Foreword
You know you wanna to be Dean Winchester.
Admit it. You want to hit the road. Crank the tunes. Eat snack cakes for dinner. Flirt with a confidence so epic it should be weaponized. Then-oops-lose their number. Con the con men. Outsmart the Trickster. Field strip a rifle in under a minute on a motel bed, without looking, while the Magic Fingers is running. Gank a demon before breakfast. Go to Hell and live to tell about it.
Who wouldn't wanna be Dean?
Or, okay, Sam. Look, were friends, I'm just gonna level with you-Dean's awesome, but I'd want to be the one with the special mojo. Hello? Psychic visions? The power to exorcise demons with your mind? I mean, yeah, a heavy suitcase of angst comes with the turbo powers-there's the looming threat of Going Darkside. But I gotta confess, I can relate to angst. As metaphors go, Sam's work for me. I've got a little Darkside in there. You?
Now, on the unequivocal plus side of being Sam: street smart and book smart and tall. If you were Sam, you could walk into any room, beeline for the most suspicious person, and get them to trust you under a minute. Never mind you're only pretending to be a cop, or a reporter, or a hospital orderly… or even drunk and incompetent with a pool cue. If you were Sam, you'd be one hell of a pool shark.
Plus, if you're Sam, you've got Dean. If you're Dean, you've got Sam. Have you ever seen a team like the two of them? Me neither.
So.
On the one hand, you kind of can't go wrong here. Our show is full of bad-asses. Take your pick. Even the demons drive classic cars. Even the angels throw a wicked right hook. On the other hand, you're doomed. I can't be the first person to point out to you that as a fan of Supernatural, you've embraced what just might be the most nihilistic show on TV. Dude, everyone dies. They die bloody. Some of them repeatedly. Including both of our lead characters. Supernatural is a show about the creepy evil lurking in every corner. It's about hunters who just barely manage to keep beating that evil back. The teeny little candle flames in the pitch black. They're outnumbered, outgunned…
I'm sorry, am I depressing you? Don't get me wrong-its fun to watch the creatures go ballistic. Blood spatter hits the wall-or a Winchester's face-innocent people scream, our heroes dive for the Impala trunk and select from a cache of groovy weapons…
No, I trust we're all on the same page here. You didn't tune into our little show because you wanted to watch the nutcracker. You're after some hardcore Bad Thing Hunting. Maybe you had a rough childhood. Maybe you just have really excellent taste. Whatever. I'm just glad you found us.