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Dean hates Lawrence.

For one thing, he'd sworn never to come back here. And sure, they kinda broke that vow when Sammy's visions started showing, but that was a job. That was different.

This -- pacing around the verandah while Sammy snores in a chair, waiting for anything to happen, waiting for Sam to wake up and convince Dean he's had enough sleep for them to leave --

-- waiting for the hellhounds to find him --

-- this is gonna drive him absolutely bugfuck nuts.

But Sam said stay, and Dean came too close to losing him to do anything but that.

He kicks at the gate, irritably, and glares down the street.

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Mary's been staying in a house across the street and two doors down, giving herself time to adjust to things before she meets Sam and Dean.

She's sitting on the porch swing of that house, back turned to Dean, squinting in the sunlight - and she's still wearing the nightgown she wore the night she almost died.

Dean freezes, mid-kick.

After a long time, he puts his foot down, and pushes the gate open slowly to walk very, very carefully down the street towards her, with one quick glance back to make sure Sam's OK.

Mary is singing quietly, heedless to Dean's presence.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...."

He's probably heard her sing that a time or two before.

Just ...

... once ... or twice.

"...?"

Okay, whatever Dean, that didn't work. Try again.

"...Mom?"

Mary looks up, blinking at Dean in the sunlight, and stands slowly.

"Sammy?"

Sorry, Dean, sweetie. He was a baby when she saw him last, she really has no way of knowing.

Dean swallows hard and shoves his hands into his jean pockets, awkward.

Christ, it really is her.

"No, Mom. It's me. Dean."

Swallow again, and this time his voice is almost normal.

"You shouldn't be here, Mom."

Mary makes a very quizzical face. "I'm sorry, did you say....oh. Yes."

And now, awkwardface.

"Dianne...my daughter mentioned you."

And now, great crashing waves of PAIN.

Okay.

Okay, yeah.

That's not weird at all.

No.

Dean stares at her.

"I'm sorry."

Mary fidgets, awkwardly.

"I'm sure you'd prefer that...that your mother was here."

There is continued staring, although now it's narrowed into glaring.

After a few moments more, Dean appears to find his voice.

"Christo."

"Language!"

Mary may not be HIS mother, technically, but she's SOMEBODY'S mother.

"Just checkin'," Dean mutters, slightly shamefaced.

... not that that lets her out of being a demon. Just not a minor one. So either she's a big bad or she's rea...

no, she's gotta be a big bad.

"Checking what?"

Mary is now officially exasperated.

"You and Dianne, I swear. Exactly like your father, honestly, what has he been teaching you both?"

That car, coming up the drive?

Might be familiar.

So might that music.

The woman exiting the car? Not so much. (Except, perhaps, for that Very Familiar Amulet hanging from her great rack.)

Upon seeing Dean awake and Sam still asleep, she nearly turns around and head back, but damnit, she's tired and she can't put this meeting off forever.

Two Impalas.

Two beautiful, sleek, well-oiled machines, just sittin' there, glowing in the afternoon sunlight.

Dean gives a little sigh of delight.

... and then he turns his narrow stare on the woman getting out of one. This has gotta be the woman messin' with Sammy.

(He likes her taste in music, though.)

"Uh."

She musters up a quick, tired grin. "Hey."

Beat.

"Dean, right?"

"The one'n only," Dean says.

Pointedly.

And now there is Sam, waking up.

There's a moment of panic, until he sees Dean and Dianne. Then he relaxes and starts to sit up, giving Dianne a little wave and a smile.

He's pretty much accepted her. Whether Dean likes it or not.

Yeah, this is gonna go real well, she thinks.

And then she sees Sammy, out of the corner of her eye, and mouth quirks up into a more genuine smile.

"Believe me, dude," she says, finally, "this isn't any weirder for you than it is for me. But we can do without the 'mine is the only real reality' shit."

"You look plenty real," Dean points out, with an appreciative glance at her very real ... assets. "You just ain't me."

"Dude," says Sam, appalled. "Don't ogle our sister!"

(The amulet, Dean.

Look at the amulet.)

Meanwhile, Dianne just going to smirk at Sammy's face.

"Yeah, well, difficult to ignore, Sammy."

"Sammy's always had a knack for ignoring girls," Dean remarks, folding his arms, a corner of his mouth twitching in badly-hidden amusement.

"Is it my fault I'd make a hot chick?"

"She is prettier than you, I'll give you that," Sam says dryly, and winks at Dianne over Dean's head.

They are so going to win this battle.

Actual, honest-to-god grin (albeit a slightly tired one).

"Yeah, well. We can't all be the lucky ones."