Mary knew Dean wasn't straight ever since he, five-year-old at the moment, came home and informed that he had a serious matter to talk about with her. "I love Cas," Dean said. "His eyes are pretty, mommy, and he always lets me have a bite of his sandwich, and he smiles when I call him cute, and I gave him those blue flowers that are in your garden (they are blue just like his eyes!) and he kissed my cheek and mommy, I wanna marry him." When Dean comes out to her years later, she's not surprised.
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"Mom, I’m—I’m dating Cas."
At the counter, Mary stills. Dean freezes too.
She suddenly whirls around, narrowing her eyes. Dean winces, waiting for the fireworks.
"W-what?" He stutters out.
"What day is it?" Mary asks again, calmly wiping her hands on a towel. "The fifth, right?"
"Um…" Dean counts in his head, utterly bewildered. "Yeah?"
"Okay." Mary smiles, turning back to the counter. "Three months exactly then."
Dean stares at her, completely confused.
He had rehearsed this conversation in his mind so many times, but of all the possible reactions he had come up with responses to, that definitely wasn’t one of them.
"So when are you going to have him over for dinner?"
"I mean, I know Cas is over here practically every other day, but now we can do it properly." She brings the apples over to the cutting board and starts slicing them into neat little chunks, smiling slightly. "Sam can interrogate him and I can ask all those embarrassing questions and—"
"Mom," Dean blurts. "Why aren’t you freaking out?"
Mary pauses, looking up. “Hmm?”
Dean wrings his hands, avoiding her eyes.
"Cas’s parents totally freaked out, so why aren’t you freaking out?”
"They did? Hmm. Maybe I should have a talk with them—"
”What, Dean?” She turns to him, planting her hands on her hips. “Do you want me to freak out?”
Oh no. She’s putting on the Mom Voice, which means Dean is ten seconds away from crumpling. Dammit.
He fumbles for the words. Mary watches him, an eyebrow raised.
"Don’t seem surprised," he finishes lamely.
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