Dean
Dean stood in front of his father's grave. He had come for... something... He wasn't sure what. Dean slouched, hunching his shoulders deeper into his worn leather coat as he contemplated his father's gravestone.
JOHN E. WINCHESTER
1954-2006
LOVING HUSBAND & FATHER
REMEMBERED FOREVER
"All of them." He started, voice rough, frustrated.
"Everyone that you saved, everyone Sammy and I saved. They're all dead. And there's this woman, that's haunting me. I don't know why. I don't know what the connection is, not yet anyway. It's like my old life is, is coming after me or something. Like it, like it doesn't want me to be happy. 'Course I know what you'd say. Well, not the you that played softball, but... 'So go hunt the djinn. It put you here, it can put you back. Your happiness for all those people's lives, no contest. Right?'" Dean paused, trying to collect himself. He felt this surge of rage welling up inside, everything he'd ever locked away inside himself, every feeling he never acknowledged came spilling out of him all at once.
"But why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero?" He felt a tear slide down his cheek. So much for no chick flick moments. He was a walking talking daytime soap right now.
"What about us, huh? What, Mom's not supposed to live her life, Sammy's not supposed to get married? I'm not..." He wasn't sure he could say it. "I'm not supposed to..." He couldn't admit it out loud, not even to his dad's grave. "What about Anna? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?" He stopped again, not sure what good this was doing.
"It's..." Thunder rumbled in the distance. Anna always treated thunder as an omen, no matter how stupid a superstition it was. But in that moment, Dean got it.
"Yeah..." He turned and made his way back to Baby, sure of what he had to do.
Even if he hated it.