"Dad did his best," Dean snapped, shoving a gun toward you and pulling his own out from a bag to clean. He was so sick and tired of you trying to get him to talk about stuff. You were the youngest in the family, technically a half sibling to Dean and Sam. "I hate that you and Sam can't just accept that."

He glanced up at you and then shook his head.

"What do you know about him anyway? He wasn't even alive for more than sixteen years of your life, you didn't know him," Dean didn't mean it. You know he didn't mean it, when you'd been dropped off as a baby Dean had been the first person to clap his hands together and accept you as part of the family. As part of the people he had to protect.

"Shut up and clean the gun."