Episode list poem
The Supernatural episode list (so far) as told through Dean's POV.
. . .
Here
we are, driving down yet another road, just one of so many. The only
thing that matters is that we are together.
The sound of the
engine reminds me of the one of a plane. I'm a pilot
soaring, with my faithful companion beside me.
Everything seems so easy when you're with me.
My Sammy.
Remember
when we killed that wendigo,
what I told you in the forest? That you had to have patience. I'll
never leave you, never let go of you.
Ever.
Even if I would
find you dead
in the water
of a lake or a tub, I would find a way to get you back.
I have
before, I can do it again.
We've managed to face beings like a phantom traveller, demons and ghosts all over this country and maybe not celebrated with a Bloody Mary, but with a beer or two.
There's nothing we can't do as long as we have each other.
The bond between you and me is more than skin deep, it's something more than just by blood.
I
remember when I thought for sure the hookman
was gonna get you and it bugs
me out knowing I can't always save you.
Keep you safe.
Provide a home for you, cus every place we stay at, every place we go is like an asylum packed with mad people trying to tear us apart.
We have nothing but each other and there is nothing we won't do to save one another.
You even gave up your quest for a normal life the moment you saved me from the scarecrow and for that I am forever grateful. It cost you so much, I know that.
But
I'll never loose faith
in you Sammy.
I never have and I never will.
Even though at
times it feels like we're on Route
666,
our own highway to hell, I'll never let the nightmare
get us.
Not again.
Never
gonna let anything
take you from me, like the
Benders-looking
creeps of human beings that snatched you, lurking in the shadow
and brought you to their hell
house.
There
was definitely something
wicked
running in their blood lines for making a provenance
over the people they had murdered.
The sight of a dead man's blood gave them no regrets and my gut tells me salvation won't find their souls down in the pit.
I
was searching for it myself, caught like in a devil's
trap in my time of dying
after that demon crashed into our car.
The sensation of despair
and need to get back into my body to continue hunting with my pain in
the ass little brother.
A brother who changed my mind and made me
understand why not everybody
loves a clown.
They can be some scary sons of bitches, filled with bloodlust
and rage.
That's also why children
shouldn't play with dead things
– they can come back to haunt your ass.
Children's games can be cruel cus if Simon said you're to stay put there is no exit, not until he says so. That's why the usual suspects always get the crossroad blues, the very thought of never getting out is terrifying.
I should know.
The first time we encountered the Croatoan virus I thought I had a way out from our lives as hunters. I figured if you died, I wanted to die too and then it would all be over.
Little
did I know that we were the ones being hunted.
That we were nothing more than playthings
that time, puppets strung up played out and completely unaware of
things to come.
So like a nightshifter
silently carrying out his work, we kept living our lives in silence,
not once looking to the houses
of the holy
for guidance or help.
At least I didn't.
That's
why some would say I was born
under a bad sign,
destined to always attract danger. Our very lives sounds like tall
tales,
myths told over and over again until the origin of it is as
recognizable as a roadkill.
But
there is one thing that can never be broken, that no demon, ghoul or
angel can touch and that is my heart.
Because not even by experiencing some sort of Hollywood
Babylon
did my heart ever stray from the right path.
Our path, the
Winchesters'.
True,
we did let ourselves, on my accord, get thrown into jail, but we
never did get the Folsom
prison blues,
did we?
Besides, I was right that time and we did the job.
And
if there's one thing I've learned in my life it's that what we
have, is all we have.
We can ponder back and forth on what
is and what should never be,
but the fact remains that without you Sam, all
hell breaks loose.
When
we are not together as a team, all
hell breaks loose.
Like cowboys in the
Magnificent
Seven
we ride towards the sunset together in the trusty Impala.
We
do what it takes to make sure that the
kids are alright
and that not a bad
day at Black Rock
will have them turn their homes into a sin
city.
To
make sure they keep getting bedtime
stories
read to them and not the kind of stories we grew up in. The kind that
ended with a red
sky at morning,
painted by fresh
blood
from a knife or a rifle.
To make sure that the children gets to
open presents that doesn't relate to a
very supernatural Christmas,
but to a normal one.
A safe one.
All the evil got to our heads, how could it not?
Dad
once gave you a copy of the Malleus
Maleficarum
and it made you dream
a little dream of me
where I was stuck in a mystery
spot
with no way out.
You woke up screaming and that morning we swore
to each other that we would never abandon one another.
To do
whatever's necessary to stay together.
All is fair in love and
war right?
Well,
this is both.
So
we slap a little jus
in bello
in the faces of all the evil we hunt. Acceptable practices, a fair
trade for another night's good sleep for the people on the world.
For us.
Sometimes we've had involuntary help, like the "help" we got from the Ghostfacers.
Can't really blame them for having a thorn in their side towards us, remembering that fake long-distance call we made about their non-existing movie deal.
We took the time for a little prank or two, took the time to find an ounce of fun in our otherwise dark lives.
Back then I figured time is on my side, but I was proved wrong. I didn't know then how well I would experience that there really is no rest for the wicked, even when the wicked in this question was me.
I'm sorry that I left you, but I'm not sorry for giving my life in trade of yours.
But who would've believed that like Lazarus rising from the dead would I be risen from hell by an angel?
How
many times didn't I pray down in the pit?
Cry out in my head;
"are
you there God, it's me…Dean Winchester"
only to be answered by the cries of other souls being tortured.
Still
I kept praying.
Save me.
Help me.
In
the beginning
I fought the evil that tore at me but after thirty years of torture
my soul went through a metamorphosis.
I became something I hated.
Something I hunted.
I was something out of a monster movie, hateful and dead inside at the same time.
Tearing up people as was torn at before. Tearing into their flesh, each cut tearing of a part of me.
So many times I wished it was all just a bad dream caused by a yellow fever that wouldn't have me go belly up. I started hallucinating, daydreaming if you will, of better days.
I remembered a Halloween, you couldn't have been more than five and you asked me to tell you a ghost story. At first I thought you'd found out what dad did, why we were living the way we did, but I quickly realized that you were just a kid wanting to hear a story.
My
imagination isn't the best so I played with an old Peanuts
tv-special and renamed it so it said it's
the great pumpkin, Sam Winchester,
instead of Charlie Brown.
I made you the lead character of the
story, a boy on the hunt for candy, not for ghosts, a boy who was
playing with his friends.
Later I came to understand that my modified story was my own wishful thinking of how I wanted life to be for us.
I
wanted us to be happy and normal, go to camps so if you wanted to
tell your friends about it but memory failed you, I could say "I
know what you did last summer".
We could laugh and play and do what other kids do.
But even then I
knew that would never be the life for us.
We're destined to always be caught in a place between heaven and hell, purgatory, which in itself is a type of hell.
The
only thing we could rely on was that two things would always be true;
family
remains
and that son of a bitch Criss
Angel is a douche bag.
Seriously,
what is his deal?
Anyway, I'm glad I've got you Sam, now and
back then. From an after
school special
kicking some poltergeist's ass, to adulthood and doing pretty much
the same thing, but with style and precision.
And
girls.
Lots of pretty girls along the way. Come to think of it,
that's how my life could be summed up really. It's all based on
sex
and violence,
sometimes even at the same time.
But that's besides the point I'm trying to make.
What I'm trying to say is that sometimes I dream that death takes a holiday for good, spare us from constantly living on the head of a pin. The smallest move in the wrong direction and it all come tumbling down.
No more searches for the monster at the end of this book that is our life.
Only peace.
But I know that such wishes is to jump the shark, it's just not going to happen.
It
is just as likely as the
rapture
taking place right now when
the levee breaks
and we are flooded by demons that scurries the earth.
We were
there, we both saw Lucifer
rising
from the deepest pit to claim our planet as his own.
But we are not showing any sympathy for the devil, no freaking way.
This is war and no matter how many good god y'all's they throw at us, I know what it's good for.
It's
for every living human being on this earth.
For us to be free
to be you and me
– always, so that in the
end
it's us who are standing strong.
Surrounded by fallen
idols,
we rise above them all.
And I
believe the children are our future,
so we really need to win this war. If we don't they'll have no
future to wake up to.
So we will win.
Then maybe one day they'll read the tale of the curious case of Dean Winchester and sing hymns written for the Winchester gospel.
Instead
of changing watch posts they'll be changing
channels
on the tv. Live free like we all are meant to do.
So after all
this time, here we are, like the
real Ghostbusters
only way more skilled.
I will never, ever, abandon all hope because I believe in us Sammy.
You
and me no matter what.
That's all I really need.
