Oh
I've been travellin' on this road too long
Just tryna find my way back home
The old me is dead and gone, dead and gone

Knowing a Winchester? It's tough - it usually ends in death, or maybe some new knowledge of how you will die. Or maybe you're a monster whose getting a fuck-ton of salt to the face before you're sent to hell, thinking shit shit shit shit. All in all, it really doesn't matter if you know them. It matters how. How did you meet the mysteries hunters? Through a friend? A hunt? For me, I met them as a child, when my mom was dead and we were haunted by her spirit and my dad knew one of his friends who could help him solve our dead-end problem. As a six-year-old boy who believed Star Wars and The Little Mermaid were real things, ghost hunters sounded pretty normal. Fun, even. Like Ghost Busters, but ... you know, Winchesters.

Anyways, they came on the day of my sisters tenth birthday, when we were hiding in our small house of Juneabeth Lane in our small town of Blueberry. The car pulled up, and our dad was pulling the door open and I was in various states of confusion and relief. I didn't know these two would be the cause for everything that was leading up to this part in my life, because they seemed friendly enough. Our sister was instantly smitten with the shorter one - she had that thing for guys ho had no idea she existed and would forget about her as soon as they met her. I never got the chance to figure which brother was which, but I knew I was going to like the taller one. He seemed good with kids, maybe even had some of his own, though I don't know how that would be possible; what, with his life and all, it's not like he had the ability to settle down on his own and have a few children to call him dad. No, that would be normal. Too normal for a Winchester, anyway.

"Where'd you put her?"

"In the back."

By that point, my mom had begun whispering in my ear again, as she usually did when something she didn't like was about to happen. Like when dad started salting the doors and windows, or when Mia was telling dad she wanted to go to grandma's house for her birthday, or when dad called the Winchesters in the first place. Don't let them. You don't want me dead forever, do you? Be a good son and tell them they can't kill me. So I did; they chuckled and ruffled my hair, which had been neglected and started to grow out passed my shoulders. To them, I was a silly little kid who was just missing his mommy, who wanted to go back to the good ol' days where we were all friends and everyone got their kicks from being alive.

But my mom was persistent, and now Mia was saying not to hurt mommy, because she didn't do anything - she was just stuck. So the brothers sat us kids down and gave The Talk; some ghosts, especially family, were only still here because of vengeance. They needed revenge on whoever wronged them in order to pass to the afterlife. "We don't need anymore death in this house, or in the world, that aren't planned," the shorter one said. Mia had nodded, understanding them like the stuck-up ten-year-old she was. I never liked her - she was my sister, why would I? - but that doesn't mean I liked seeing her head turn in a 360 degree circle because she agreed that mommy needed to leave. I screamed; I'm not ashamed to say it. Of course I screamed. My sister had just died and I was supposed to be okay? Dad glowered at her dead body like the bastard he was. The tallest brother pulled me away from her body, saying it was too late, she was gone. I knew that, I wasn't stupid.

I know that. Doesn't mean I like it.

I watched them burn her body in the backyard, praying it would be over soon. But praying to who? What God would allow this to happen? What God would allow a little kid to watch his sister die and burn, allow the kid's mother to murder his sister because the blond girl with the big brown eyes and pig-tails had an opinion? Certainly not the one I believed in. Or maybe there was no God. Maybe there was no reality, just a simulation where everything was just a game. A sick, twisted game in which no one survived and no one was happy - not really happy, anyways.

And so they dug up my mom, and she was screaming at me; don't let them burn me! Save me! Save me, you little bastard! Kill the man that killed me, you stupid child. I was a horrified kid, than - Father and Mommy screaming at each other seemed like my biggest nightmare at the time, but to find out your dad, your hero, was the cause of your mother's death, the cause of your childhood's disappearance? That's a low blow. I pulled the tallest one aside, telling him everything my mom had told me. He had gotten a far away look in his eyes, making an empty promise to keep an eye out. And for little ol' me, watching them drive away at one in the morning, I was angry. I swore vengeance. The brother's would be the second on my list - for now? Dad.

Can you imagine a six-year-old boy murdering his father in the man's sleep? Imagine all the rage in the wide, watery green eyes. Imagine a little boy's brown hair caked in the blood of his father, hands running with the stuff. Now imagine him being smart enough to run away in the middle of the night, knowing the Winchester Brother's would be back the next day, wondering if they had succeeded in their task of sending the spirit back to hell - they had. Oh, they had. Now, they were wondering, where's the kid? The one who wanted his mommy? I was long gone. I was in the next town over by than, sleeping in the park, wanting nothing more than to go back in time and correct what I had down. But I couldn't. How could a little boy know that?

Now I stand over the water, seeing the reflection of that kid, that child who was only doing what he was told. Thinking back on it, mommy died because of cancer - her ghost was just angry by that point. Funny. Isn't it just hilarious how that child could have been innocent? Wouldn't have murder on his hands? That's parents for you. The boy's hair was red from the dried blood, his skin pale from what he'd done. His 4'3 structure seemed to shrink under the weight of his sin. His parents stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. His sister was next to him, urging him to join them. And so that cute, sad little boy spread his small arms and nodded.

"I wouldn't do it."

They'd caught up with me in the end. Told me to drop the gun. They could help - I didn't have to do this. There was a guy, an angel, who could fix everything; make me forget everything that had happened, my past, my present. A cruel fate, considering what I had done. What I'd seen. And I almost accepted. I'd almost gave in to wanting a new life, a new day to wake up to where I wasn't running for my life. But the gun was heavy in my hand - the tallest brother was staring at me, guilt making him seem smaller; guilt at not reassuring me that what mommy had said was nonsense, that she was tricking me. Thinking it was his fault. But, in the end, it was. I still blamed him, even when I shouldn't. I'm still young. Fifteen. And not going on, because instead of the temptation of a new life, I leaned backwards and let myself fall towards to the end of my time.

The little boy is looking back at me, a smile on his face as he fades from my conscious, as I fade from this life. Dead and gone. My sister goes next, her small hand waving at my broken form, thanking my for following her. Mom and dad come next; mommy's crying - or maybe that's me. Dad's holding her as he nods, knowing I was dying and proud of me for trying. He forgives me. He knows I was young, and he's not mad. And somehow that makes me cry harder as I fall. I can hear the brother's screaming for their friend to grab me, but no one is there. Maybe their angel can sense I want to die, and maybe he'll save me from the hell I'm about to go to. And I start thinking, was it worth it?

Was any of it worth it?