I knew I loved you before I met you, I think I dreamed you into life.
Who: refrigeratormom and wearinandtearin
When: backdated to the day Dean arrived in the Port
Where: Sam's motel room
Summary: After Sam and Dean's reunion, Sam calls Mary and gives them privacy for their tearful meeting.
Warnings: References to Mary's death and Dean being in Hell. Neither of them are very nice.
Of all the things Mary had expected when she woke up this morning, this was nowhere on the list. When she got the call from Sam that her other son was in the city, it was all she could do to not freak out in the middle of the grocery store. Dean. She'd never admit it to Sam, but she felt the loss of Dean even more acutely than she felt the absence of her familiar little baby (because, honestly, she still couldn't emotionally connect the man who looked like her father with her own infant son). Dean was her angel, her little man who she choked at the thought of seeing again.
As soon as they hung up she ran, hopping the first train to the neighborhood the motel was in. She'd originally planned to go visit Sam there later, to help him move some of his stuff out and maybe suggest that he clean up a little, so it wouldn't go to Hell too much if Sam spent more time at her apartment. Maintaining the motel room was a good idea, she had thought, in case Dean-
It was the longest train ride and longest walk of her life. The motel came too soon; she was startled to turn a corner and find it staring her in the face. Follow the familiar path, round this corner, go around there and up those stairs past two, three, four doors until-
Shit.
Frozen in place, right on the point of knocking. Her hand was in the air, face drawn tight, and she couldn't move. Inside that door was her little angel-faced son who loved his Mommy and wanted to be Superman when he grew up. No, waiting inside there was a grown man older than her. He would look to her, he would expect her to be a mother and to know something more about the world than he did. She could see his face in her mind's eye, blurred in memory but patched over with the pictures Sam showed her. She didn't know how she could have ever forgotten him, when he was there the day her father died in front of her, when she looked up and saw his face. Mary sank against the door gently, wondering how she could possibly go in there and face him. How quickly had he come completely unraveled at the first mention of that demon with the yellow eyes, how determined was he, how motivated by loss and revenge? His first warning in her mind. On November second 1983, don't get out of bed. Her eyes shut slowly, blurred already with the beginnings of a tear. Promise me you won't get out of bed.
When: backdated to the day Dean arrived in the Port
Where: Sam's motel room
Summary: After Sam and Dean's reunion, Sam calls Mary and gives them privacy for their tearful meeting.
Warnings: References to Mary's death and Dean being in Hell. Neither of them are very nice.
Of all the things Mary had expected when she woke up this morning, this was nowhere on the list. When she got the call from Sam that her other son was in the city, it was all she could do to not freak out in the middle of the grocery store. Dean. She'd never admit it to Sam, but she felt the loss of Dean even more acutely than she felt the absence of her familiar little baby (because, honestly, she still couldn't emotionally connect the man who looked like her father with her own infant son). Dean was her angel, her little man who she choked at the thought of seeing again.
As soon as they hung up she ran, hopping the first train to the neighborhood the motel was in. She'd originally planned to go visit Sam there later, to help him move some of his stuff out and maybe suggest that he clean up a little, so it wouldn't go to Hell too much if Sam spent more time at her apartment. Maintaining the motel room was a good idea, she had thought, in case Dean-
It was the longest train ride and longest walk of her life. The motel came too soon; she was startled to turn a corner and find it staring her in the face. Follow the familiar path, round this corner, go around there and up those stairs past two, three, four doors until-
Shit.
Frozen in place, right on the point of knocking. Her hand was in the air, face drawn tight, and she couldn't move. Inside that door was her little angel-faced son who loved his Mommy and wanted to be Superman when he grew up. No, waiting inside there was a grown man older than her. He would look to her, he would expect her to be a mother and to know something more about the world than he did. She could see his face in her mind's eye, blurred in memory but patched over with the pictures Sam showed her. She didn't know how she could have ever forgotten him, when he was there the day her father died in front of her, when she looked up and saw his face. Mary sank against the door gently, wondering how she could possibly go in there and face him. How quickly had he come completely unraveled at the first mention of that demon with the yellow eyes, how determined was he, how motivated by loss and revenge? His first warning in her mind. On November second 1983, don't get out of bed. Her eyes shut slowly, blurred already with the beginnings of a tear. Promise me you won't get out of bed.