Title: Priorities

Summary: Mary should have known better than to question Dean's loyalty towards Sam. Coda to 12x13 "Family Feud". Hurt!Sam. Protective!Dean. Brotherly Feels.

Warnings: Spoilers. Bad language. References to torture.

Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the boys.

"Don't give me the face," Mary snapped at Dean in a tone that – under different circumstances – could have been considered the stereotypical mom-voice.

Luckily, Dean seemed to be immune to it. "What face."

"You know the face," Mary's voice grew louder, more impatient, almost like this whole mess was somehow Dean's fault and that was so reminiscent of their childhood- of the way John treated Dean and made him take the blame for his own shortcomings and failures as a father that it hurt.

"There's no face," Dean returned.

"That's the face!" Mary accused and Dean didn't even justify that with a response. He was coiled tight like a spring, shoulders tense and face closed off in a way that meant he was two seconds away from seriously losing his shit and Sam thought they'd had this coming a long time ago.

Ever since their mom declared that she wasn't going to stay with them, Dean had been hurting. The way she left them without even trying to get to know them first had hit a little too close to home, reminded them of their dad and how he hadn't cared enough to stick around.

John had loved them sure, but he had loved the hunt more.

It had taken Dean a long time to acknowledge that, to come to accept that.

But to think that their own flesh-and-blood mother, the mom they'd always longed for, that phantom image of a better life, that illusion of love and safety and a real home that she'd always represented, had chosen to distance herself from them so entirely, had hurt them both more than they wanted to admit.

And now, with their mom practically admitting that she'd been working with the people who had betrayed them? Well, that was a whole new level of hurt, altogether.

Sam had been shot and kidnapped by the British Men of Letters. He'd endured hours, days of their gruesome torture. Had been drugged and (quite literally) mind-fucked by these bastards and here their mom was, trying to convince them of their 'good' intentions.

I have helped them save people, a lot of people.

Sam felt a little sick at Mary's words at the memories they brought forth, of when he was still a teenager and when their dad used to justify his actions with the exact same argument. Saving people. Hunting Things. The family business.

How many times had one of them gotten hurt or nearly died to save the life of a total stranger?

How many times had their tears and blood been justified and ignored in favor of the 'greater good'?

Sam felt his tongue weighed down by these questions as he struggled for words. "Mom, we have our own toolkit, and it works just fine... A-and for obvious reasons, like broken ribs and burnt feet... We don't trust the Brits."

Wow. He never thought he'd have to point that out to anyone, least of all his flesh-and-blood mother.

Mary looked chagrined, but not sorry.

She looked uncomfortable like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but not willing to admit or even acknowledge that what she did- what she was doing right now- siding with someone who had tortured her own children- was the worst kind of betrayal she could have possibly come up with.

Even now, her own righteousness meant more to her than her own sons did.

Sam could feel his heart break a little at the realization.

He swallowed and felt Dean shuffle closer, his presence comforting and reassuring at the same time.

It was such a subtle gesture between them, so minute and yet so powerful.

Dean was backing him up, showing support, declaring that no matter what- no matter who they were up against- they were in this together, a united front against heaven and hell and their own freaking mom, if necessary.

"So where does that leave us?" Dean asked in a hard voice.

Us.

Because even though Dean had never wanted anything more than to have his mom back, Sam had always been and would always be Dean's number one priority.

"Same as always... Family," Mary declared like she had any damn right to throw that word at them after what she'd just said and done. After going behind their backs, lying to them, working together with someone who'd wanted them dead. "Just hear me out. Please—"

And Sam would have probably said something then and there if Dean hadn't done so first.

"I think we've heard enough," he said in a voice that was so hard that even Mary seemed a bit surprised by the finality of it.

Sam didn't have to look at him to feel the tension coming off of his brother, to feel the bristling annoyance that radiated from his tone and posture.

"Dean—" Mary tried and Dean held up a palm before she could get any further.

"You know, I can live with us going or separate ways. I can even live with you hunting solo and traveling two hundred miles to attend the funeral of some kid you met a lifetime ago, while you can't be bothered to shoot us both a text in three months," Dean shook his head with a bitter snort. "I'm not going to say it doesn't hurt to know that you care so little, but hey, who ever gave a shit about us, anyway?"

"Dean."

"But working with the British Men of Letters?" Dean spat the words out like they left a rancid aftertaste in his mouth, eyes flashing accusatorily through the distance. "They shot Sam. Kidnapped him. They took a blowtorch to your son's foot and you want us to work with them like nothing ever happened? Seriously?"

"Look, I know what they did wasn't—" Mary tried to get a word in edgewise, but Dean wasn't done yet.

"So what made you change your mind, huh? Was it something they said? Maybe they threatened to kick you out of their little circle of trustees?" Dean watched the way Mary paled beneath his stare, watched the way her eyes flickered to the side in a mix of guilt and shame. "Or maybe they didn't like you hanging with us so much… thought it was better for you if you stopped seeing us altogether?"

Mary swallowed, her silence deafening.

Dean just locked his jaw; the only thing giving his true emotion away was the barely noticeable way his cheek muscle twitched with barely restrained anger. "They told you to choose… and you couldn't even decide."

Mary opened her mouth and then closed it again, still unable to meet her eyes.

Sam curled his fingers into fists by his side, trying to breathe past the massive lump in his throat. The only thing giving him comfort was Dean's strong presence at his back, the way he was standing so close, the way his voice remained unwavering and hard, even when he must have been hurting just the same, if not worse than Sam.

"Dean… it's not like that. You know I love you two—"

"Yeah, you keep saying that."

"It's the truth," she insisted, her eyes suddenly desperate to convey the words her actions yet needed to prove. "You're my sons, I'd die for you both in a heartbeat."

"You know," Sam suddenly cut in from the side, shooting a glance over at his mother, who gave him a surprised look in return. "No offense, mom, but this would be a whole lot more convincing if you didn't spend the past what- days, weeks lying to us and working with the guys who…" his voice tapered off at the memories of what the British Men of Letters had done to him.

Dean squeezed his neck in reassurance and Sam instinctively relaxed into the touch, allowed himself to be grounded by that one simple gesture.

I'm here.

I got your back.

They knew, deep down, that she loved them like only a mother could. That she would give her own life for either one of them in a second, despite only having known them for a couple of months. It wasn't her love they questioned, but her loyalty… her sense of judgment.

"What exactly, is it that you expect from us here?" Dean demanded in a no-nonsense voice. His arms were still crossed in front of his chest- a sign that he had emotionally distanced himself from the conversation- from the pain and hurt her actions had caused him.

"I…" Mary started and then let out a tired sigh like she'd been holding her breath for too long. "I want you to give them the benefit of a doubt. That's all I'm asking for. Just see for yourselves what they're capable of."

"What you mean like breaking bones and twisting someone's mind into thinking—"

"Dean, stop," Sam softly interfered, cutting his brother off before things could get out of hand. He appreciated Dean's anger, recognizing it for the protective instinct and the endless, unshaken affection that it was, but there was no need to open up old wounds or add to the load of guilt Mary was probably already carrying on her shoulders. "Maybe she's right… maybe we should join forces instead of working against each other."

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean hissed, the reassuring weight of his palm suddenly vanishing from Sam's neck as he started pacing the length of the mapping room, driving a shaky hand through his spiky hair in obvious distress. "I can't believe I'm actually having this discussion with you."

"Dean—" Mary stepped forward and it would have been interesting to see what she was trying to do, whether she would have gone for a comforting gesture like a pat on his shoulder or a hug, but Dean never actually let her get that far.

"No, damn it!" He whirled around to knock his beer bottle from the table with a growl, shocking all three of them into stunned silence when the sound of shattering glass.

Sam actually flinched in his seat, one arm raised in defense, while their mother simply blinked and stared wide-eyed at the spot on the wall where beer was now coating the white plaster and dribbling down over their old computer system.

Their mother, unwittingly, had just unleashed a force in Dean that was usually reserved for those who dared to hurt or insult his little brother.

This wasn't Dean the son, or Dean, the hunter, this was what was left of him if you stripped away everything else- this was Dean when he was at his most dangerous… a caretaker. A protector. A guardian.

A big brother.

"Listen to me," Dean pointed a finger at Mary, eyes narrowed in anger. "We'll go on that hunt and we'll give those uptight, tea-sipping jocks another chance. We'll do it because we trust you, not because we trust them. And no matter how that fucking gig ends, no matter what sort of toys those sons of bitches throw at us, we'll continue down our own road after the hunt is finished. With or without you."

"Dean—" Sam piped up hesitantly, not wanting for their family to get broken up again so soon after their reunion.

"Those are our conditions. Take them or leave them."

Mary was stunned into silence, the shock vivid on her face. "Are you giving me an ultimatum?"

Dean snorted and shook his head, eyes fixated on the spot where the beer bottle had shattered against the wall.

He reached up to wipe a hand over his mouth, a deep frown creasing his features.

"There are a lot of things I'll do for family, but forgiving someone who laid hand on my brother isn't on that list."

Sam sighed and shifted his gaze from Dean to Mary and back to Dean.

He probably should feel uncomfortable after the exchange, but frankly, all that broke through the surface of betrayal Sam felt, was a surge of thankfulness for Dean's unwavering loyalty- for the way his older brother took his side and stood up for him, no matter what.

"So you can take their guns and their advice and do with it whatever you want, but I swear to god, mom, if they shoot as much as a hostile look in my little brother's direction, they're toast. I mean it, I don't know why you're suddenly so chummy with them and I don't care, but if Sam gets hurt—"

"I can take care of myself, Dean," Sam softly interrupted, unable to sit by and let himself be spoken for like some mindless, defenseless four-year-old, even if he did appreciate his brother's protective streak. "And nobody will get hurt, right mom?"

"Right," Mary gave back in a tight voice, not really meeting Sam's eyes. She forced herself to look up then, eyes slightly glassy and definitely heavy with guilt as she met Dean's heavy gaze. "What they do, it's efficient, Dean. It's saving peoples' lives. That's gotta be worth something to you."

And therein lay the problem.

Saving people was their job, their goal, their life mission.

But it wasn't the thing that kept them going. It wasn't their reason for living.

"It's worth a lot to me," Dean said with a sad little huff of air. "But it's not worth everything."

'Killing that demon comes before everything.'

'No sir... Not before everything.'

Mary cast a look at them both, standing so close together - a unit in every sense of the word- and gave them a curt nod in understanding.

"I'll call you," she said and then left just as cold and unannounced as she'd come.

The End.

I've sat out a couple of episodes and then watched the final scene of the most recent episode on youtube and I just... I can't. Are they trying to make Mary the least favorite character in SPN history? What kind of mother would team up with the guys who tortured their son? She deserves much worse than 'the face' if you ask me. lol. Hope you liked this! I just can't stay away, can I? ;) Next up, 2nd chapter of 'Proudly Codependent'. Reviews make my day! :D