strangetrip | Check-In November 15

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Check-In November 15

Next week was Thanksgiving, and Caroline's preparations were well under way. She had a list of food, all of the bartenders were working on drinks. There would be entertainment - the new guy, Coby, had said something about performing and she'd heard that he'd played on his balcony over the weekend.

Since it was one of the usual days for check-ins, Caroline had decided to take the opportunity of waiting for arrivals to decorate the lobby. As with every other holiday, the inn had a huge storage room full of decorations, all labeled and packed away for the right season.

Gourds had arrived in the last delivery, so now the pink of the lobby was complimented by the orange and yellows of pumpkins and squash. A cornucopia spilled fake fruit onto the front desk, where the staff kept coming by and rotating one apple a few degrees, as though it would look more real that way. They had lapel pins on, she'd noticed. Well, who said non-real people didn't deserve a little holiday cheer too?

Caroline perched on a ladder and fastened a streamer into the high corner of the roof, and watched the door.

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Mary paused to consider what she had to say. From her experience, there wasn't any good witches, but right now that wasn't her concern. Right now Mary wanted - needed - to get home.

"If they're not the ones responsible for me being here then right now I don't care about them. I just want to get home to my family."

Fifteenth of the month. Check-in day, if anyone was coming. Sam did what he always did: went about his business and made sure to pass by the lobby a few times over the course of the day.

It was the second or maybe third time he'd walked through today when his gaze snagged on Abby talking to a distraught woman half-wrapped in a towel. Something about the woman made his heart flip over and he moved toward them instinctively.

He hadn't made it another two steps when she turned her head and his breath went out of him like he'd been punched in the gut. He had. He knew that woman.

Tongue rolling behind his teeth, Sam approached them. The only word he could get out of his mouth was, "...Mom?"

Abby was about to raise her hand in greeting to Sam but dropped it when she saw the stunned look on his face. It took a moment for the word mom to penetrate her brain. As her gaze ping ponged between Mary and Sam thoughts were tumbling - Mom? Sam? Sammy?

She could feel her jaw drop and she snapped it shut. "Uh, woah. Um. Wow." Sadly, that was all that Abby's brain could produce in a reaction to that stunning revelation. It wasn't the most intelligent conversational bridge, but it was all that she had at the moment.

Mary had no look of recognition as the stranger before her stepped closer and called her mom. Instead her brow knit a bit and she took a small half-step back. "I don't... I don't know who you are."

Gaze never leaving the face he'd only ever seen (that he could remember) in photographs, Sam said, "I've got this, Abs," and then took another step toward his...mother.

"I know you don't," he said as calmly as he could under the circumstances. "You're Mary Campbell Winchester. Your husband's name is John. You live in Lawrence, Kansas. You have a son named Dean, named after your mother Deanna. What was the date before you got here?"

"November 2nd, 1983." She said slowly and quietly while taking in the person in front of her who had called her mom. The more she looked at him, the more something seemed to tug closer to the surface.

"You called me mom."

The day she died.

Sam's throat tried to close down on him, and his voice was thick with emotion when he managed to speak. "Because I was born May 2, 1983. It's me, mom. Sam."

It hit her suddenly and she doubled over for a moment with a grunt as all the memories hit her at once. Waking up, seeing 'John', realizing it's not John, running in and seeing Azazel and trying to stop him from hurting her son.

Mary clutched her stomach as she remembered she was attacked and then thrown up on the wall and then burned. She remembered the feeling. She gasped a little and her eyes opened wide. There was surprise and guilt and regret on her face mixed with a sadness of loss.

It took her a second to gather her voice. "I... I died."

Sam's hand shot out to catch and steady her if she stumbled, as it would if she were Caroline, or Bo, or River...anyone. But when his hand grazed her arm, awareness arced from his fingers along his arm, from his shoulder into his heart.

His expression softened, tightened, darkened with anger, then softened again, gaze going almost liquid. "Yeah," was all he could manage to say.

She took a pause, standing up and looking at him again. There was no question about it and the memory was clear as day. She remembered the last thing she heard was Sammy crying.

Mary's lips pressed into a complicated frown as she looked over Sam's features in front of her while deciding if he was telling the truth. The more she looked, the more she could see John in him. She could even see some of herself. Mary swallowed hard and her hand began to lift up to touch his face, but paused and hovered midway. "S-Sammy...?" Her hand started to slowly retract, unsure of itself.

Winchesters didn't do emotions, say 'I love you', cry or hug--unless someone was dead or damn near, but the tears burned Sam's eyes anyway. He could hear Dean mocking him for it, and hear his own response Shut up, Dean. It's mom. And really, she had died and Dean wouldn't be any better off than him.

He caught her hand before she could get too far away and tried not to hold on like she might slip away. Tried. "Yeah... Mom. It's...me."

Had Mary any idea that John had raised the boys to bury their emotions she'd have been very upset, but at the moment all she could think about was the fact her apparently grown son was standing in front of her and she had failed him immensely. When he took her hand, she almost went a little breathless as if it truly confirmed that he was really there.

Her expression softened, but held the regret. "I'm sorry. I'm... so so sorry."

Her apology triggered emotions that had no place in the lobby of the Inn. He wasn't proud of how pissed off he'd been when he learned the truth, or how mad it made him even still, on an average day. And he sure as shit didn't want to get into that here. Now.

"Don't," he said, as gently as he could. "Not now. We can... we'll have time. It's just..." The words stopped, the tears started to choke him. He reached out and pulled her against him. "Mom."

Mary embraced him. It was surreal to hug your tall, strong son who had only been six month to you only moments before. Her hug tightened as she eased out of the surreal feeling, wanting to provide comfort as she would have back home.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting things process for a minute. Moment after moment the questions were mounting, but she filed them away as best she could. "Sammy."

Sam pulled back after a moment, because, well, she was his mom, she was wearing a nightgown, and he was a grown man. He dashed at his eyes with the back of his hand and then quickly slipped out of his jacket to offer it to her.

"Here. You're probably cold." What a ridiculous thing to say to your mom the first time you met her. But then...what the fuck else did you say? "We'll find you some clothes on your way to your room. Did you get your key yet?"

Stop. Babbling. Sam.

She took the jacket with a quiet thank you and slid it on. It was weird to put on your son's jacket and find it a little big on you, but it was definitely better than standing in a hotel lobby in your nightgown.

"I... haven't done much of anything yet. I walked here and that woman, Abby, found me and tried to help me." But she had been a little stubborn and preoccupied.

"She did mention I'd have a room here."

"Okay."

Because it was easier than any alternative, Sam slipped into his regular Check-In Day mode.

"We'll grab your key, swing by the boutique to get you something to wear, and then... Actually." He turned to look at her again, struck by the incredible incongruity of treating his mom like any other woman who showed up in distress. "You're probably going to want a drink. If you tell me what you drink, I'll grab that and you can get your key."

Mary paused for a moment as it was clear her now-grown son was a leader in some way and confident at that. The smallest of smiles crept up onto her face as she nodded to him. "Alright. I wouldn't mind a beer, actually." It felt strange to ask that of her son, but she could use some alcohol to calm her nerves.

"And I'd definitely like something more than.. this." She glance down at her night gown.

Sam glanced from the bar where Kitty was tending to the front desk where Daryl was waiting with that spooky bland expression. Kind of a toss up, since Kitty would definitely be nice, but she saw too much and she'd been friends with Henry, while Daryl was a spookfest but he wouldn't say anything about Dean or Henry.

"If you want to get your room key, the Innkeeper's strange but harmless. If you'd rather wait--" He glanced toward the couch across the lobby from them. "I won't be long."

"I'll get the key." She said it with a bit of resolve. She could deal with strange as most of her life had been like that until she met John and ended being a hunter. How the Innkeeper would react to her clothes was a different story.

She walked up to the man and introduced herself. She was given a key to which she thanked him and had said yes to fresh towels. When she was done, Mary went back to where they had parted for Sam.

Sam returned only a moment later with a six-pack tucked under his arm. "I probably should've warned you about the towels," was what he said, but he gave her a lopsided little smile that was almost boyishly sweet."The staff's kind of obsessed with them."

He gestured with his chin toward the elevators, since her feet were bare and the faster they got to the boutique the faster she could have socks and sweats at least. Although, since he'd put her at about 5'9" if he had to, he could ask Bo or River Song or Molly if they had clothes they could spare for her. First things first though.

"If Abby didn't get around to telling you, everything here's free. We all do what we can to help out, but you won't need money for anything."

That smile reminded her of John and she had to take a moment to collect herself before she smiled softly back.

"Abby didn't get through much with my, I'm afraid. I'm probably going to have to apologise to her."

Mary followed Sam, taking in the surroundings. Things seemed oddly familiar despite her never actually being at the Inn before.

"But free things are good, I guess." There was doubt in her voice. Not from the statement but from the knowledge nothing was ever truly free in life.

"Don't worry about Abby. She won't take it personally." It was one of the reasons Abby was so great at welcoming people. Nothing much fazed her for long. Not even learning magic was real.

The elevator came quickly, since most people used the stairs. Sam held the doors for her both when she stepped in and when they got out. And he held the door to the shops, too, when they got there.

Then he looked at her again and said quietly, a little bit shy, "I don't know what you like."

Mary wanted to say something to Sam about the door holding, but was also pleasantly surprised her son seemed to have really good manners. John must have raised them well. It brought a soft smile to her lips.

When they got to the boutique, Mary's smile turned more re-assuring and then she walked around the clothing section picking out jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and a plaid long-sleeve shirt. As she headed for the change rooms, she picked up underwear and socks and disappeared into the small booth. A few minutes later Mary re-emerged wearing her clothes and looking a little more comfortable.

"This is definitely a lot better."

While she changed (his mother, Mom, God he wished Dean was here to meet her, too), Sam went into the gift shop for toiletries: toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash, dental floss, lip gloss, sunscreen, makeup wipes, nail clippers, scissors, sewing kit, first aid kit, basically everything he could find that she might need.

She came out wearing a pink plaid shirt and Sam had to smile. "It's a good thing pink is your color," he teased--then caught himself, realized again, Mom. And looked...awkward as hell. At least he hadn't flirted.

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