In the beginning.
It had been two years. Only two years, though during that time, I had changed drastically. Or so Bobby said. When I was fourteen, Dean and Dad had died. It was all my fault.
Dad handed me the gun.
"Don't screw up." He ordered, glaring at me. I nodded.
"Yes, sir." I said. I was used to him not loving me anymore. Dean was the better son. Dean clapped me on the back.
"Let's go." He said. I nodded silently.
"'Kay." I said. Dad was already storming off into the forest.
Dean and I went down the path towards the forest. We were hunting a werewolf. I yawned widely, and Dean stopped.
"If you're too tired to do this, then don't bother coming along." Dean snapped. I shook my head.
"No, I'm not too tired. I'm fine." I said. Dean snorted and kept going. I had to be careful, or they'd never like me again. Both Dean and Dad hated me, and that was clear.
We were standing around, waiting for the wolf to come our way like Dad had said. I was standing ready, gun in hand, staring around me intensely. Then Dean spoke up.
"Why are you always so quiet?" Dean asked. I shrugged. Dean snorted.
"You're such a freak." He muttered. I held my gun tighter as tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I held them back and drew in a deep breath, focusing on the hunt once again.
…
Dean and I had been standing around for hours, when there was a rustle in the trees. I trained my gun there, and sure enough, a huge white wolf came out of the forest. The moonlight glinted off its fur. Red blood dripped from the muzzle. My stomach dropped to the floor, but I refused to believe that Dad was dead. Dean shot at it, just as the werewolf launched itself at him. Dead and the werewolf wrestled on the ground as Dean fought it with his hunting knife. I shot at the wolf, and it backed away. Then all of a sudden, I was on the ground, torn up, with Dean's clothes on the floor, his knife and gun lying on the floor as well.
Blood flowed from a wound in my side. It was a claw mark, not made from teeth, thankfully.
"Dad? Deeeeeaan!" I called. Tears filled my eyes. I coughed, and blood poured from my mouth. I had to get to the car.
So I did.
I didn't know how I did, but I did. I dragged myself, sobbing and coughing and moaning, but I got there. The car door was open. My phone was in the back seat. I scrambled over the seats and reached my phone. I clicked on the first contact I saw.
"Hello?" Pastor Jim called. I sobbed even harder.
"Pastor Jim. Dean and Dad are dead! I'm bleeding and I can't stop it. The werewolf isn't dead. Please, help, I don't know what to do!" I sobbed into the phone. Dark spots danced in front of my eyes. The phone slipped from my hand and I fell to the floor of the car. In the back of my mind I realized what the last things Dean and Dad had said to me.
Don't screw up…You're such a freak!
I suddenly felt sick. I closed my eyes. In the distance I heard an ambulance, but I was too far gone to realize that it wasn't for me.
Pastor Jim had found me, bled out and teetering off the edge of death. After a long recovery, I went to live with Bobby. He had welcomed me with open arms, but I was barely 'home' anyway. Always away on hunts, desperate to run from the terrible truth. I drank myself to sleep in crappy motel rooms, and by the time four months had passed, I was a wreck. I drove around in the Impala, drunk and dying inside and fourteen years old.
The times I was at Bobby's, I was training myself sick. I became a machine. A very, very drunk machine, but a machine all the same. I still had nightmares of Dad and Dean blaming me for their deaths. I barely talked to Bobby, apart from when I came home completely wasted and called him several bad names.
Then I decided to clean up my act. If Dad were there, he would have told me to deal with it. So I did. I dealt with it, the only way I could.
Hunting, booze, and more booze.
I dealt well. Sometimes it was a little tricky, but what the hell, right? Do what you have to, to survive, and then when you can't survive anymore, just die. That was how it went, or at least how I saw it.
Or maybe it was just the fact that I had no more big brother, and no more Dad.