Disclaimer: Supernatural doesn't belong to me. YES! Variation! Anyhow, considering I'm halfway through Season 8 of this glorious, heartbreaking show, I figured it was high time I inflicted my plot bunnies on the world. So, a post on Tumblr, under the song "Carry On My Wayward Son- Lullaby Version", inspired this. If you haven't listened to said song, it is the most beautiful thing ever. So, this is NOT HAPPY. Literally, dark feels coming your way, my fellow fanpeople.

The headstones were beautiful, and they were terrible. He wanted nothing more to smash the granite into little dust, and spray the particles so far away from each other, they would never be found again. But he couldn't do that. Not to them. He took a deep breath to dispel the tears from his eyes. It didn't work. One drop fell from the corner of his eye, and slid down his cheek. He wiped it away furiously, but more tears fell. He swallowed, feeling the large lump in his throat. Part of him was furious that he would be so weak as to cry, while the other part simply wanted those drops to fall, wanted to let go and have his shoulder shake with sobs and breaths shaky with sadness. A hand gently touched his shoulder.

"It would have happened eventually, my son," he said, deep voice kind. The son pressed his lips together, and did not look at the newcomer.

"I would that it wouldn't," the son said sadly. His hand reached out unconsciously, as if to touch the headstone on the right.

"They died happily," the Father told his son. The son finally looked at him.

"I would rather that they lived sadly than died happily," he said, bite in his tone. He knew it wasn't a good thing to say, especially about him, but he couldn't help it.

"You always had too much heart, my son," the Father said sadly.

"And you did not have enough," the son replied. The Father did not contest his son's statement.

"Are you ready to return home?" He asked quietly. The son shook his head.

"I have no home," he said forcefully. "Your home has not been mine for a while. They were my home. And now…" His voice cracked slightly, and he hated himself for it. "Now, Father, I have no home." The Father placed a firmer hand on his son's shoulder.

"You will always have a home, my son," he said. "I will wait for you. But if you want to wander the earth, I will not stop you." When the son looked again, the Father was gone. The son finally allowed himself to cry openly. Finally, after many sobs, he finally managed to quiet himself. This time, he allowed himself to touch the headstone on the right. The headstone of the person he loved the most in the world, the one person he would do anything for, the one person he would die for.

"I will never forget you," he promised. Not just to one, but to both. The headstones stood there, cold and unmoving, the names carved into the stone. Sam Winchester. Dean Winchester. There was a flash of a tan trench coat, and then he was gone.