Awake to Something New
I figured it was about time to dip into the Supernatural pool of fiction. I've been a fan for a while now, and set the challenge for myself to try as many new fandoms as possible this year on seeing as I've been so wrapped up in Doctor Who.
Just some musings in the mind of Dean Winchester. Very short drapple. Please review!
You get up every morning because you have to.
It's not because you want to fight the monsters, chase the bad guys, run for your life, or pull stray bullets from your brother's back. No, it's none of that. You've never consciously wanted to do this-but you can never think of a time when you didn't know, on instinct, that it was what you had to do. Really, you cannot remember the "before," that period of time when the monsters weren't real. Flashes will come and go occasionally. Every so often you'll catch a whiff of her scent, hear a chuckle that reminds you of him, see a glint in Sammy's eyes that sparks of him-before the death, of course, before the house burnt down in Lawrence, back when he still laughed without bitterness.
Though you might not want to have this purpose, without the creatures, you don't know what you would do with yourself. What little skills you possess do not exactly fit into most résumé. So without the beast, you would be nothing more than a bum, a drunken bum without a home.
Perhaps that is what you fear the most, after the thought of losing Sammy. Being without a home. Home isn't a place with four walls, a roof, and a bed. For now, home is the open road, the wind, the car. Unconventional, but that's not a problem.
Without the beasties, the demented creatures that keep you doing this day in and day out, you would not be needed out here. The road would no longer have a purpose. You would no longer have a purpose, not truly. For what is driving around the country, without any sort of…quest? Supposedly you could do it, sample all the nation's pies (and possibly some ladies as well), yet that seems almost too…too…
Meaningless. Aimless. Pointless. And a whole bunch of other word ending in "-less." Perhaps now things seem empty. But they could be worse.
You arise with every dawn not because you want to make any sort of difference on this rock, but rather because you don't know what else you can do.
It's not because you want to spend hours dulling your eyes over ancient manuscripts and bright computer screens, or stitch up bloody gashes with dental floss and fish hooks. You don't wake up eager to stab and slice warm bodies of taken flesh, watch light die out in innocent eyes and skin turn to dust. It's not out of anticipation to see your brother torn again and again, your kid brother who might be all grown up now, but damnit Sammy, still needs you to keep an eye out for him.
Sometimes you pray, as you lie down, that you might simply never get up again. That you can close your eyes without fear. Then wake, or perhaps not, to find everything has passed, and that you are free and clear.
But this never happens. You feel almost ashamed for wishing it to be so.
You keep waking. You get up, out of unfamiliar beds. Shower. Dress. And start the day anew. You don't do it for them. You don't do it for justice, or peace, or the satisfaction of the hunt. You do it for you. Because…what else is there for Dean Winchester?