Hunters drop left and right ; the good die young, and if they’re lucky, because of an end of their own choosing. It’s unlikely, but so is finding someone worth even considering selfishly dragging into the risk of it all — to risk targets painted in red across their backs.
Deanna Winchester knows that better than most.
Meddling isn’t meddling when it’s pointing out fallacies and idiocy — it’s yanking the rug from beneath naive shoes and forcing reality into the jarring light ; with a demise so inevitable why waste time crying wolf — ?
There’s no skin missing from the Winchester’s back either which way ; it takes more than piss and vinegar filled angst to light a torch in her greater than indifference.