#I was bumming about Dean being in imprisoned in a secret facility for both his birthday and his first new christmas with his mom

[kimstheworst]

12.09 First Blood Coda

They sleep with their doors open, now. Mary stared out the diner window thinking as the bloke from the British Men of Letters made his best pitch to her. It's something she had noticed in the three days since her sons had returned home from two months in solitary confinement. The first night back they had passed out in the library. If asked, Sam and Dean might tell her it was a fluke.  That they both just conked out mid-research and hadn't bothered to move themselves to their rooms. But Mary knew. Their concrete encased rooms with no natural light? They couldn’t shut themselves inside there.

“Let me paint you a picture of a world without monsters or demons or any of those little buggers that go bump in the night. Of a world where no one has to die because of the supernatural. Of a new world, a better world.” the BMOL emissary concluded.

The bells on the diner door jingled, waking Mary from her thoughts.

“I’m listening.” She replied. She wasn’t.

Her eldest son was now 38 which meant he was 9 years older than her if you didn't count the years she was dead. And Mary did not.  That meant a lot of things. Mostly, to her, in this moment it meant that even if by some miracle (and honestly- could happen.  They’d seen enough of those. They basically lived with an angel.) they all managed to defy the odds. Live to old age.  She would have to watch her babies, even Sam, become old men. She would have to watch them fade into nothing while she lived on a bit longer.  Then she thought about Castiel and how, after not even a day, he became lost without her sons.  What would happen to him when they actually did finally die? Surely, he had contemplated the fact that some day with or without the monsters Sam and Dean would cease to be. That was simply the way of it.

Then she realized, when it really did happen he could just follow them wherever they went, while she would be the one forced to wind down the clock on whatever time she had left, alone.

“Hi, I was wondering if you could help me? I'm looking for a birthday gift for my son. I'm thinking something fun, but practical.” Mary asked the woman with the name tag at Brookstone. What had drawn her in were the massage chairs, but she quickly abandoned that idea because she couldn’t fit one in her car and she wasn’t exactly sure about the delivery protocol to secret underground bunkers.

“How old is he?” She asked.

“38.” Mary said absently surveying a display of quadcopters. Hmm...maybe. She thought. But she quickly dismissed that idea too because she knew her eldest would just use it to torment his brother and poor Castiel. And also she had to live in the bunker, too.

“No offense, but did you have him before you were even born?” The saleslady asked waking Mary from her thoughts.

“Oh my goodness, did I say son?” She laughed as lighthearted as she could manage “I meant brother.” She tried again.

“Well what does he like? Is he active?”

“Sort of, I guess.” Mary said, skeptical.

“How about a fitbit?”

“What’s a fitbit?”

“It tells you how many steps you take in a day.” The sales lady explained handing one to Mary.

Mary held it in her hands, glanced at the packaging and concluded “So, a pedometer?”

“It also tells the time.” The sales lady tried her voice fading from Mary’s attention as she spied a display of record players in the corner of the store.

She knew exactly what to get Dean.

Back at the bunker, Dean was in the library, checking out a potential lead on his computer when the lights shut off. He jumped up pulling his gun out of wherever he kept it when he was being casual and held it both hand down in a safety position as he strafed around the corner and down the steps to the map room.

“Sam!” he called “Mom! Cas!”

“Happy Birthday…” Dean heard before seeing the light flicker of candlelight dancing across his mother’s face.

Mary held the small birthday cake in front of her as she walked, Cas and Sam trailing behind her with plates and forks.

“Happy Birthday to youuu… “ They finished, Mary resting the cake on the table.

Dean just beamed at her.

“Make a wish.” she said.

Dean just beamed at her then knelt down and blew out the candles.

For a second they were in darkness, then Sam flicked the lights back on and it was almost blinding.

“I know it’s not your favorite, but birthdays mean cake.” Mary explained.

“No. It's...it’s great. Thank you.” Dean said, taking a seat at the head of the table.

“Happy Birthday, Dean.” Mary said sincerely as Sam and Cas plonked down doling out forks, sliding the plates toward Dean. Dean cut into the cake and served up slices.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time Sam or he had cake on their birthday.  

Not that they never celebrated in other ways. Other ways they wouldn’t want their mother to hear about.

Dean shoved a heaping forkful of cake into his face.

“And then there’s this.” Mary said, producing a gift from under the table.

“You got me something?” asked Dean mouth full of cake.

“It’s just a little something.” she contended.

He quickly swallowed the rest of his cake and slapped his hands together brushing off what detritus might have stuck to his fingers. He smiled, wide and ripped off the paper as fast as he could.

It was a 45 record.

“Hey Jude.” Dean said, wonder in his voice.

“I don’t know if you remember this, but I would sing that to you every night when you were little to get you to go to sleep.”

“Thanks, Mom.  This is great.” Dean got up and pulled Mary into a hug, kissing her forehead.

That weekend Mary would go out and find a fake Christmas tree on sale somewhere and they would celebrate Christmas. She would make it up to them for every Christmas she missed. Every Christmas she couldn’t be there for. And they would celebrate every Christmas they could get. Every holiday and occasion they would be lucky enough to have.