Jody said they were good men, the best she'd ever known. She didn't have to point it, out I already knew, but perhaps I needed a reminder
I wanted to cry. For my boys, for me, for John, for all that we'd lost.
The two tall men leaning shoulder to shoulder against John's car were my sons, There was no doubt of it. The features reflected so many small details of my father and mother's own faces, of my barely remembered grandparents, of John himself.
So why did I still see them as strangers, why wasn't I able to accept them wholly for who they were, grown-up versions of my babies.
Before I'd been dragged from heaven, I'd been living with John, with baby Sammy and little Dean. A happy family, in Lawrence, waking every morning to John's arms around me, to Dean jumping onto our bed, his small body warm from the covers, pushing between me and a disgruntled John who always felt horny in the morning but was inevitably cock-blocked by our toddler.
I would gaze into John's eyes and chuckle, knowing he'd huff and puff but eventually get up and bring me coffee in bed, while I got to hug my little Dean.
It had all been so perfect, I'd had everything I'd ever wanted, with no hunting in sight. We even got to visit grampa Samuel and grandma Deanna at week-ends.
Here on Earth, I was faced with the hard truth of reality.
My babies were grown, their eyes those of men who had seen hell and more, their bodies honed by hard graft and suffering, and I was sure if I glimpsed them naked, I'd have seen scars on their skin which would have made my heart ache in silent pain.
And it was all my fault.
I had brought John back from the dead by my own selfishness in wanting him at my side, and in so doing condemned Sammy to be a plaything for the yellow-eyed demon and Dean to be the big brother in every sense of the word.
I knew I'd hurt the boys by leaving the bunker, but I couldn't stay, I had to be on my own, give myself time to assimilate what had happened, what my boys had been forced to become.
I needed time to read John's journal, to try and understand why he'd brought the boys up as he had. Why vengeance for my death had caused him to take things to the limit and become a hunter.
As I studied them there, standing close together as one, my heart broke again.
In the car Dean had told me that, apart from the Impala, all they had was each other.
I could see it now, and it made me simultaneously happy and sad, happy they'd always have each other to depend on, to love, but so sad they'd most likely never have a woman to love them, children to call them dad, a home to call their own instead of the cold, unwelcoming bunker.
When the reaper had offered me death, I'd been considering her offer until I glanced at my sons' faces.
They might not be as I remembered them, a baby and a toddler, but I'd already made a deal with a supernatural being once before and it had only led to grief and pain, I wasn't going to make another.
Sam and Dean were my sons. I'd already bailed on them once, I wasn't going to again.
All I needed was a little more time, but my boys were waiting for their mom and I'd be back for them.
:
The end.