Baby powder and butterfly kisses. These are the memories that are still fresh in Mary’s mind. But stolen credit cards, cheap beer and two sons older than she is? That’s all new to her.
Left alone while Sam and Dean check out a case nearby, she wanders the Bunker, looking for clues, anything to help her understand more about the boys. She trails her fingertips along the dark wood tables and dusty lore books of the library, and the antique maps in the war room. These are tools of hunting but say nothing about the hunters themselves.
Which is why she finds herself standing in the middle of Dean’s bedroom fifteen minutes later. The little boy who loved to play with toy cars and eat homemade pie is now a man who mounts weapons on the wall and keeps porn meticulously organized under his bed. As she picks up the family photos displayed on Dean’s desk, her smile is bittersweet. Moments that feel like yesterday to her are now yellowed pictures, their corners bent and surfaces scratched with age.
Sam’s bedroom is a mystery. It is both barren and full. Stacks of case files and lore books are piled around the room but she can’t find a single personal item until she spies a wooden box at the back of his closet. Opening the lid, Mary finds more photos, some childhood artwork and a necklace with a brass amulet. Her smile returns as she spies the green army men at the bottom of the box. She pulls one out, recognizing the cheap plastic figurines that Dean would play with for hours on their living room floor. He must have passed down the toys to Sam, treasured possessions, from big brother to little brother.
She closes the lid carefully and puts the box back on the shelf, carefully tucking the little toy into her pocket as a reminder that no matter how much bigger or older they get, they were once her little boys.