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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 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?"

Dean looks at her sharply.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

He's going to assume she's from before -- well, from Before -- since she's not a spirit, not up close. Otherwise his brain might break.

"A couple of minutes ago."

Mary pauses.

"He was....trying to save me."

"From?" Dean prompts, expression not changing.

(oh god he doesn't want to hear this.)

"There was a fire," Mary says shortly.

She doesn't want to -say- this.

"I'm....a little fuzzy on the details. There was so much smoke."

"What do you remember?"

"Fire. Smoke. Blood. Sammy."

Mary fidgets again. Awkwardly.

"Anything ... unusual?"

He needs her to tell him it was That Night and not some other fire. Anyone impersonating his mom could tell she died in a fire. Any spirit, even. Most of them probably know the yellow-eyed demon killed her. But the specifics, he needs the specifics.

Please convince him you're really his-sort-of-mom, Mary. He's kind of lost.

"...just the yellow-eyed son of a bitch who gutted me with a knife and went after Sammy."

Apparently it's perfectly okay for Mary to curse! At least where Azazel is concerned.

Dean's breath is long and slow and relieved. Which is maybe not the correct reaction to any onlookers, but it's his reaction anyway.

You can tell, because instead of how he gushes all over her:

"Language, Mom."

"Really the only description that fits. So, I take it from that reaction that you've met it?"

"Met it. Killed it."

Dean summarises twenty-three years of his life quite easily, really.

"Really?"

That would be a very impressed look on your mother's face, Dean. Enjoy.

"How'd you manage to kill it? I was looking, but I couldn't find anything..."

Pause.

"You probably never found out I used to be a Hunter, did you?"

"Whoah. Dude. What?"

"Before I married John."

Mary slides over on the swing, gesturing for Dean to join her.

"It's a very long story."

Dean moves to sit down beside her almost automatically, feeling like a kid again.

"I always kinda figured Dad started from scratch ... goin' to Missouri and all that."

"....John became a Hunter?"

Beat.

"Did he drag you two into..."

Oh, this is not going to be pretty.