My first Supernatural story. I've only watched, like, 8 episodes (my friends trying to get me hooked, and it seems like its working!) but I still decided to write something. Forgive me if I haven't got the characterisation right, like I said, I'm an 8 ep girl! I'll get there! Please read and review, and be gentle!
Dean had often wondered what his life would be like if his mother hadn't died; if his father hadn't been the man that he was.
Maybe life would have been normal. Maybe he wanted normal.
Maybe he didn't.
He didn't know; this was his life, there was no way around it, but sometimes he wondered.
He wasn't even sure if he was happy now; sometimes he was, other times, he was looking at his brother, looking at the bruises on Sam's face or neck or soul, and he knew that happiness was far and away.
Dean could faintly remember his mother. The memories were brief, flaky, and on occasions, he was convinced that he'd made them all up. But they were there, real or not. A whiff of perfume here and there, a look on her face when he'd done something wrong.
Sam had been too young, way too young.
Dean felt both pity and jealousy because of that. Sometimes he wished he couldn't remember; oblivion was useful. Other times . . .
Sam remembered their father though; they both did, and it wasn't necessarily a good thing. What a childhood they'd had, what a life they were having now.
Fighting the badguys was all Dean knew; it gave him a rush, and sometimes that scared him. He'd never admit it, least of all to Sam. He had enough demons to face.
If she hadn't died, maybe Sam would have a life close to normal, if not fully there.
When Dean saw the bruises, he wanted that for Sam. But Sam seemed to be in the same predicament as Dean; at times, anyway. He felt the rush, same as Dean.
But it wasn't normal, and sometimes, maybe they both wanted normal.