Demons, Demigods and Hunters: Return from Hell

Chapter 37

Dean

He quickly scouts the perimeter of the house, one hand on the angel blade he'd brought with him. Just because the inside of the house was safe, it didn't make the rest of the property protected.

Dean spotted his mom's blonde hair glowing in the darkness, the faint porch lights somehow reaching her at the end of the packed dirt drive that marked where the road turned away towards Anna's safe house. His chest was tight as he watched her stand up, brushing the dirt from her jeans.

Even though she was younger now than he'd known her - hell she's technically younger than him right now - she's still his mom. All he really wants is to hug her tight and have her tell him everything was going to be alright, that his and Sam's crazy plan would work and that she loved them.

"Hey," Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, we should get back to the house. Even with these traps, it's safer behind Anna's wards." His mom looked up at him, and even in the dark he could see the irritated determination in her eyes. Eyes that only barely concealed her deep hatred of him. It hurt. Even if he couldn't really blame her for being angry with him. After all, the last time they'd seen each other was right before that yellow eyed demon bastard killed her parents. His grandparents. Their family.

"Okay. But you said you would explain everything when we had a minute." She picks up the jug of holy oil, and begins to pour a trail leading up the road to the house, so that it can be ignited from the safety of the front stoop. Dean stares at her blankly. His mom pauses what she's doing to glare at him.

"We have a minute." She insisted. "Why does an angel want me dead?"

Dean had been hoping that Sam would do the explaining for him. He glanced around them, scanning the empty roadway with practiced ease, trying to stall for time.

"Cause they're dicks?" He offered. Mary fixed him with a stern glare - one he remembered in fuzzy light filled childhood memories of forgetting to put toys away or not understanding how to play nice with baby Sammy yet.

"Not good enough. I didn't even know they existed, and now I'm a target?" She scoffed, entirely unimpressed by his flimsy excuse. Dean groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"It's complicated." He tried to deflect again. What the hell was he supposed to tell her? The truth? His mom capped the holy oil jug and set it down on the wooden porch. Dean hadn't even realized that they'd walked all the way back to the house.

"Fine." She sat down on the front step, looking up at him. "All ears." There was a challenge flashing in her eyes. Dean crossed his arms and glared at a spot just behind her right ear, unable to look at her.

"You're just going to have to trust me." He pleaded.

"I have been trusting you all day." Dean dropped to the step next to her and buried his face into his hands.

"It's kinda hard to believe." He mumbled. The stair creaked as his mom stood up.

"Then I'm going to get John, and I'll take our chances without you." His hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm, panic flooding through his system. She can't leave. She can't.

"I'm your son." He blurted out in a panic, eyes wide. Mary froze, one hand gripped tightly over his wrist, prepared to throw him off of her. Dean forced himself to look up at his mom, meet her square in the eyes that she gave Sammy.

"What."

"I'm your son. Sorry, I don't know how else to say it." Dean sighed, looking away from the shocked disbelief in his mother's eyes. "We're... from the year 2010. An angel zapped us back here - not the one that attacked you - our's is friendlier." The grip on his wrist grew tighter, and Dean looked back up at his mom. It took everything he had to not flinch away from the rejection that was waiting for him in her face.