Day 49

We never can catch a break for more than a couple days. Not that I don’t like keeping busy, don’t get me wrong. Leaves a lot less time to dwell on things outside my control. Like trying to process this latest bombshell that we can do nothing about but have every reason to try and fix.

I’m not an eavesdropper. I hate being a snoop. Okay I lied, I kind of have a double standard. I hate people checking up on me but I’ll be a dirt digger. Hell seems like it’s all I do nowadays. Air peoples dirty laundry. Most of them deceased, yeah so much for rest in peace. Seems old habits die hard. Ever since we were kids, I couldn’t help always wanting to know what was going on with Dean. Put it down to little brother syndrome. But it wasn’t like she tried to be discreet about it. I didn’t even have to strain to hear what they were talking about.

Our dad got her dad killed, how do you deal with that? I’m trying to remember what job it would have been but nothing stands out. To be honest I never took all that much notice. It wasn’t the side of Dad I wanted to acknowledge. His obsession with hunting the demon was the cause of all the fights we had. My not wanting to co-operate with his training, my not wanting anything to do with that life. He was never really a proper father in my eyes, he was mostly a stranger and at best a drill sergeant. He wasn’t interested in my education beyond high school and I was glad he didn’t care. It meant that I could pour myself into books and assignments without more than a disgruntled sigh at my excuses. Didn’t stop him from having me play catch up over the summers though. He’d ride me till it felt like the gun was an extension of my hand and there wasn’t a spot on me that wasn’t yellow or blue, with fresh or faded bruises.

I guess I always understood the reason why Dad was bullheaded about hunting alone, but this just gives it more weight. Sure he took us away with him a couple times but we never went on an actual hunt. Staying at the nearest road house, motel or in the car doesn’t count. With the exception of that shtriga episode that I seem to have no memory of. It took just about coming to blows in the middle of a highway and his almost chewed up to admit he might actually need us. It finally makes sense why he never mentioned Ellen. Man this sucks. Just when I thought we were making something of a bad situation. I don’t get it. She still considers Dad a friend, yet she doesn’t, didn’t, trust him or us. Not enough to let Jo come along. Not that I think that was a good idea anyway.

On the up side, without her help we wouldn’t have been able to take out the spirit like we did. Who knows how many other girls he could have killed if Jo hadn’t looked into the case. With so many of Dad’s contacts gone we’ve lost a lot of our leads. Which is another reason we need to mend the relationship with the Harvelles. It’s not like we can’t work this job alone, but we can help a lot more people if someone else is doing some of the research.

When Dean went out to check out the girl’s apartment, Jo and I actually got a chance to talk. The vibe I got from day one was always plutonic curiosity. Which was no surprise really. With Dean and I, he was always the one that drew the girls. Started in grade school. He was always the charismatic, extroverted one. At least on the surface. Growing up the way we did, it messes you up. He dealt by having two completely opposite sides. Me, I just kept to myself. Sammy, the chubby, scruffy haired, quiet kid. It’s taken me this long to admit that I was exactly like Dean. I had two sides too. I just pretended the other one didn’t exist up until a year ago.

I can see why Jo’s attracted to Dean. And it’s more than just the usual. I think she envies him. He does what her dad did. She wants to but can’t because she’s an only child and all Ellen has left. There’s that and she’s a girl. Yeah, you can say I’m sexist, but it’s true. People will always come back to that argument no matter what evidence you provide to the contrary. I know that’s what Ellen’s thinking. Talk about uncomfortable silences. Pennsylvania to Nebraska, that ride back was more than awkward and I wasn’t even stuck in the front seat. Jo’s not a kid anymore but in a parent’s eyes, especially a mom’s, you never stop being one. I’ve met enough grieving parents to know. If I were in Ellen’s shoes there’s no way I’d let my daughter hunt either.

But then there’s not allowing and having no choice. When it came down to it, Dad could have hogtied me in the basement. He could have drained my savings account and declined my acceptance to Stanford for me, but he didn’t. He let me go, grudgingly and with threats but he accepted my decision. Looking back, I disappointed him but I’m glad he let me make my own mistakes. I just wish I could have told him how I feel now. How much I love him and how much I respect him. Things could have been so different. Man, I miss you Dad.

My arm is killing me. Yep, I’m digressing, something hurts too much, focus on a different kind of pain. You don’t realize how much you use our hands till you can’t. And I think I’ve been over compensating on my good arm. Doc says it shouldn’t be more than a couple more weeks till I get this thing off, but then there’s the self-rehab. It’s a scaphoid fracture. Lucky it happened near the base of my thumb and not one of the bones in the middle of my hand. Those require surgery and sometimes never fully heal. I’ve got to wear this cast for eight weeks and then a protective brace for another six weeks after the cast comes off. Technically I’m not supposed to be using my hand at all but in our line of work that’s impossible. Try climbing a ladder with a torch, gun and only one good hand, I’m not part ape.