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Mary felt like a horrible mother. Even though the two wonderful men who had been with her ever since she got topside were older than she, they were still her sons – sons she had missed out on raising, on watching grow up into these men, on keeping out of the hunting life…
But there was nothing she could do to change that. What she could change was her presence in their lives. Stepping back helped in some of the adjustment to being alive again, but she realized that being their mother was her first priority. She didn’t have to change diapers or teach driving or discipline misbehaviors, but taking care of her boys in any way she could…that’s what they needed. What she needed.
She thought about calling first and decided to surprise them instead. She stopped to pick up a green protein smoothie (or whatever that thing was that Sam liked to drink) and a pie. That’s what mothers do when they visit their grown sons, right? Bring food they like? Times had definitely changed, but she assumed 2017 wasn’t much different from 1983 in motherly house calls, especially from mothers who are younger than their children and have just come back from the dead and—
She stepped on the gas and cranked up the volume to “Ramble On” to get herself out of her head and just see her boys.
Entering the Bunker quietly, but not too quietly to freak them out, she smiled as she cut a slice of pie and poured Sam’s smoothie into a nicer glass. She knew mothers at least tried to make things feel homemade even when they weren’t.
“Mom?”
“Oh!”
Mary spun around to a half-smiling half-confused Sam at the kitchen door. How did he get to be so much taller than John?
“What are you doing? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, I just wanted to surprise you boys!”
She handed him the glass full of thick green liquid.
“It’s that protein smoothie you were talking about before? I remember you said how much you liked them and I thought…”
Sam took it gratefully.
“Thanks Mom, that’s really nice of you.”
“It’s nothing, really. Where’s Dean? Think he wants some pie?”
Sam laughed into his smoothie, getting a thin green mustache.
“Dean is always up for pie. I don’t know where he is, though. I’m guessing his room. I’ll go get him—”
“No, don’t do that. I’ll bring it to him. I was gonna do the same for you but you beat me to it.”
Sam smiled and gave her a hug.
“You sure you’re okay, Mom?”
“Yes! Sam, I’m okay, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”
The look on Sam’s sweet face said he wouldn’t be taking her advice, but she tried to ignore it. She grabbed the pie slice and a fork, gave her youngest a kiss on the head as he sat down to enjoy his drink, and wandered down the hall to give Dean his own treat.
As she neared the bedrooms, she thought she heard music. It wasn’t loud, but she felt it cut through her in an otherworldly way. The Bunker had a lot of weird things inside that she hadn’t fully explored, and she wondered if this was coming from an artifact or device the boys had dug up. But it didn’t sound artificial – it sounded almost human. She thought “almost” because there was an ethereal quality to the tune that she knew she recognized but was still uncertain about its origin.
The melody's resonance grew as she approached Dean’s room. It almost sounded like singing or humming or – was she hearing the music with her ears or in her head? – something different. She pressed her ear to Dean’s door. The music stopped for a moment. She took a breath, knocked quietly, and turned the knob.
“Dean…”
She opened the door to the dimmed room, her eyes falling on her sleeping son. He was sprawled across the bed, holding onto a pillow like he did with his teddy bear when he was a toddler. His brow was furrowed in sleep, and he twitched like he was about to fight some dream monster. That’s when Mary heard the music again.
She hadn’t seen Castiel when she first opened the door, but there he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on Dean’s shoulder, singing quietly.
Hey Jude, don’t make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Castiel’s singing voice was similar to his speaking one – deep and gravelly, oddly tender – and yet there was something else mixed into the intonations of the song. It wasn’t a separate voice, but sounds and sensations on top of his own. Something angelic, she assumed, must come through in song that doesn’t in speech. It was celestial. It was beautiful.
It was heartbreaking.
Castiel looked up and Mary suddenly realized she was crying. She quickly wiped away the tears, knowing full well that the angel had seen them anyway. She smiled and shrugged.
“I brought him some pie,” she whispered, holding up the plate, “but since he’s sleeping…”
She grabbed the doorknob to leave.
“Mary.”
She faced Cas, who was now standing.
“Yes, Castiel?”
He smiled gently as he walked toward her, reaching for the pie.
“You don’t need to whisper. He’s out. You won’t wake him.”
She let him take the pie and place it on Dean’s desk.
“I guess my Dean’s still a heavy sleeper.”
“Not really,” said Cas, glancing back at Dean. “But angelic sleep is deeper.”
“Angelic sleep?”
“Angels can make someone fall asleep with a touch if we need to. It’s usually a defense mechanism, but in Dean’s case…”
Mary and Cas both looked at the soft expression on the hunter’s face, no longer frowning in his sleep. Just peaceful. Content.
“…it’s for his defense,” Mary finished the sentence.
Cas nodded. “In essence, yes.”
“Do you do this often?”
“Not too frequently. He’s only asked for it on a couple occasions, and while he’s told me it’s ‘creepy’ to watch over him, I’ve seen enough to know when his sleeping habits are unhealthy – well, unhealthier than usual – and I step in after he’s already out. It helps him have a more restful, deeper, healing sleep.”
Dean snored a little. Cas sighed.
“It doesn’t cure mild snoring, though. At least he doesn’t have sleep apnea or another condition. That I could fix. Not nasal disruptions that are annoying but safe.”
Mary smiled as she glanced at the angel from the corner of her eye. They both watched Dean sleep for a minute, Mary leaning against the doorframe and Cas standing still at her side.
“What about the song?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?”
Cas tipped his head to the side.
“The song. I heard you singing to him.”
Cas mouthed an “oh” as she spoke.
“You were singing ‘Hey Jude’, weren’t you?”
He sheepishly glanced away.
“Yes, I was…did I do it justice?”
Mary giggled.
“You did. Your voice is different when you sing.”
“Angels…for lack of a better explanation, we communicate in song. Notes, melodies, rhythms – all forms of music are purer than spoken language. And Enochian is easier to sing than speak, but harder in a vessel than as a multidimensional wavelength.”
Mary let that last bit slide.
“But you weren’t singing Enochian.”
“No, but since song is our true language, parts of our voices can’t be masked. If a human can’t hear or understand an angel’s true voice, listening to one sing is the closest a human can begin to understand.”
“Do you sing often?”
Cas looked over at the sleeping Dean.
“No. Only when he sleeps.”
“And you sing what I sang to him when he was a baby.”
“He said it was your favorite Beatles song. Of course, I thought he meant beetles, as in insects, but then Metatron gave me…never mind. I’m sorry.”
Mary chuckled and gave Cas a reassuring rub on the arm.
“It’s okay, Castiel. I’ll catch up on everything.”
“Yes, you will.”
They locked eyes for a moment.
“Would you sing to him again?”
“Will you join me?”
Mary smiled.
“I’d like that.”
Cas sat on the edge where he’d been previously, and Mary sat on the opposite side, running her fingers through her oldest son’s hair. It was still as soft and fluffy as it had been 33 years prior. Cas laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder – or upper arm? There seemed to be a key placement of his hand that Mary didn’t understand – and together they sang.
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin
You’re waiting for someone to perform with
And don’t you know that it’s just you, hey Jude, you’ll do
The movement you need is on your shoulder