Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" -- it owns me. ;-)
They lost me.
It breaks my heart to see. Somewhere along the way they forgot me. Sam, of course, cannot be blamed-- he never knew. Dean too, is innocent-- he relied on his father. So the blame really falls to John.
He lost me.
He forgot me.
I could blame the blond hair, I guess, in death it would add a rather ethereal sense... but really that's no excuse.
John should have remembered that I locked my keys in the car regularly and that I hated, hated the carolers at Christmas.
He should have reminded Dean about that time I cut a chunk of his hair off by accident or that time I forgot to get diapers and had to wrap him up in a towel or the hundreds of times I made the milk too hot and had to cool it off while he howled his tiny head off with hunger-- god, I was a mess.
He should have kept me real.
Instead-- he forgot.
He turned me into a legend, a myth. Something pure and untouchable, something that my boys could never reach, never touch. It breaks my heart. So many things break my heart to watch, but this-- this hurts.
They will never know me. Never know that I hated getting up early and that I despised those cheery individuals who called themselves morning-people. They'll never know that I would cut class to go smoke or that I lost my virginity to Willy Smith in the back of a Toyota-- okay, so I wouldn't have told them that anyway, but that's not the point.
John knew-- he made fun of me for months after I told him. He teased me about how we couldn't see each other anymore, about how horrified he was, about how he had a standards a woman had to meet... he'd known...
But he's forgotten. He doesn't even think of it anymore.
He doesn't remember me.
He doesn't remember that I time I dyed streaks of my hair purple with koolaid. He doesn't remember that no matter how careful I was I always burned cookies. He doesn't remember that I couldn't hold a tune in bucket. He doesn't remember that I would have traded my kingdom (if I'd had one) for a double-chocolate fudge brownie.
He forgot me.
He fights a war to avenge me, he saves countless lives in my name, he holds up my image as a battle cry-- a lifetime dedicated to my memory-- and yet he doesn't really remember me.
He has lost me.
Author's Note: I have no proof that this is what John's done. I don't remember an instance where anything like this was implied. Mary's just been bugging me lately. I'll have to see where that goes. In the meantime though, I hope this drabble will silence her for a little while-- at least until I finish other things.
Thanks for reading:)