Chapter Text
Mary Winchester lost her children on November 2, 1983. To her humiliation, not only did John Winchester leave her for his mistress, but he and his new wife earned sole custody of four-year-old Dean, and six month old Sam. They threw everything they had at her, including allegations of drug and alcohol abuse, even though anything that was true of Mary was doubly true of John, and used the fact that she was now practically homeless against her. It took her three years to gain visitation rights, and by the time she saw her sons again, she was nothing more than a memory to Dean and a stranger to Sam. The following year, therefore, when she managed to wrangle a summer from their father, only Dean was permitted to go.
In the greatest gift of Mary’s life, Dean was not only willing to spend his summer with his mother, but enthusiastic. John placed a lot of burden on his young son: take care of your brother, respect your stepmother, be a man, don’t do this, don’t do that, respect your father. To spend time with a woman he still associated with fresh baked pie, the crusts cut off his peanut butter sandwiches, and "Hey Jude" hummed as she rocked him after a nightmare was as exciting for him as it was for his mother.
“I know it’s not much,” Mary grimaced.
Dean had never been to her apartment before. Being four hours away, their visitations had always taken place in Kansas at restaurants and parks, or at John and Kate’s house. It was shabby, but neat, and not in the greatest part of town, but it was the first place she’d ever had of her own, and she loved it.
“It’s great,” Dean smiled. Mary had spent the better part of a year first convincing her landlord to let her partition off a portion of the living room into a not-necessarily-legal bedroom, and then getting the local teenagers to do the work after school in return for free food at the diner where she worked. Her employee discount got a workout that spring.
It was all worth it, however, when she saw the look on Dean’s face when he saw he got his own room.
“Sammy and I have to share at home, momma,” he breathed.
That night, Mary stayed up all night crying tears of joy, while her little boy slept under her roof for the first time in years.
The Novak's lived two doors down. Naomi Novak was in a similar, but very different situation. Her husband had taken off, leaving her a single mom of three rambunctious, but good-natured, kids. Naomi had been a source of great comfort and assistance to Mary over the years, suggesting a good family lawyer, acting as a reference for her job at the diner, and providing tea and sympathy when John continually blocked her seeing the kids. In return, Mary watched her kids when Naomi had to work or ran to pick up medicine at the local drug store when one of the kids was sick.
It took a total of two days for the three Novak kids to show up to investigate the new arrival. The oldest child, Gabriel was eleven or twelve and had his mother’s golden brown hair, but eyes the color of whiskey. He was loud and clever, and never turned down a cookie or a slice of pie. The youngest was the only girl; at six years old, she was sweet, but bossy, and so naïve she believed anything her older brothers told her. The Novak child of note, however, was undeniably Castiel, as he was nearest Dean’s age. He was a sweet boy, his chocolate brown hair brightened with golden highlights, and his piercing blue eyes held a preternatural intelligence. He was never over that he didn’t offer to wash dishes or dust the bookshelves, and Mary’s grouchy cat, Angel, purred the moment the eight-year-old walked through the door. Perhaps, she doted too much on the middle Novak boy, as his presence allowed her to imagine what Dean was like when he hadn’t been accessible. It was, therefore, a comfort when Dean seemed to immediately choose Castiel as his favorite as well, and within five minutes was sharing his prized model cars with the other boy.
“This is just like my dad’s car,” Dean explained. “It’ll be mine when I’m eighteen. He promised.”
“Do you live with your dad?” Castiel asked, amazed, as he ran one of the cars up the sofa’s arm and down onto the seat.
“Yeah, but for the summer, I get to live with my mom,” Dean grinned. He had the ’67 Impala safely away from a curious Hannah and an impish Gabe.
“I always live with my mom,” Castiel intoned sadly and sat on the sofa seat with the red truck in hand.
“Dads are cool,” Dean exclaimed. He sat next to his new friend on the shabby sofa. “But moms are better.” He cupped his hands towards Castiel’s ear and whispered, “Don’t tell my dad I said that.”
“I don’t know your dad,” Castiel frowned. “But I really like your mom.”
“Good.” Dean picked up one of the unattended cars, a gold Lincoln Continental from the seventies. “This one is yours, Cas. It’s not an Impala, but it’s cool. Like you.”
It was unendlessly convenient for the boys’ mothers that they got along so well, as the difficulties of single motherhood necessitated a strong support system which the two women provided for each other. When Mary didn’t work until the evening, the four children played in her living room or she took them to the park and occasionally splurged on trips to the zoo or the movies. Dean could spend evenings his mother worked with his new best friend, and Mary could pick him up after the dinner shift and feed them all on leftovers. When Mary worked days, all the kids would take over a table and down milkshakes until they were hyped up on sugar and unruly; at which point, Naomi would be off work and have to deal with them.
After one such day, Mary joined Naomi for a soothing cup of tea at her kitchen table.
“Dean is a sweet boy, Mary,” Naomi remarked.
“I’ve missed so much,” she lamented. “He was barely more than a baby when I last had him.”
Naomi took a calm sip of her Darjeeling. “You will do yourself no good by dwelling on the should-have-beens and such. He’s here now, he loves you, and that is all that matters.”
“I’ve lost Sam.”
“That’s not on you. That’s on a selfish, jealous man.”
“Shh,” Mary breathed. Her gaze fell upon the kids, all piled onto Naomi’s couch watching a movie on TV, but they were paying her no attention. “I don’t want Dean to hear me badmouthing his father.”
“Does he know how John has kept him from you?”
“He knows that I didn’t abandon him, that I’ve fought for him all these years, but he doesn't know details. He idolizes his father.”
“Oh, he does?” Naomi exclaimed.
“Yes, why?” Mary set her mug back on the table. Its steam swirled in the air between them. Dean always talked so well of his father at their visits: regurgitating his father’s beliefs, even his worship of that damned car (John had promised to get something practical like a VW Van).
“Castiel seemed to think otherwise. Perhaps he misunderstood.”
“Not likely,” Mary said pointedly. “Your son is alarmingly perceptive when it comes to things like that. That you shouldn’t tell strangers what you did in the bathroom, no.”
“Sorry about that,” Naomi grimaced.
“But especially when it comes to Dean, I’d trust Castiel’s opinion more than anyone’s.”
“Last week, Castiel asked me if it was true that boys can’t play with dolls because Dean told him that his dad says that dolls are only for girls.”
“Oh no,” Mary breathed. “I’m so sorry. John is…very traditional when it comes to gender roles and such. I…I wish that Dean didn’t absorb it like he does.”
“Mary.” Naomi seemed quite bothered. “I think you may have misunderstood. Why do you think Dean knows his father's opinion on boys and dolls?”
“John has never been shy about expressing his opinions,” Mary guessed.
There was a shout from the couch, as the kids reacted to something exciting that happened in their movie. Naomi leaned closer in to Mary so they didn’t hear her story. “The way Castiel relayed it to me, Dean spent five minutes describing the pretty doll he found in the attic.”
“I think that may have been mine,” Mary sputtered.
“I could give you every detail, if you’d like to confirm that, as Dean told my son everything from the color of her pretty hair to the ruffles on her pretty dress. Before he dismissed it all as being only for girls.”
“John puts a lot of pressure on Dean, but...” Oh her sweet, dear boy.
“Maybe you should buy him a doll,” Naomi suggested with a wicked gleam in her eye.
“I wouldn’t want to undermine John. It’ll only make things harder on Dean.”
“Maybe you’d like a new doll, then.”
Mary grinned mischievously.
The next day, a doll appeared in the living room. When Dean questioned it, Mary explained that she had gotten it for free when she had picked him up another car to replace the one he had gifted to Castiel that first day. By bedtime, the new toy car remained untouched, while the doll got tucked in beside Dean.
Soon, the doll joined in the kids play.
“I’ll be the daddy, and Hannah can be the mommy,” Dean suggested from the sheet tent they set up in Dean’s makeshift room.
“Why does Hannah get to be the mommy?” Castiel whined. “Who do I get to be?”
“You’re the daddy’s best friend, of course.”
“Well, I want to be the other daddy,” Castiel complained.
“Babies can’t have two daddies, Cas,” Dean countered.
“Of course they can,” Castiel insisted. “Mother tells me that families aren’t made of mothers and fathers, but of people who love each other.”
“Oh,” Dean pouted. “I guess I love you.”