In the Beginning

The only time in his life that Dean could remember being truly happy was before the accident, before his mother had been snatched from this world.

He was just a toddler at the time, so all of his childhood memories were blurred and hazy, almost like trying to stare into the sun, but there were those rare instances in which certain things stood out to him. The scent of her strawberry shampoo that always came rushing over him whenever she’d scoop him up into her arms. The soft, gentle tone of her voice as she’d sing him to sleep. The feather-light sensation of her fingertips as they threaded through his blonde locks. He could even recall that rich, comforting flavor of butter and maple syrup swirled across his waffles every Sunday morning.

Even now, he’d swear that he’d never laid eyes on a woman quite as beautiful as Mary Winchester. There was just that liveliness in her features, a warmth buried in her eyes, and even the slightest trace of sunlight made her appear heaven-sent, cast her golden curls in a halo.

At the time, Dean had thought she was as happy and carefree as he was, but the older he became, the more he realized that his family hadn’t been perfect, not even then. He was too young, too naïve to take notice of all the times his father would leave for days on end, the nights his mother would spend in tears, their anger-fueled telephone conversations. No. In death, his father made it seem like they’d always had the perfect relationship, that he’d never love anyone else as deeply as he’d loved Mary.

Every time Dean would catch his mother crying, she’d force a smile, stroke his cheek, and tell him that everything was okay.

And every time, Dean would believe her.