I don't usually write tags, never really saw the point in it, but after the last few eppies I have been kinda angry . . . and it was a crappy birthday, so I am venting this anger on the world. Sorry for that. let me know what you think. hugs, Ember
What I'm Fighting For . . . .
I'm tired – more than tired in fact.
Always the bad guy.
Always my fault.
Like I asked for all of this so I should suck it up and take the blows as they come. Sure, I've made mistakes. A helluva lot of them – but so has Dean.
I busted wide open the last seal setting free the Apocalypse – and sure that sucks big time. But who broke the first seal . . . oh, yeah, that's right it was Dean. Funny how everyone always seems to forget that when they are calling me an abomination.
Is it worse to be the bomb or the one with their hand on the detonator? A bomb can't do a damn thing unless someone sets it off – it's harmless inside its casing.
I was dead.
I had died.
Free of any real wrong doings.
Dean brought me back – I never faulted him for that . . . I understood.
He brought me back so he could die in my place . . . so he could go to Hell for me – what the hell was I supposed to do with that kind of guilt?
So I bought into any idea no matter how horrible it might have been in a pathetic attempt to save his life. I messed up. Screwed up big time. But who the hell can't say they'd made mistake at some point in their lives that they'd wished with all their hearts they could take back? I'm sure Dean could. And if there is someone out there who believes themselves to be that saintly, I'd loved to meet them . . . and beat the shit out of them.
So mine and Dean's versions of Heaven were vastly different – wow, huge surprise there with Ezekiel running the show. Not that anyone cares, but I am pretty sure Jessica would be in my version of Heaven. I loved her more than anyone except Dean . . . and oddly enough, she wasn't there. Really strange, huh?
Well, not really – because I really am that kind of bastard. I've only ever thought about myself – I'd much preferred turkey dinners with people I'd forgotten a long time ago, and a time I broke away from it all for a while to the woman I'd loved or the brother I'd worshipped since I was old enough to follow him around.
Just a small question, something Dean may have not taken into consideration when he was thinking I only cared about everything that didn't include him while his Heaven was something out a Norman Rockwell painting – if the angels wanted to break him down even further than he already was, why the hell wouldn't they manipulate my Heaven to make it look like I didn't give a rat's ass about him?
Makes you wonder doesn't it?
I get up every day knowing Lucifer is out there waiting for me – that's the kind of thing that would make anyone want to take a gun to their head and pull the trigger without a second thought . . . but I do get up.
I keep going.
Dean's lost his faith . . . did he ever really have it to begin with?
I don't think so . . . he told me once before he didn't believe in God with everything that had happened with our mother and our crap-assed lives. So why is that a shocker to anyone?
His faith was in me . . . that's what he lost.
I can't blame him for that.
I was so hellbent on revenge – my father's son in every sense of the word. Yeah, I fucked up big time, and I regret it with all my heart.
But I still care – I still want to save people . . . it's the only thing I am holding on to.
And I still fight.
Every damn day I fight to stay who I am . . . or the shreds that are left of me anyway. I'm not saying that Dean doesn't have it just as hard. He does. The fate of the world rests in his hands.
But it also rests in mine.
I begged him to stay strong for me – get back in the fight – to be my brother not my enemy . . . he walked away.
What am I supposed to do with that?
Would he be happier to be Michael's meatsuit?
Would it thrill him to see me as Lucifer and faceoff so he could kick my ass all over the place for being the shitty little brother who only ever cared about myself? It's what Heaven and Hell are rooting for . . . but what about Dean?
Somehow I doubt that – I know him too well.
So yeah, I'm tired, but I'm going to keep on fighting the good fight – and I'm going to keep on doing that until Dean realizes what he thinks is gone is not lost.
I'm going to fight until his faith in me is restored – it's what I'm living for . . . it's what's worth dying for . . . .