Hey! Been seeing the increasingly more revealing footage of S12 and it nudged me into finally publishing this, which I've been working on since the S11 finale aired. I should have published it before now because now it's contradicted by the promo stuff, but this is basically how I'd have liked Mary's return to have gone. I think some aspects of it might be similar but mostly I always knew they weren't going to do it like this. Much as we all want Mary to be a destiel shipper, guys: she will not be. That's too canon for the show to do, and Samantha Smith has made it clear in the past that she dislikes the destiel pairing and fandom. Still, that's why we have fics like this :) Enjoy!

"... Mom?"

The handsome man in front of me repeats the word as a hushed question, stepping closer to me, eyes wide and dark and disbelieving in the moonlight. I twitch away from him warily and he halts, inhaling deeply as if to steady himself. My head whirls. I feel unbalanced, stripped and raw, unable to process the abrupt transition from my unchanging family home to this chilly clearing. I have the unsettling sensation that I've woken up from a dream, although in a dim sort of way I know that I was dead and in Heaven and now I'm not.

"Where am I?" I ask, my voice sounding strange and low to my own ears. I blink in shock. I sound older. How can I be older? The man who called me 'Mom' shakes his head helplessly.

"I don't know. I was dropped here same as you."

I look at him, deciding abruptly that if I'm going to get answers I need to start asking questions that this man might have definite responses to.

"Alright. Who are you?"

The man huffs, a sad sort of laughter. "It's me. Mom, it's Dean. I'm Dean."

Dean?

No. Dean is four years old, not a man in his thirties. Dean is all messy golden hair and gap-toothed smiles and freckles on soft skin and excited chatter. Dean is my light, my love, my best friend. Dean is who I've been waiting for in Heaven, tidying rooms and baking pies and planting flowers day after day in my empty family home. I know Dean. Dean is...

Dean is the clear green gaze I look into as the man steps forward and moonlight falls across his face, silvering the freckles on his nose. I give a soft, hurt gasp, stumbling back, reeling in every sense of the word.

"Oh, God, Dean."

Memories flood me, memories of my death before ascending, an awareness I drifted away from in the lulling safety of Heaven. I forgot that there was anything but my existence there: dreaming of my babies as I knew them in life, saving a space for a family that would never come. But how could I forget those long years in that changing yet familiar house, a pale echo of myself, tethered by grief and guilt? How could I forget the way my sons, fully grown men, charged in and set me free? How could I forget the Dean who stands before me now?

Pain twists Dean's face and he swallows, hard. "I know this must be a shock for you-"

"A shock?" I repeat shrilly, my voice too loud in the quiet night. "I almost forgot that there was anything else but that goddamn daydream world and now I'm standing here and it's cold and, and you're telling me you're my son? You're telling me this is real? I-"

I choke on tears that I didn't realise were there and it feels so strange to be crying, to feel anything but the dull, almost drugged contentment that pervaded Heaven. Dean looks close to breaking down himself, those familiar eyes shining, his chest moving rapidly.

"Mom..."

I shake my head vehemently at that painful word and he shuts his eyes, tears squeezing out onto his cheeks. Something in me twists unbearably and before I can think about it I've lurched forward, flinging my arms around his broad shoulders, crying brokenly into his neck. I stroke his short hair with an unsteady hand and babble nonsense, my voice a mess.

"Sshh, baby, it's alright, it's OK, I'm here, Dean, I'm here now..."

He makes a strangled sound and gathers me up in strong arms, almost raising me off of my bare toes, numb in the damp grass. We stand like that for longer than I expect and even after he lets me go, I'm not sure who comforted who. We both step back, swiping awkwardly at our eyes, sniffling and smiling timidly at each other.

"You look like your Daddy," I say softly. Dean snorts, although his eyes turn sad again and my stomach drops as I sense that his father is not a happy subject for Dean. Dreading the answer, I ask the obvious question, although I phrase it gently for my own sake more than anything else.

"Is John around?"

Dean hesitates and then shakes his head, looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Mom. He's gone. You didn't... I mean, he wasn't up there with you?"

I swallow hard, shaking my head blankly. John. All this and I still can't make things right with John, no matter how much I want to, have always wanted to. Love for my husband wells up inside me and I want to cry again, but love for my children is stronger. There are more important things to think about than John Winchester, although that statement would have been a foreign concept to me before I was a mother.

"And what about Sam?"

At the mention of his brother, Dean's face lights up, a beautiful smile breaking across his face. "Sammy's great, Mom. Wait 'till you meet him, he turned out amazing. Oh, crap, he is gonna be so... I should warn you, seeing the two of us at once is gonna freak him out..."

My heart is pounding at the thought of seeing my beloved baby all grown up, but Dean's worried face catches my attention. "What? Why the two of us?"

Dean grimaces. "He, uh, he kinda thinks I'm dead."

"What?!"

"It's really hard to explain, just... I was kind of in the process of sacrificing myself to, um, save the world and then this being, this very powerful creature, well, I survived and she sent me here and I guess she must've resurrected you too-"

"OK, no, wait," I interrupt, my head spinning. Dean snaps his mouth shut, his face a little pink, as though his rambling is mildly embarrassing rather than absolutely horrifying. "You were going to sacrifice yourself?"

Dean sighs. "Yeah. It was the only thing to do."

"Oh, God," I groan, closing my eyes and resting my face in shaking hands. "Oh, God, you're a hunter, aren't you? You're just like my family. Oh, God, no..."

I feel sick. I feel as though I've stepped into a nightmare. But of course my little boy is a hunter, trapped in this cursed life that I'd thought I'd escaped. How else would he and Sam have found me when I was a ghost? Why else would Dean have accepted so quickly that I was alive again after being dead for however many decades? He's a hunter, probably Sam too. Which means-

"John," I whisper in disbelief. "John did this."

Silence greets my words and I raise my head to find Dean regarding me with eyes older than his face, weary grief marring his handsome features. "I'm sorry, Mom."

I drop my hands, blinking away pointless tears, tired already despite having been dead for half a lifetime. "Don't be, sweetheart. Don't be sorry. I'm the one who's sorry. This is all my fault."

Dean shakes his head emphatically, stepping forward. "No-"

"Of course it is," I almost snap, angry at myself but unable to express it clearly. Dean flinches slightly and I shake my head, softening my voice. "I have a past, Dean, I have a curse. And it tore our family apart."

"I know," Dean replies softly, his gaze earnest. "I know, Mom, I know about all of it. You did the best you could."

"But-"

"Doesn't matter," Dean cuts across me firmly. "None of that matters now. You're here, I'm here, we're both alive. I'd call that a miracle, wouldn't you?"

He smiles down at me, hopeful and suddenly very young-looking. I smile back before I even realise it, tears stinging my eyes again. "Yes."

"I'm going to call Sam," he announces suddenly, excitement growing in his eyes, an excitement I recognise from my memories of a cheeky preschooler who loved me with his whole self and lived every moment of his short life in safety and comfort. It strikes me with the force of a sucker punch that I will never see that little boy again. He's lost to me forever, along with all the years I should have had to watch him grown into the stranger before me. I speak to avoid crumpling in helpless grief on the ground, distracting myself.

"I guess I was right all along," I say in a sad attempt at humour. "Angels must really be watching over you."

For some reason, Dean jerks his head up at this, eyes wide and cheeks flushing in the dim light from the device in his hand.

"What is it?" I ask, frowning. Dean stares at me for a moment more before shaking his head, giving an odd huff of laughter.

"One thing at a time," he says cryptically. "First, Sammy."