I Was, I Guess
I was a soldier, trained since I was young to kill things. I am nearly perfect at what I do; listening, seizing the opportunity, researching, tracking, hunting, killing, covering up my tracks, and burying the past within myself over and over and over again, until I thought I couldn't take it anymore, because there is only so much pain one man can hold within himself. However, I pressed on, always have. So as to not disappoint him- I was the Goddamned perfect weapon against evil.
"Dean, you still don't get it."
I'm sorry, dad. Teach me. Your words will always be with me, whatever you say. I'm open to learning, to discipline, too, if I'm not good enough for you, because if I'm not, then what use am I? No, I won't wimp out like Sammy does. He's a failure in your eyes, and I love him, too, dad, I really do, but I couldn't live with myself if you held me in that regard. It's his decision to bear that down, but it won't be mine. You can count on me. I guess you'll always be able to count on me, because I'll always be at your side, for better or for worse.
"Can't you see that, dad? I'm giving it my best, just like you said to do."
"Yes, Dean, I can see that, but your best just isn't good enough!"
"Then I'll try harder! These demons will know they're my bitch when they see the hell I'm taking with me everywhere I go. You can count on, me dad!"
"That's my boy."
Man, I loved to hear that from you. I was so wrapped up in guns and knifes and rituals that I completely looked over the lack of hugs and kisses and I love you's. I wasn't meant to be touched by anything; man, demon, creature, alien hell spawns, you name it. Not even you. So I thrived off of looking for praise from you and was empty when I found none. Which was most of the time, because no matter how fucking good I got, it was never enough. There was always something. Always.
Yet, daddy dearest, you failed to acknowledge your own millions of flaws that followed you around everywhere you went. You were so hell bent on killing that freaking demon that you shirked being a father. You raised Sam and I to basically become fugitives. You put your needs before your children's, but by the time I was old enough to connect the dots, it was too late to do anything about it, because I had my head so set on killing the evil sons-of-bitches that hunting was already the way of life for me.
Sam was lucky to be the smart one. Yet I bet you wished he never was like that, because you needed brawn, muscle, support, weapons. Like me. And, sure, cunning was more than just useful as well, but Sammy figured you out quicker than you would've liked. And he did something I could never bring myself to doing: he said no. I died when he went to college. He was my only friend, my only family. To me, he was the only person who actually cared about my feelings, my thoughts. We both know you didn't give a shit.
"Bobby, she haunts my dreams constantly…I can't get that image of her…burning…out of my head. It hurts, and I don't know what to do. She was my wife, I don't deserve to keep reliving that night. It won't do me nor the boys much good. I just don't know what to do."
"Dad, I think-"
"Dean, nobody asked what you thought. You're too little to understand this, now sit down and keep your mouth shut until you can bring something useful to the table. All I need for you to be doing right now is practicing your aim with that gun."
You never got that I saw mom that night, too. So I never told you that I dealt with it every night as you did. And I'll never forget the disturbed look on Bobby's face when you said that, nor will I forget the relieved look on his face when he learned Sam was going away. Why were you so upset? If Sammy was just a weakness to you, why did you cry? Why did you keep yourself in denial about the fact that one of your sons, one of your weapons, was going to actually do the unthinkable and defy you by chasing his own dreams. Couldn't you see that he was his own person? I might've been as loyal as a fucking brainwashed dog, but you couldn't pull that one over on Sammy. He was stubborn. And get this: he got that trait from you.
Funny how things work out, isn't it? Part of your own genetic pool just came back around and bit you right on your pompous ass.
Yet that did stop you. Not for a moment. Sammy was gone one day, never to return, and you lived life as you normally did, because you still had me. And I guess that's all you ever needed. Of course, I was never strong enough to stand up to you like my brother was. I guess it was all my fault, then. I was just too weak to take my destiny into my own hands. Did even ever have a chance to have what you and mom had? I guess not, because all you taught me to do was to hunt and not ask questions. How far will that get me in this world? So, thanks to your infinite wisdom, if I fail, my life is no good. I will have no where else to turn.
Why couldn't you see that was what I believed with my entire mind, body, soul, being? Deep down, I never wanted to be like you, yet here I am, fitting my feet perfectly into your footsteps. I guess you just didn't care. I've tried to come to terms with it, dad, really. I've tried so hard to do it many, many times. I've met you half way on dozens of occasions just so we didn't have to fight in front of Sammy, because only God knows what hell he already had to put up with from being toted around with us his entire life. I've given up my personal beliefs to see eye-to-eye with you, for my sake, because I just couldn't bear you being disappointed with me. I gave my being to you, and you took it, and you treated it like it was never had the potential of becoming better.
Do you want to know where I am right now, John? Oh, that's right, it's John now. No more "respecting authority" I've decided- does it surprise you that I've decided on something?- that you don't deserve my respect. Because, I'm sitting in another off-the-map- might as well be off the fucking universe- crap-shitty motel room. I do believe I saw a cockroach earlier. This is just another thing you've blessed me with, John. I can't wait to tell Sammy that we're sleeping with the lights on because of a few creepy-crawlies. He'll laugh. He has a good sense of humor. Not one as refined as mine, of course, but I wish you could have appreciated him more.
Because it sure as hell would've been more than enough to make up for me. Know why? Because Sammy has so much more than I do. Sure, he's got that hunter side to him, all of the fury and anger that come with the job, but the man has a whole other side to him, too, that you just couldn't bring yourself to see: brains, talents, these puppy-dog eyes that you just can't bring yourself to say no to, love, compassion- unlike myself, because I'm your cold hearted creation- honesty, loyalty without being too headstrong, trustworthiness, appreciation, and patience. He's an amazing character, and I pity you for not being able to come to terms with that.
Do you know what else I'm doing, John? I'm staring at a gun. Answer me this: If death was never an option, why is the gun enticing me? If death was never an option, John, why did that deal with the fucking thing we've spent our whole lives hunting seem like the answer? Just because I was dying didn't mean you could completely defy every single thing you've taught me and take that deal and sell your soul to hell! You left me with absolutely nothing, except grief and confusion and total devastation.
You always said death was never the way to go. Ever. So why, John? You made a complete hypocrite of yourself. You set yet another amazing example for me to follow. Remember when I said earlier that I didn't know how to do anything except to obey orders? Not my exact words, but that was the point. The point now is I don't have anything to go off of. So, I'm picking up the gun. I hope your happy. But you're not, because you're in hell! Because of my stupidity. I should've told Sam to pull the trigger when that thing was inside of you. Maybe I'll make amends when I pull the trigger on myself.
Now I'm crying. You'll love that I'm thinking this is turning into a dreaded chick flick moment. No, I can't do that. I can't kill myself, and both of us know that I won't. I want to so bad though. To make all of the hurt go away. Just by a single motion of my finger. Damn it, I wish you would have let me die peacefully in a coma. That reaper chick was hot, too. It wouldn't have been so bad. I wouldn't have gone to hell, you wouldn't have to be in hell.
It's impossible for me to stay mad at someone, dad. And get this: I got that trait from you. Funny how things work out, isn't it? Part of your own genetic pool just came back around and saved my stupid ass. I guess you saved me twice in this life, dad.
…I…miss you so much. I'll never forgive myself for what happened to you.
Damn it, I'm still crying. This is just one big mess. And Sammy just came through the door, too. Huh, wonder what he's thinking, seeing me crying with a gun in my hands and all. He better not hug me. God, I swear he's a chick sometimes. Besides, I can't be touched, right?
I was never touchable.
I was a soldier.
I was a Winchester.
I was a brother, and I was loved.
I guess I never thought of that.