"She Is Not Alone."
1.
They watched the bodies burn on the funeral pyre in the early morning light. Mary thought of how her sons must have felt when flames consumed John's bones at his funeral. How alone they must have been.
She remembered how alone she'd felt at 19, having lost both her parents to the demon. How naive she'd been to think she could move on from that, build a life with John, and start a family. It had been denial—there was no other explanation. She felt a pang of sadness for the girl she'd been, unaware of how lost she truly was.
She glanced at her boys, standing apart as they watched the pyre. Dean was a born leader, made to be a hunter—smart, strong, decisive. Her father would have been proud of him. But like Samuel and herself, Dean was stubborn. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to make things right with him. He had every right to be angry; she had broken her most basic promises to keep him safe, to give him a stable, loving family.
If Dean reminded her of Samuel, Sam reminded her of John in his quiet strength and inherent sweetness. Like John, Sam could be fearsome when needed. But Mary also saw the constant war inside him, felt it in the air between them. He reminded her of a duck on a pond—calm on the surface, but paddling frantically beneath. And she thought it was her fault. All of it.
As she watched the flames, John's words to Dean about Sam echoed in her mind. At first, Mary had been furious when John asked Dean to kill Sam. But now, she realized her anger had been misdirected. John had done his best with the mess she had left behind. What if she had told him the truth? Could they have protected the boys together?
It pained her that she would never know.
If she were honest, maybe that was why she had left the bunker—and her boys. She couldn't bear the daily reminder of the terrible consequences of her choices.
Now, all she wanted was to be standing beside them, not Jody, who was next to her out of kindness.
She was so tired—bone-deep tired, the kind of exhaustion that no sleep could fix. She didn't blame the boys for keeping their distance.
2.
Standing beside Mary, Jody thought of another funeral pyre—one that had consumed her son, her husband, and many from her town. Sam and Dean had been there, too. She wondered what Mary was thinking. Despite priding herself on being good at reading people, Mary remained a complete puzzle. Like Dean, she had a commanding presence, but like Sam, she kept much of herself hidden.
Jody didn't fully understand the tension between Mary, Sam, and Dean. And although it wasn't her place, she couldn't help but tell Mary that no matter what was going on between them, her boys were the best men she'd ever known.
Mary's response was soft, her gaze on the ground. "I know. They are not the problem."
It hit Jody then: Mary's aloofness wasn't indifference—it was a shield, a way to hide how much she was barely holding it together, pretending to be okay. Jody knew that struggle all too well. After losing her own boys, she'd found some purpose in her work as sheriff and in hunting. But grief still came for her, often without warning. When she heard a young boy yell, "Mommy," she always thought, for a brief moment, it was Owen.
Jody wanted to tell Mary that while the pain would never fully fade, she could learn to open her heart to her grown sons, just as Jody had with Claire and Alex. There was room for all of it—the love, the loss, the grief, the anger, and even joy. In time, she hoped Mary would see that too. But Mary had to find her own way through her doubts and pain—everyone had to, and Jody knew how lonely that path could be.
She just hoped Mary could find her way back—for all three Winchesters.
3.
After reaping Randy and Elvis, Billie lingered to watch the bodies burn. It was satisfying—it ensured that what died stayed dead. The natural order and all that. It wasn't good or bad; it was right.
Her gaze shifted to Mary Winchester, and Billie saw it immediately. She knew that look all too well: Mary Winchester hated being back in this world.
Billie had reaped Mary the first time—the young mother killed by a demon while trying to protect her son. At the time, she hadn't realized how significant Mary's death was. It had nearly brought about the end of days more than once. Now, Billie knew that returning Mary to Heaven, where she belonged, would be a true act of kindness. Amara had been impulsive; Billie was ready to clean up her mess.
Mary Winchester was ready to go. She only needed a nudge. And Billie was very good at nudging. The best, in fact. For Mary, it would be a mercy.
4.
Sitting beside Sam, watching the bodies burn, Dean wondered if they'd eventually end up side by side, like Asa and Bucky. Who would be at their funeral, if anyone? Maybe just Cas. But deep down, he hoped Sam would live to see his 90s, with kids and grandkids to mourn him. Sam deserved a life beyond hunting someday.
When Dean saw Mary standing alone after Jody walked away, he approached her. But as they made their way over, Billie appeared, ready to collect the favor Dean owed. He should have known better. Billie made it clear: she wanted Mary.
"I'm a big believer in what dies, stays dead."
Dean had heard those words before. Hell, he'd said them himself a long time ago when John's deal with Azazel had brought him back. He remembered how wrong it had felt to be alive after, how tired he'd been—ready to die with Sam when they thought the Croatoan virus had infected him. He'd only kept going for Sam. To watch out for him.
Years later, he'd told Tessa he regretted not going with her in that hospital. He remembered how heavy he'd felt, carrying the weight his father had placed on him. But that wasn't how Mom felt; she just needed more time to adjust. Or so he thought.
Until Mom responded, "I didn't ask to come back here."
Dean heard the emptiness in her voice. How had he missed it? Sam had tried to tell him that Mom was struggling, but Dean had refused to see it. He'd chosen anger instead.
Billie kept pushing, leaning into Mary's wounds with precision.
"No, you didn't, and you hate it."
Mary gave a slight nod.
Billie's tone was soft, hypnotic – as if she was casting a spell.
"She feels... all alone."
Dean finally understood. He'd clung to the grief of a child rather than giving his mother the support she needed to survive in this world she hadn't asked to be in. But he could do better if given a chance. They all could.
"Well, she is not alone." He said firmly, emphatically, more to Mom than to Billie.
He just hoped it wasn't too late.
5.
Sam hadn't had the chance to truly know his mother—or for her to know him. When she was at the bunker, he had given her space, not wanting to overwhelm her. But he also feared that if she knew too much about his life, she'd be disappointed.
He should have done more to help her.
He could feel his mother's sorrow and struggle, and with every word Billie spoke, it felt like a dagger to his own chest. Billie's words didn't miss.
"Tell me I'm wrong," Billie challenged.
Mary couldn't. She nodded in agreement.
Sam understood. He'd been ready to die more than once, had even agreed to go with Death, as long as no one else would be hurt. Some days, he still wondered what might have been if he had. Kevin would still be alive. Would Charlie? Probably. They both would. And he would trade his life for theirs easily, but he hadn't been able to leave his brother alone, not then and not now. Not ever. Just like he hoped Mom wouldn't leave them. They had just gotten her back. He wanted—needed—her to stay, for them, just as he had stayed for Dean.
It would be nice to know what it was like to have a mother.
But Sam, more than anyone, knew it was her choice—and hers alone.
6.
Mary listened to Billie's words. If she left, she could escape everything that felt wrong, and she wasn't sure she was strong enough to stay. She felt she lacked some fundamental pieces to cope with it all and would ruin everything again.
Then she looked up at her grown boys—the "best men" Jody had ever known. She saw them as they were now, not as the babies they had once been. She'd seen how they saved lives, hunted, cared for others—and for each other. Whatever they had been through, Hell and Lucifer included, they were still here. They were "legends." Hunters told stories about them. And despite everything that had happened, they still wanted a relationship with her.
There was no decision to be made. Today, she would renew the promise she'd made in this very spot years ago: to put her family first. She was the only mother they would ever have. She owed it to both of them. But to keep that promise, she needed time to heal, to get her head straight.
She would not go with Billie. Not voluntarily. Not today. Not anytime soon. She would find her way—and they would find theirs—together, as a family.
7.
Almost, Billie thought. It seemed to be a family trait: changing your mind at the last moment. Choosing each other, over and over. The rest of the world—and the natural order—be damned.
Winchesters.
8.
Mom had chosen to stay. She had chosen them. He had a chance to set things right. Dean told himself that whatever Mom asked for, she would have it this time. All the time and space she asked for. He had believed for so long that life was either/or. Things were either good or bad. Monster or not. Family or not. But he had learned that they could still be family and have space. Sometimes life was "and" not "or." But Dean wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not yet.
"Can we at least buy you breakfast?"
9.
Jody watched Sam, Dean, and Mary talking. It had been tense for a moment, but now they seemed more relaxed, and they were off for breakfast together. It was a start. And Lorraine had learned the twins were her grandchildren. After all the death, family reunions were exactly what they needed.
Jody was invited to join Lorraine, Alicia, and Max for breakfast. She agreed—after checking on her girls.
10.
Sam felt a sense of relief, knowing they'd have more time to get to know each other, to feel like he had a mother. His mind was quieter now, as if things were finally starting to settle. He hoped he was finding his way out of the woods.
One thing he knew for sure: he was hungry. Really hungry—for the first time in a long while.
11.
Mary didn't know exactly where she would go from here, but one thing was certain: she was ready for breakfast. Coffee. And bacon.
All the bacon.