"Come on, Sam, I'm begging you. This is stupid," Dean told his younger brother as they drove down an empty road. I was sitting in the back seat, observing as they argued.
"Why?" Sam asked, looking over at Dean from the passenger seat.
"You wanna visit Mom's grave," Dean said as if it were obvious. He noticed that Sam didn't understand, so he elaborated, "She doesn't even have a grave. There was no body left after the fire."
"She has a headstone," Sam pointed out, still confused as to why his brother was so against the idea.
"Yeah, put up by her uncle, a man that we've never even met," Dean was stubborn, "so you want to go pay your respects to a slab of granite put up by a stranger? Come on."
"Dean that's not the point," Sam argued.
"Well then, enlighten me Sam," Dean shot back.
"It's not about a body or a casket. It's about her memory, okay?" Sam explained, to which Dean only made a discontent 'uhhm' sound, clearly not agreeing. I knew why he didn't want to go though.
It wasn't that he didn't want to see his mother's grave. It was because he didn't want to see his father's. He was still grieving in his own screwed up way. He insisted he was fine, but I could see that he wasn't.
"And after Dad, it just feels like the right thing to do," Sam added.
"It's irrational, that's what it is," Dean said.
"Look man, no one asked you to come," Sam pointed out.
"Why don't we swing by the road house instead? We haven't heard anything of the demon lately. We should be hunting that son of a bitch down," Dean attempted to change the subject.
"That's a good idea, you should," Sam didn't sound too enthusiastic, "just drop me off, I'll hitch a ride and meet you and Annie there tomorrow."
Dean scoffed, "Right. Stuck with those people, making awkward small talk until you show up? No thanks," he grumbled, knowing that he had lost the argument.
It wasn't long before we reached the cemetery. The brothers immediately separated. Sam went to Mary's grave and Dean went to John's. I didn't really know what to do; Mary had died before I was born and I had only met John a few days before he died. Besides, neither of them were my family and I felt like I would be intruding if I were to join either of the boys.
I was just another hunter they had met and had decided to invite me along with them. Even then, the only reason they did that was because I saved their asses on our first case together. That, and it was my own recently deceased father that I saved them from. I had nothing left in that town, so I guess they pitied me.
Sam looked back at me from where he was kneeling. I was leaning awkwardly against the hood of the Impala, looking around me. My eyes met his and I saw him beckon me over.
Slowly I approached him until I was by his side. He was gazing at a fair sized orange granite stone, engraved:
Mary Winchester
1954-1983
In Loving Memory
Sam dug a hole in front of the stone with a small knife, not looking at me. He removed two dog tags from his breast pocket. They were connected by a single chain. He held onto them for a moment, looking them over. I could see tears well up in his eyes as he looked at the headstone.
He had said in the car that visiting her grave was about her memory, but what memory of her does he have? He once told Dean and I that he wouldn't even know what she looked like if it weren't for some old photos.
His breathing was ragged and his voice cracked slightly as he spoke to his mother, "I think Dad would have wanted you to have these." They were his father's dog tags. He placed them in the hole and covered it up gently. His hands shook and I saw a tear glide down his cheek. "This is Anne. I love her and I hope you would have too," his lip seemed to quiver and he whispered, "I love you Mom."
I went down on my knees beside Sam, taking his hands in mine. He stared at our hands and then at my face. He nodded, a silent thanks.
"She would have been proud of you Sammy," I told him softly as another tear escaped his eye.