❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎
Mary entered the bunker through the garage, because she knew it was the quietest way to get into the place, the giant front door always made such a racket. She didn’t want to wake the boys up at this hour, just wanted to get in quick to leave the Valentine’s gift basket she’d bought at the grocery store for them as a nice surprise. That’s all, really, that was why she was there and sneaking around in what was essentially her boys’ home.
Mary had expected the bunker to be quiet at that early hour of the morning, she knew her boys didn’t usually get up before six, so that was why she was walking down the hallway past their rooms at five. The place was even more quiet than she remembered, could hear a pin drop all the way across the war room quiet. That was how she even heard it.
At first it was just murmured words, one of them was having a dream or a nightmare, did they talk in their sleep? She didn’t know, she hated that all of a sudden, that she didn’t know.
“You don’t actually know, Mary, because you’re avoiding them,” she scolded herself. That was one of the reasons she’d even brought them this dumb basket of Valentine’s treats, trying to make a mom-ish overture.
She took a few more steps and the words being murmured came in much more clear, like a radio station finally being tuned in. It was Dean, and he was saying Sammy, over and over again. Mary could hear now, it wasn’t just Sam’s name, it was also groans of what was either distress or pleasure. She guessed it was likely a nightmare, heaven knew there sure had been enough shit happening for Dean to be having one.
She set the Valentine’s basket down on the floor outside Dean’s door so it wouldn’t make any extra noise and put her hand on the doorknob. Mary was just about to turn it and go into Dean’s room, ti wake him up gently, end his useless torment. It was her motherly duty or whatever, right? Even if he was nearly forty. He was still her son, and he was obviously in some distress.
Luckily—for all of them—she stopped when she heard Sam’s voice. His voice was coming from right there in the room. Right there in Dean’s room, at five in the morning.
“That enough, or do you need more?” She heard Sam asking his brother.
She pressed her ear to the door, and let herself listen, she promised herself, just for one more second to make sure Dean was all right, that Sam was taking care of him like he needed. They probably both had nightmares all the time, she had them herself and wished she had someone to waker her up. In that final second of eavesdropping, there was some rustling of what sounded to her like bedcovers being moved, and then a slow rhythmic creaking sound began.
It was louder than anything she’d ever heard in either this life or her previous one.
Louder than either Sam or Dean’s baby cries had ever been.
Louder than her own when her parents and John had been murdered before her eyes.
She drew back from the door, her hand jerking away from its grip on the doorknob as if it was red hot. It might as well have been. Her ear burned where it had been pressed against the door. She took two steps backward down the hall and turned to go. Just go, just get out, now, right now. But she stopped in her tracks, heart thudding with the rush of the whatwhatwhat of it all when she saw the war room.
She went up the two steps as if she was caught in a dream. Someone had decorated the table where she knew the boys usually worked. The one where she’d seen that they had carved their initials. There was a big bouquet of red roses in one of the cut crystal vessels that were usually in the display case. There were conversation heart candies sprinkled all over and placed in a crooked heart shape around their carved initials.
She sank down into one of the chairs and read the card that lay on top of a hastily ripped open red envelope that had Sammy scrawled on the front.
I’ve never given anyone flowers before
Never had anyone who I thought would want them from me
Thanks for letting me love you like I needed to
I’ve loved you our whole lives together
The way I feel about you now, about you and me, with all the regular brotherly love, adding in all the rest of it, sometimes it’s too much, and still it’ll never be enough.
And I know I never say it, but I hope you know that
I want this with you forever,
Every single day that I get to spend with you is more than I ever imagined being possible.
Thanks for saying yes the third time, because now I get to say:
With all my love, your valentine,
She realized that she was crying, she’d been stunned into it, by the blatant obvious love of it all. It reminded her of what she missed, the ache of John’s absence even more fierce than usual. She marveled at the sheer sappiness being expressed from one of her sons to the other. It was beautiful where it should be one of the ugliest things in the world. But it was not, it just wasn’t. She knew them enough by now, she knew their story and what they’d gone through, side by side through it all, Heaven and Hell and everything in between.
In that fraught moment of revelation she remembered hearing the angels talk about her sons while she was in Heaven. They had described them as the soulmates who were also brothers. The angels had laughed about what a trick it had been for Chuck to do that to the Winchesters. She’d heard them talking about how they’d all been watching the brothers for years to see if or how they’d solve that puzzle. She hadn’t put it together once she’d been brought back here to Earth, that the angels had meant this, what she’d just heard with her own ears, read with her own eyes.
Mary knew she should feel ill, or angry or something other than this trembling acceptance. Deep down, she could feel it though, maybe because they were her own sons, but this was right, this was what they needed and deserved to have. She had experienced the happiness of her own love with John, and for her sons to be even close to that happy, even if it was with each other…well.
“Well thenWell, that’s just how it is,” she whispered to herself.
All the times she’d watched them sit snuggled up against each other on a wide couch, Dean’s hand on Sam’s back steering him through a crowd, Sam’s fond smiles at Dean’s disgusting dinner table antics. It all added up, and maybe she’d just let herself not do that adding up because she’d been actively avoiding them. It wasn’t surprising after all and now that she knew, it didn’t change anything for her. They were still her boys, her grown-up boys, and she still loved them in her own way.
She made a quiet exit then, forgetting all about the basket she’d left on the floor outside Dean’s door. She was already an hour away from the bunker, heading to meet up with Bobby when she remembered the basket of Valentine’s Day treats. Mary thought about they’d do when they saw it, and she didn’t want them to misinterpret or assume the worst. Time for another mom-ish overture.
She pulled over for gas at the next exit, and as the tank was filling, she texted both Sam and Dean, and hoped it would be enough to forestall any of their worries.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Boys! I left you a basket of treats, but didn’t want to interrupt. Love you, Mom
Before she got back onto the road for the last leg of her trip up to Bobby’s place, her incoming text dinged once and then again. She smiled as she read what they’d written.
Sam: I’m going to ration out these chocolates, I don’t want Dean to eat them all before I get some. Hope you have a great Valentine’s with Bobby. Thanks, Mom, I love you too!
Dean: These chocolate heart muffins rock, thanks, Mom! Love you too. ❤︎ Happy Valentine’s Day ❤︎
❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎