BEAUTIFUL CHILD
"And when there's nothing to gain or bring the pain or pin the blame on you or myself."
I know things are going to get right. I know all this is going to end one day. We'll be driving in the impala towards the sunset with big smiles on our faces and hope in our hearts. Pain and sorrow never last; they're washed away like the waves in the sea.
Once upon a time we were happy, my brother and me. We played with our soldier toys, not a care in our souls. We carved the initials of our names on each and every tree we came across during the road trips: S.W. and D.W. I still bug Dean about it. When I drive I threaten to stop the car and look for those letters. He gets mad at me, jokingly. He says we don't have time for that; we have important things to do. I reply there's nothing more important that finding our names amidst the woods. He then grins and tells me: "one day". He remembers me of dad; he speaks like him and has the same sense of duty.
Once upon time we were beautiful children, running through the towns we stayed in. We used to stick our noses on shop windows, steal candy, play hide and seek or watch cartoons in the old TVs of our motel rooms. We acted like any other kid; I didn't know about monsters, ghosts or what was hidden in the dark ready to pounce upon us. Dean's job was to keep me out of it all, to make me forget we weren't exactly an ordinary family. Dad was absent most of the time but we were glad to be left alone to do our thing. We never got bored, we always found entertainment. I didn't know about the sthriga almost killing me, I didn't know about Dean shoplifting and getting us food. I was clueless. I was in my childish world of superheroes, of Sir Galahads: Dean used to read their stories to me, he used to act the parts and talk with different voices, and he always ended up making me laugh.
"I'm sure there's a magical place where we can live forever, Dean. I don't care if Dad's with us or not, I just want to live somewhere instead of travelling so much." I was eight when I made this statement. Dean looked at me but simply said: "one day."
When we had a couple of coins to spare we ran to the nearest McDonald's. We stuffed ourselves with the largest Big Mac, the largest pack of fries and the hugest of milkshakes. Sometimes, we arrived at the motel and Dad was there waiting for us, sat on one of the dirty chairs in the room. He used to scold us, lecture us about the dangers of going out. Afterwards he hugged us and kissed us good night.
I'm recalling our childhood adventures while we're going to another town, to work on another case. Dean is behind the wheel humming AC/DC, he has put one of Dad's old tapes, he looks content, satisfied. He feels at home and so do I. When all the apocalypses and wars end, we'll be back to that. We'll find our peace, our paradise. Dean will be a beautiful child again. A beautiful child like me.
THE END.