Chapter 1: Realization
There you were. We were sitting on one of the chairs at one of the neatly arranged, dark wooden tables, with the little lamps on them, inside the bunker you call your home, the only real home you ever really had. And you were reading in a thick, old book. I can't remember, what it was about or why you were even reading it and what you hoped to find in it. I can only remember, that I liked to watch you doing it. Everyone says about you, that you don't care about books or reading itself, but that's not true. You read. Often. Sometimes hidden in your room, as if you were scared someone could see you differently than you like him to. You like to be this tough guy, the warrior, the hunter. Someone, who fights and saves, not someone, who reads and knows. I often wonder why. Maybe you give that role to your brother, maybe you feel like you're destined for something else. And maybe it's enough, that I know about it.
Your eyes moved across the old pages and a finger with them. It was quiet around us. And were we in fact together here, it felt like I would be the silent observer of the things you achieve. And I loved it and I still love it now. Even when you don't do a lot, one can still see so much. The way your lips soundlessly move along, whenever you read a sentence once more to understand its matter even better. The way you raise your eyebrows every now and then and one can practically sense the realization in your head in the air, as if it was something you can touch. And is it actually something so banal and small, but when Dean Winchester realizes something, for me it's like I would, too. I don't know its content, but I feel its presence like a glowing light in all the darkness.
It felt like I've been sitting there and watch you forever. And a small part of me wondered, why it didn't bother you. Or maybe you just didn't notice. But then again, you always notice when I'm staring at you. And most of the time you make sure I stop. You can't stand me doing it, and you don't seem to ever understand it. And still, I was staring at you and you let me continue. Forever. Even for me it was like forever. Centuries and millennials haven't felt as long as these single moments of quiet togethership.
"Forever is composed of nows"
(John Green, "Papertowns")
And there it was. Whatever it was, you found it. You spread your arms a little and your eyes were wide open. And a smile of realization. The bright smile of win over a book, which had the purpose to be won over, and over surroundings, which didn't care what you won. Except for me. I did care. Didn't you hold my attention completely and alone before already, was it now so tense and fixed, that I didn't see anything but you, impatiently waiting for you sharing your realization with me. You looked at me, as if you just now remembered I was here as well, and your smile took over your entire face. Your eyes illuminated into mine and the little wrinkles around them immersed your face into a form it takes far too rarely.
"That smile could end wars and cure cancer."
(John Green, "An Abundance of Katherines")
And I really think that. It's rare like a unique artifact or a treasure in the depths of the ocean. Or an angel, who has turned his back to all his tasks and duties and his home to follow a human, who couldn't do anything for him and still meant everything to him. Barely anything else is important for me. And could I do anything to see that smile every day and every minute, I would do it. And could I do anything to cause that smile, I would do it. But for the moment only realization and win could do that. And maybe one day you realize, that I am the win. That I am the one person on this planet, in this universe and in your world, who that smile should be directed at.