Short little story from Dean's POV describing his complicated relationship with his father. No spoilers and not set in any specific season, though sometime past season 1.
I never wanted to turn into my father.
Alright that's a lie.
There was definitely a time when I idolized him. Thought he could do no wrong. My dad was an indestructible force, his hands sure and steady as they wielded a knife, aimed a shotgun, hugged me close. Sure, the hugs were rare, but when they did come, they were all-encompassing. He rocked me back and forth in his strong arms with the rhythmic flow of a river. My father was the river, but he was also the rock. Jammed into the earth with the force of a god; and he wasn't moving. He was a solid, permanent presence and even when he wasn't there (which was often), his booming words echoed back to me, commanding and unmistakable.
"Watch out for Sammy."
So that's what I did. And I never challenged him, never questioned his demands or disobeyed his instruction. Because he was my father and because I wanted the job he gave me. I wanted to be my little brother's protector. Wanted to feel like there was someone that I still could protect from the evil I had seen. Even at four years old, that's all I wanted. To keep Sammy away from the fiery nightmare that plagued my dreams for years to come.
And then I grew up. And the mission never changed. The orders were the same, and so was the answer. Yes, always yes. Especially when Sammy perfected those damn puppy-dog eyes. Friggin' cheater. Knew exactly what he was doing when he hit me with that wounded stare, probably from the time he turned six.
And then he wasn't six anymore and words like "college" and "scholarship" started to fly around and I finally decided that maybe I didn't want to be exactly like my father after all. Because I watched the way he screamed at my brother and I saw the way his teeth ground together in frustration and I began to understand that maybe dad didn't have it all figured out. Maybe he was scared. Scared of losing the people he cared about most.
Just like me.
So I thought about it for a while and I waited for the screaming to stop, watched Sam slam the front door shut. And I stared at my father with the chink in his once impenetrable armor; patted him once on the shoulder. And then I drove my little brother to the bus station and watched him struggle a little bit with his bags and for the first time in my life, I did something my father couldn't.
I let Sam go.
It was a sad kind of empowerment. A brutal realization that my dad wasn't superman. I guess all kids have that moment, gradual or immediate. That moment when you realize that your parents are human and flawed and just as messed up as you are.
But he was still my dad. And as far as dads go, he came pretty damn close to being a superhero. He saved innocent people from the things they couldn't even imagine, risked his life every day for strangers who would never know his name. That was something I respected, something I truly loved about my father. And I held onto that even after Sam left because I think I needed something to hold onto. Because I had lost the job that mattered most, lost the only person who gave me purpose. So I took on a new job, slipped easily into the role of an obedient companion, an unthinking machine. I did it because it was easy and because I was good at it and because that's what my father needed me to be. So I wore leather jackets and I sharpened my knives and listened to classic rock and roll because I didn't have to think about it. Because I wanted my father to be proud of me, to need even this smallest portion of what I could offer. And because I loved him.
And I still do, still think about him almost every day. But I don't want to be him anymore. Haven't wanted that for a long time. I don't want to become what he was. I don't want to get so caught up in revenge for the people who are gone that I forget about the people who are still here.
My father was a hero.
He risked his life every day. Sought out evil in the hopes of extinguishing it from the world so that no one else would have to know what we had known. And he raised his sons to carry on that duty. Raised us to be soldiers because it was the only way to keep us alive. And I can't blame him for that. I can't resent my father because he gave me everything I needed to keep my little brother safe, to give Sam the chance at a life I could never have. And even now, so many years later, this is still the only thing I want. And even though my father gave me this mission, it has become completely my own now. It is my unwavering dream, my whispered prayer.
My father is a hero and so am I. But I still have some saving left to do.
Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for reading! (Apparently I've caught the writing bug because these little drabbles just keep popping into my head, random as they may be.) =)