when Dean thought he was dead. Despite mourning Corbin, Michelle had warned him to "watch Dean closely." So Sam had suspicions.
They left Asa's study and joined the others who were telling stories about Asa when someone new walked in.
Sam immediately looked over at Dean and saw the shock on his face, quickly followed by the hardening of his features.
Mom?
3.
She was going to kill those boys.
Mary Winchester is alive? Jody couldn't stop staring at Mary Winchester standing right in front of her. Why hadn't either of them said a word about their mother being alive? Without thinking, Jody swept up Mary into a hug, only to pull back as she noticed tension in the air. Dean was agitated, and Sam kept glancing nervously between Dean and Mary. Jody realized she was the only one who was happy.
Jody left the three Winchesters to sort out their family business, but Dean immediately stormed away and headed straight for the door. Jody caught Sam's exasperated look and Mary's regretful expression.
4.
Mom had left them to grieve—or so she'd said. So why had she been willing to travel hundreds of miles for a complete stranger? A dead one.
Dean needed some fresh air, but Jody stopped him at the door. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. But Jody had lost both her son and her husband in the past few years, and if she had something to say, Dean owed it to her to listen.
Jody told him that while she'd do anything to have her family back, if it ever happened, it would scare the hell out of her—because what if it didn't turn out the way she hoped? Dean understood that. Things with Mom hadn't gone the way he'd imagined. He wasn't sure what he expected, but this wasn't it. He knew Jody understood because things hadn't worked out for her —she'd lost so much, yet she still pushed ahead. She kept hunting, putting up with him and Sam, and raising Alex and Claire.
Standing outside, now alone, Dean's anger faded. The whole situation was complicated. His body sagged under the weight of all the emotions he was juggling—anger, joy, sadness, hope.
Dean reminded himself that it was a miracle Mom was back, and he realized just how hard this must be for her. She had died at 29, and now, decades later, she was here. At 38, he'd lived almost a decade longer than she had.
Sam had kept telling him to give Mom space and time, and he had been right. Maybe they all needed space to figure things out.
He had wanted this his whole life, but now he wondered what she wanted.
5.
Watching Dean walk away, Sam knew he shouldn't go after him. Still, he did just that once Mom headed in the other direction.
Dean held his flask to his lips when he saw Sam and raised his eyebrows in exaggerated annoyance. Sam just looked at him and patiently waited; he had all night and absolutely no desire to run into Elvis again. Dean exhaled. He lowered the flask, looked down at the ground, and shook his head.
Sam waited some more.
Dean raised his eyes to Sam as if checking to see if Sam was still there – even though he knew Sam was. His brother was so dramatic at times. Finally, he spoke.
"Sam, I'm fine."
Sam assessed his brother. He looked drained, but okay. Dean was okay. Sam just nodded back at him and turned to go inside to check on Mom.
"Sam?"
Sam turned back around.
"You know, you talk in your sleep," Dean said.
"Dean, what are you talking about?" Sam was frustrated at his brother's not-so-subtle deflection.
Then, it hit him like a hammer: sleep-talking in the car. What had he said? Fuck. A cold sweat broke out on Sam's skin, and suddenly, he saw Lucifer's face—his real face—grinning at him.
"He knows about all the crazy in your head again, buddy! Maybe he'll lock you up and give you shock treatments again. Those were fun—watching your eyeballs roll back and every inch of you seize up. I could smell you burning. Not gonna lie, it kinda turned me on."
Sam turned his back to Dean, desperately trying to feel the ground beneath his feet, smell the pine trees around them, and touch the fabric inside his pocket. Inhale, inhale, exhale.
"You are not real," Sam whispered, though a part of him wasn't so sure. He could never be sure with Lucifer.
Damn it, Dean, Sam thought. He'd rather be chased through the bunker halls again by the demon version of Dean – wielding a hammer – than have this conversation. He remembered all the times he'd tried to explain to Dean how he felt—that he'd never feel right in his body or even his soul. Dean always said they'd figure it out, but there was nothing to figure out, nothing to solve. This was his life, and he was learning to live with it: the memories, the nightmares, the night sweats, and the constant need to run longer and faster every day. The growing list of poems he could now recite by heart.
But he didn't know how to live with the fact that his very being– his physical being – was the Devil's chosen vessel and would always be. Lucifer would always want him; Sam knew that every time Lucifer leered at him. And it filled him with revulsion and dread. But their connection felt even deeper than that, for Lucifer's been in his head. Of all the people who'd ever walked this Earth, the Devil himself had looked at Sam and said, "He is mine."
What did that say about him?
Sam exhaled, felt the ground, and smelled the snow in the air.
"I'm fine, Dean."
He went back inside, never once looking his brother in the face.
6.
Lorraine Fox found Mary in the kitchen, which was the last thing Mary needed after her run-in with Dean. Lorraine blamed Mary for Asa's death. She tried to remind Lorraine that she had saved Asa's life, but Lorraine was consumed by grief and anger. Mary understood that all too well. She was trying to pick up the pieces of her life, but she didn't know what the right pieces were or if she even had the right to claim them.
Her grown-up boys were always on her mind. They had their own lives now, but if she hunted, could she hunt with them? Would they sideline her or risk their lives to protect her? Could she stand by, watching them put themselves in danger every day? It hadn't worked well when they had worked a case together. She'd been out of sync with them. Vulnerable in her grief, Mary had been possessed by an angry spirit and almost killed Dean. She wouldn't risk that again.
She remembered feeling peaceful in heaven.
7.
Sam paused by the door, taking two sharp inhales and a long exhale. After the torture by the BMOL, Sam focused on ways to control his thoughts rather than letting them control him. Dean deserved a brother who could distinguish what was real from what wasn't. He never again wanted to point a gun at his brother. What kind of brother did that? Sam felt his heart racing.
He shifted his focus to what he smelled, saw, felt, and heard. His eyes landed on an antique vase nearby. He picked it up, feeling its smooth contours. It looked Roman—its intricate floral designs and scrollwork reminded him of his art history class at Stanford.
His heart rate slowed, his body relaxing. With a deep breath, he made his way to find Mom.
8.
Mary was grateful for Sam's calm presence. Away from the others in Asa's study, she admitted to him that she felt responsible for Asa's death—after all, he'd become a hunter because of her. Sam shook his head in disagreement.
"Well, no. Obviously, Mom, he made his own choices. And he helped a lot of people, you know?"
His words carried such intensity and a desperate need for her understanding that Mary knew Sam wasn't just talking about Asa—he was talking about himself and Dean. They had chosen this life—to hunt, to help people – and Sam felt proud of it. A weight lifted from her chest. Despite everything that had gone wrong in their family, hunting wasn't a legacy they'd been forced into. It had been their choice.
Still, her unsettled feeling lingered. A deeper worry remained — a deep-rooted sense that her being alive was a mistake due to the whim of a god. God's sister, to be exact. Unable to hold it any longer, she confessed to Sam that everything just felt wrong.
She turned to face Sam, bracing herself for his hurt or disappointed reaction. Instead, she saw understanding—perhaps too much understanding. Sam quickly masked his expression, and she couldn't help but wonder why he would feel wrong, too. Her heart sank, but she refocused on his reassurance that it was okay she needed time away. He then continued, as if reading her mind, "Dean's not angry. He's just scared you'll walk away because we hunt." Sam paused, then added that he knew that wouldn't happen because she was a hunter like them, "This job, this life—it's crazy, it's insane. But it's in our blood."
She recognized the truth in Sam's statement. Since her return, hunting had been the only thing that made her feel truly present, alive, and in control. It felt pure. Monsters were still monsters, and she could still hunt them. Mary realized Sam had been right the night he'd brought her tea – their family hunted.
9.
Dean paced outside, frustrated that his brother was so stubborn. He was certain of one thing troubling Sam, but he was unsure what to do about it.
Taking on the Mark of Cain had been a huge mistake, and many had paid the price—Cas, Charlie…God, Charlie! And, of course, Sam.
Controlled by the Mark, he had made a deal with Death that included killing Sam. Sam knelt before him, bloodied, missing a few teeth. Dean felt nothing but cold fury.
Sam kept his eyes on him. In them, Dean saw the look of the five-year-old ready to follow his older brother anywhere – even off a roof to the emergency room for a broken arm. He also saw the determined look of the man who cured a demon, him, with only one good arm. Something inside him shifted; suddenly, the scythe he held felt very heavy.
"Sammy, Close your eyes."
Sam then handed him the childhood photos he usually kept beside his bed. "Take these," he said. "And one day, when you find your way back... let them guide you. Let them help you remember what it was to be good... what it was to love." Then he nodded, telling Dean he was ready.
Sammy held his gaze until Dean started to swing – only then did he close his eyes.
Was it the final nod, the photos, or Sam's unwavering belief in him – even in the face of fratricide – that broke the Mark's grip? Dean just knew that when he finally raised Death's scythe, it was to save, not kill, his brother.
They had never talked about it since. What could he say? Sam had once told Dean that he never needed a "thank you" from him, but what about an apology? One should probably say "sorry" for almost killing their brother, but Dean just wanted to forget it all. He thought Sam did, too. It was just too painful. Yet, it lingered inside both of them.
Dean suspected that Sam's memories of that day were only part of what Sam was struggling with. After Cas healed Sam for the final time from the injuries inflicted by the British Bitch, he told Dean that Sam still wasn't himself.
"Dean, things are mixed up in Sam's head. You know those things you humans like for some unknown reason—the round glass things with water and stuff inside that you shake up and watch settle like snow?"
"Cas, do you mean a snow globe?" Having no idea where Cas was going with this.
"Yes. Well, Sam's head is like one of those globes that just stays all shaken up."
Dean got it now. "When will it settle?"
"Dean, Sam has a lot of ….. snow in his head. It's hard to know if it will ever settle. Lucifer being out of the Cage is not helping Sam." Cas said ruefully.
So Dean paced outside, knowing that the blonde bitch had stirred things up. This was why Sam was getting up early, running, and less hungry. He wanted Sam to talk to him but knew not to force Sam when he wasn't ready – that never went well.
He waited for the snow in his brother's head to settle and for his mother to decide if she wanted a relationship with him. He wondered if he could ever forgive himself for all the mistakes he had made along the way.
Compared to all of this, fighting demons was a piece of cake.