#august drabbleathon

The minute you were silent, he couldn’t bear it. You’d known he was watching you. You’d known you were acting off but the thing was you had to hold your tongue. Because this wasn’t him leaving his clothes on the floor or forgetting to put the toilet seat down.

This was his mom.

Mary Winchester.

The woman you’d heard so much about. The woman you’d learned to idolise through Dean’s words. You should’ve known she’d never compare.

And it wasn’t that you didn’t get it. You did. She’d come back from the freakin’ dead and her babies weren’t babies anymore. They’d lived lives she never would have chosen for them. But her choices had led to that. They’d suffered the consequences of her actions and now they had her, now Dean had her back, and it was like she wanted nothing to do with them.

You knew it wasn’t simple. They weren’t kids. They didn’t need her to kiss their skinned knees or sit at home and bake cookies for them. But they needed something. Something she just didn’t seem to have in her to give.

But the thing was, whatever that was – Dean had already had to give it his whole life. Mom. Dad. Brother. Soldier.

And now he just needed her to take the reins, just a little.

It wasn’t easy, you knew that. It hadn’t been when the two of you had gotten together, too used to doing everything himself that letting you in had been a chore. But he was trying more with Mary. More willing, more vulnerable.

And she…well she was questionable.

You watched his face fall time and time again. Watched him stuff down the hurt. Watched him pretend it didn’t bother him that after thirty-three years, he had his mom and she needed time.

You held your tongue. And Dean noticed.

You’d just finished up dinner and were washing the plates at the sink, humming to yourself as the boys chattered behind you. You didn’t even hear Dean’s phone buzz until he was announcing it.

‘Mom’s taken another case up in Washington, probably be gone another week,’ Dean said as though it was nothing. Sam mumbled just as non-committally and then the two of them returned to their talk, like it bothered neither of them. But it settled under your skin like fire, prickling at you as you turned around. Dean noticed your face because you couldn’t quite tighten it to hide your irritation.

‘You okay, baby?’ he asked. You smiled and nodded but didn’t say anything, keeping whatever might come out tight under lock and key seemingly the best route for all parties. It was easier to speak when you didn’t have to face him, something mumbled over your shoulder about getting ready for reading in bed though it would be hours until you felt sleepy.

Dean followed.

‘You okay?’ he asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching you pull his old clothes from the dresser to change into.

‘Fine.’

‘You sure?’ he frowned, ‘because you don’t look it.’

‘I’m just tired, Dean,’ you offered.

‘No, something’s off,’ he declared, ‘you’re acting like you always do when I mention Mom.’

Your hands stilled in the drawer for a moment, your breath catching just a touch, before you carried on.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asked, his voice low and already bubbling with irritation.

‘No.’

‘Why don’t I believe that?’

‘I just-’ you started but then you looked at him, arms folded, trying to look tough, though his eyes were already hurt and impossibly sad.

‘Just what?’

‘Dean,’ you sighed.

‘You got something to say?’

‘It’s nothing,’ you promised.

‘But?’ he asked, coming closer, forcing you to stop, sad eyes searching your face.

‘Dean just stop,’ you pleaded.

‘I’m a big boy sweetheart you don’t gotta-’

‘I hate your mom.’

It was blurted and the abruptness hit like a slap in the face would.

‘No, I don’t…’ you tried to backpedal as his eyes went wide, then sad, and then cold. His jaw ticked before he shook his head and turned away.

‘Dean I didn’t mean-’

But he was gone, the door slammed hard enough to rattle the stone around it.

That had been two weeks ago. And he hadn’t offered a word since. Sam had asked but you hadn’t the heart to tell him what was going on. Dean had offered nothing. Even when Mary had finally rocked back up and he’d gone on the offensive trying to convince her everything was fine, he still hadn’t offered you anything. Unfortunately you knew he just needed time. Ironically, like mother like son you’d realised.

So, you’d forced yourself to sit at family dinner and pretend. You’d eaten a meal he prepared because his mom had said she’d liked it once. You’d listened to her recount stories of being away, watched Dean beam like a little boy.

Then you’d tried to help clean up. Dean had practically snatched his mom’s plate out from under your grasp like she’d be able to feel the hate radiating off you despite having spent the last hour making pleasant conversation with her.

‘Dean,’ you griped.

‘I got it,’ he insisted. You didn’t let him, following him to the sink. You danced around one another, his jaw set, your eyes rolled. Sam very quiet.

Mary cleared her throat.

‘Okay am I missing something?’ she asked.

‘No,’ the pair of you lied.

‘Are you two fighting?’

‘No,’ you both answered just as Sam said, ‘yes.’

You and Dean glared at him.

‘Okay…’ Mary sighed, looking at you like you were the problem, ‘look it’s none of my business-’

‘No it’s not,’ you bit. Dean said your name tightly, scoldingly, like you were a child. You scoffed, looking up at him incredulously, ‘what? You really wanna get into this in front of your mom? Because I will. Happily.’

Dean looked at you like he was going to say something, then over at his mom watching expectantly, and then at Sam, who looked worried. Then he just turned around, angrily turning the faucet on.

‘Thought not,’ you huffed and then you stomped from the room. Your own cold front blowing in.

That was of course until it had happened. Until she’d left, no until she’d been thrown out. You’d watched it all unfold in silence. You’d watched Dean fight not to crumble. You’d watched Sam, desperate not to lose he last chance of a connection with her but too loyal to his brother, tell her to go.

You’d given Dean space. Time.

You’d let his words break your heart over and over again. And you’d known they weren’t your words. You knew this wasn’t a seed you’d planted. It never was your issue, he’d always known, you’d just touched that nerve before he was ready to deal with it.

It was quiet when you stepped in your room. Dean wasn’t in bed, He was on the floor, long legs stretched out in front of him, beer in hand.

‘Dean?’ you asked softly, watching from the doorway.

‘If you’ve come to say I told you so…’

‘I haven’t,’ you promised, feeling it was safe enough to creep in. He looked up at you and you offered a weak smile, which he returned faintly before you took a seat on the floor beside him. You looped your arm through his, resting your head on his shoulder.

You took a moment, trying to find the words. Words that wouldn’t hurt like he already was.

‘I don’t hate her, you know,’ you offered after a while, ‘I hate this.’

Dean stayed quiet.

‘I hate what she does to you. To Sam. I hate that I can’t fix it,’ you admitted, locking your gaze on where your hands met, dancing against one another’s, ‘I know she’s all you ever wanted.’

‘Baby,’ Dean said sadly. You pulled back to look at him, sad green eyes meeting yours again.

‘You don’t have to lie to me Dean. Family comes first. I know that,’ you said.

‘You’re my family too,’ he promised.

‘I know. And I know I should’ve said it better. I just didn’t know how to without hurting you,’ you said sadly.

‘Well, I guess that’s something,’ Dean murmured, ‘can’t say many people are too worried about that.’

You smiled sadly but forced it into something more upbeat.

‘Maybe she’s right, maybe some time and you’ll work through this,’ you offered gently.

‘Maybe,’ Dean said unconvincingly.

‘But for now you got me. And Sam.’

‘And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

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supernatural/dean tags