*** Author's warning: Following the show's timeline, this takes place somewhere between Season 5 & Season 6 and, due to the conclusion of Season 5, this is not a happy birthday.
Dean turns 32.
It was almost midnight when she slipped down the stairs, bare feet silent on the soft carpet.
The house was dark. Only the ticking of the clock on the shelf and the far off bark of the neighbor's dog down the street breaking the silence. Shadows filled the rooms and darkness seemed to flow out of the corners. It was cold outside but the forecasted snow had never materialized and the moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds.
Inside was a chill of a different sort.
Stopping at the entrance to the living room, she took in the figure seated close to the window. Silent, with head bowed, it looked as though he was asleep, if it wasn't for the bottle still dangling from his fingers as his arm hung down the side of the arm chair.
Heart breaking, she quietly watched.
And waited.
And reflected on the day gone by.
Birthdays were always joyous occasions for her family. When her son was born, she continued the tradition of parties and fun times. As he got older, she let him "help" plan her birthday as well. Sure, bumper cars might not have been what she would have selected to do to celebrate her birthday, but, her young son was only 7 years old and he thought it would be fun. So, bumper cars and cake were the order of that day.
For this birthday, the two of them had put their heads together and come up with a day filled with fun for just the three of them. She thought it would be good. She hoped it would be a distraction. She wished it could have worked.
Oh, he went along with them, smiling in all the right places, laughing about their adventures, feasting on pizza and cake, and blowing out candles. Anyone looking on would have thought the day was a success. However, she wasn't just anyone. She recognized that the smiles he smiled never reached up and crinkled his eyes in that way that had them sparkling with real joy. She alone heard the force it took him to laugh and talk, keeping up the appearance for the young boy. She watched as only one slice of pizza was played with more than actually eaten and how the piece of cake became a small pile of crumbles as the plastic fork twisted around and through it.
She saw the hitch in his breath, the brief tight closing of his eyes, the fleeting moment of unbearable silent pain crossing his face as he took a breath, made a wish, and blew out the his candles on his cake.
Yeah. She knew what the wish was truly for and that it wouldn't be coming true any time soon.
She knew the pain and heartache that was being closely guarded behind walls that continually tried to crumble under a heavy weight of sorrow over the last months. She had been there to cradle and comfort. She had watched and protected where she could, waited and prayed where she couldn't. She counted the steps forward through the grief process and forgave the steps backwards.
She cared so much for this man. Together, with her son, they had formed a family. It wasn't always perfect, but it suited her just fine.
So, moments like these, she understood.
Tomorrow she would bully him into activity. She would push and she would prod until he burst with exasperation, calling her a crazy woman and then grabbing her around the waist, pulling her tightly to him with a hungry look in his eyes that would have them sending her son on his bike to a friend's house so the two of them could race upstairs to exorcise his demons the old fashioned way.
However, tonight ... tonight was for the grief. Tonight was for comfort.
She watched.
She waited.
The bottle dropped to the floor with a soft thud, rolling around behind the chair. The fingers that had been holding it came up to press on eyes that were already tightly shut. Shoulders began to move slightly, shaking in time to the silent, hitching sobs that had begun.
The time had finally come for her to move forward.
Swiftly she came in front of this man she loved, kneeling in front of him, sliding in between his legs. Reaching one hand to clasp the back of his head, the other to pull forward on his shoulder, bringing him down till his forehead rested at the curve of her neck, she held him tightly as he allowed the pain to shudder its course through body and mind. Murmuring age-old words of comfort, she caressed his short hair and rocked him with her while he gave into his consuming grief.
As the clock on the shelf chimed the midnight hour, his sobs grew quiet and she felt his awareness return. Leaning back slightly, yet never loosing physical contact, she took in his pale face, green eyes awash with tears and redness, surrounded by shadows, stubble not quite covering the freckles she loved and he hated, and gently smiled at him.
Rising gracefully back to her feet, she left one hand on his head and, with the other, reached down and captured his hand. At moments like this, he was pliable and came easily as she pulled him up and close. Tugging gently, she led him out of the room and up the stairs. Together they looked in on her son and then crossed the threshold of their own room. Closing the door behind them, she led him to the bed, pushing slightly till he simply sank down and under the covers. Crossing to her side, she shifted over until she was nestled solidly at his side, head resting on his chest.
She pressed a kiss to his chest, whispered a soft good night, and waited once again.
After a few moments, Dean Winchester tightened his arm around Lisa Braden, pulling her close, feeling her softness, breathing in the scent of her hair and giving thanks for this woman who had taken him in and whose strength held him together after Sam was gone.
She had understood.
His brother was gone. It wasn't a happy birthday. Not this year.
Maybe next year. He'd just have to wait and see what the new year brought.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Season 4 - January 24, 2009
Dean turns 30.
The young man’s eyes snapped open as he moved from the realm of sleep to that of awareness with a slight heart stopping gasp. Lying perfectly still, waiting for his heart to slow down from a pounding gallop, he adjusted from the utter darkness and the sounds of his nightmare to the calming familiarity of a motel heater grinding and the muted traffic noise outside the window. Turning his head to the side and checking the bright red digital numbers of the bedside clock, he realized that he had actually gotten a couple of hours of real sleep before his subconscious decided once again to turn back the clock a few months and his time in ... nope ... not gonna go there.
Eyes adjusted to the shadows of the room made by garish curtains pulled as tightly together as possible, meaning good size cracks of light showing through each side and down the middle, the young man realized he was alone. The other bed was empty, the chair pushed up to the table, the laptop closed, the bathroom door open to a completely dark room. Pushing up to his elbows, he once again looked over towards the table between the beds and noticed a torn piece of sack with some writing on it.
“Checking out bookstore down the street. Decided to walk. Will bring back food.”
Huh.
Flopping back onto the bed, he debated whether to attempt to go back to sleep or to get up and go back through one of the books he’d been researching to figure out what was going on in this town. Deciding against sleep … it’s overrated anyway … he got up and, after splashing some water on his face in the tiny motel bathroom, headed back towards the books.
Rounding the corner of his brother’s bed, his foot caught on the not quite matching paisley spread, nearly sending him head first to meet the carpet. Jerking his foot back, as he found his balance, he caught sight of something bright and shiny. Reaching down, he pulled out a slim, but long box … “hmm, heavy sucker” … gaily wrapped with shiny paper and actually boasting a bright red bow on top.
“What the … ?”
Suspicions gathering, he laid the box down on his brother’s bed and went over to the table, pushing aside the printed papers & macabre pictures to get to yesterday’s paper buried underneath. Checking the date, he gave a mental groan.
“No … nonononono … no!”
Today was January 24th ... his birthday. Not only his birthday, but his 30th birthday. He remembered last year’s little impromptu party in the back of the bar … the cake that had been embarrassing and also … secretly … touching. He remembered the way his brother’s eyes glistened as he toasted with a long neck, fiercely declaring that his big brother WOULD have a 30th birthday. Well, he’d been right … even if it had taken going to hell and back.
His brother had promised a big blowout … “God, I really hope he was kidding about that moon jump” … and suddenly he realized he couldn’t stay in the room. He knew that the minute his little brother got back, he would be working to get him to the destination of the promised party.
“No! Nonononononono … No!”
Grabbing the battered leather jacket off the back of the chair and searching for his keys, he raced out of their room towards the sleek, black beauty that was always waiting for him. Sliding into the car, closing the door, he grasped the wheel and laid his head forward, willing his heart to slow down. He couldn’t deal. He just couldn’t face it … cake and candles and presents and well wishes … he couldn’t. It wasn’t right.
Starting up the engine, listening to its rumbling life for just a moment, hand on the gear shift, he sat there … quiet and still … trying to decide where to go … what to do.
How could his brother think that he would want to deal with a party?
What was he going to do … have a mixer with some hunters, a couple of angels, and a demon? Wonder what kind of invitations got sent for that.
No … he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t believe his brother would try to spring something like this on him … not after everything he had told him of his memories. Not while they are in the middle of this war … in the middle of all this evil. What kind of crazy person would try to plan a party?
He sat back against the seat and glanced over at the passenger side.
His freakishly tall little brother … that’s who.
His little brother who, on his sixth birthday after opening the presents the older boy had managed from the second hand bookstore, feeling very wise now that he was six, questioned his older brother about why they never had a party for HIS birthday and cried when he was told that you don’t need birthday parties when you get bigger.
His little brother who woke him up the next year … the day after his birthday, but hey, the little kid was only six … with a gleeful shout, a package of two hostess cupcakes – a bit smashed from being hidden under a pillow, and a box cracker jacks with the solemn promise that it was really okay if he were to help his big brother eat the popcorn, cause it was actually the prize that was the present … the popcorn was just the wrapping paper.
His little brother who demanded that their dad take them somewhere special for dinner the next year … first with a jut of his little seven year old chin and a glare in his eye that slowly began to falter and glisten as their father, who had obviously forgotten the date, just looked at him, unable to understand why his little boy was suddenly ordering him around, before he quietly whispered in a trembling voice … “Please, Daddy. It’s his birthday and I couldn’t find any cupcakes.”
The pizza had been good that year and the fact that their dad actually took them bowling afterwards had delighted both of the brothers … having them declare it to be the best birthday ever.
Blinking his eyes quickly, the young man shifted the car's gear and sped out of the parking lot. Birthdays were for little kids. They weren’t for guys that had lived the life he led … seen the things that he had seen … done the things that he had done.
No!
“Sorry little brother … but cancel the shindig cause I’m not doing the moon jump this year.”
Passing the bookstore, he hesitated, almost stopping and going in to give his brother an earful, but decided against it knowing full well that his little brother would effectively turn his tirade around and head him right back to wherever it was that he planned to hold his birthday blowout.
Nope … he wasn’t even going to give the dude a chance. He’d planned and arranged it … well … he could just un-plan it!
Driving around the small town for a bit, the young man realized the flaw in his haste … there really wasn’t anyplace to go. He wasn’t really hungry and, whether his brother would believe it or not, he wasn’t in the mood to make time in a bar – drinking or hustling. Not this time. The town wasn’t big enough for a movie theater and he wasn’t feeling up to driving the extra 30 minutes to get to the city that did have one.
Great! Just freakin’ great! It’s his birthday and he’s driving around avoiding his party and can’t figure out anything else to do. Stupid one horse little town with an evil problem that they can’t seem to figure out what it is yet!
Turning the corner past the grocery store, his eye caught on a sign … Fast Lanes … and suddenly, he grinned. Pulling into the almost empty parking lot, he got out, pocketed his keys, and head inside. Opening the glass door, he made his way through the dark entry listening to the intermittent sounds of thuds and rolling balls, of pins clattering as they fell. His senses took in the smells of popcorn and beer, of pizza and shoe deodorant. As he approached the long counter, he found it was empty, rows of cubbies behind it filled with tacky shoes of all sizes waiting. Past the cubbies and stretching out on either side were the smooth, brightly lit lanes of the bowling alley and the racks of balls of all sizes and weights. Off to his left, he saw a young kid wielding a huge mop and bucket against the tide of water that seemed to be never-ending coming from the old upright water fountain. Another, seemingly older, boy joined him … squatting down beside the ancient machine and pulling a wrench from his back pocket while hollering to the young man that they would “be with ya in just a few minutes!”
Leaning his arms on the counter, the young man’s frame seemed to finally relax as he, first watched the water fight and then just let his gaze roam over the lanes … relaxing further as he watched the ghosts of a man with two small children laughing as they struggled to roll the balls to their destination, even more gleeful when they watched fascinated as the ball they’d just thrown popped back up in front of them out of the dark hole beside the alley.
The young man heard the door behind him open … felt the rush of cold air do battle with the warm air inside the bowling alley. He felt the approach of his little brother, sensed his presence long before a word was spoken.
“I saw the car.”
He nodded in acknowledgement … never actually turning.
“I also saw you found your present.”
Again, another nod.
“What are you doing here, man?”
Shaking his head, not ready to give up the memories, not ready to return to the reality of their life, he kept his back to his little brother and just shrugged his shoulders.
“You ran … didn’t you? You thought I had planned a party and you ran.”
The voice was soft … factual … not angry … not accusing. It was just the voice of his little brother calmly figuring out the answer to his own question.
“I didn’t, you know. I didn’t plan a party. I thought about it. I wanted to. And I’m not the only one. Bobby’s still pissed that we’re here and not at his house. But somehow I figured you weren’t really in the party mood. Plus … we aren’t really known for our big blowout bashes.”
The young man turned around, leaning back against the counter as he raised his eyes up to the softly smiling eyes of his little brother.
Clearing his throat … he gestured towards the alleys and asked, “Do you remember the year you bullied Dad into celebrating my birthday?”
He watched as his little brother looked around with puzzled eyes, his mind searching for the memory that had evidently captured his older brother. He saw the moment the eyes cleared and the memory caught. He heard the soft “oh!” as his little brother relived the evening that the three of them had spent laughing and playing and so … normal.
“Wow. That was a long time ago. What made you think of that?”
A shrug of the shoulders and a soft, “I don’t know, man, it was just a night. But it was a good night.”
Glancing over, he saw that the two young men had won their war against the overflowing water fountain and were finishing cleaning up.
Pushing away from the counter before one of the young men made their way over, he looked at his little brother and said, “Come on. You found me. Might as well go do whatever it was that you wanted to do.”
Putting his hand against his brother’s chest, the younger man halted him.
“No, man, this is good. Let’s stay.”
“But … the present … the party …”
“Dude, there’s no party. I picked you up a gift and figured I’d make you crazy and wrap it up all fancy. I was gonna stop and bring back something from that diner by the motel when I saw you drive by the bookstore.”
“No party?”
“No. No party. Sorry, dude, didn’t even get you an over-the-hill cake.”
“Oh.”
Looking down at his shoes, he suddenly felt so foolish. He must be getting old … this birthday nonsense was making him crazy. First he couldn’t deal with the fact that his little brother was throwing him a bash and now his suddenly feeling disappointed that the bash wasn’t real.
Laughing, the younger man turned him back around to the counter as the kid approached them, thanking them for waiting while he dried off his hands.
“Come on, dude. Let’s bowl some balls and drink some beer and have a pizza.”
******
A few hours later, he was lacing up his boots after changing out of the dorky shoes and feeling lighter than he had in quite a while, as his brother went to return their shoes. Standing up, he reached to pick up his jacket when his little brother approached him … hand behind his back. Looking over, his eyes widened as he watched a cupcake with a brightly lit candle stuck in the top came out and behind his brother the two kids from the alley and the teenage girl from the snack bar were joined by a couple of older bowlers and they all began singing Happy Birthday … really off key.
Grinning down at his older brother, the young man handed him the vending machine cupcake and said, “You know … you could look at it this way … you don’t have to be an old man of 30. You’ve been given the gift of a new life and I for one can’t be happier for that. So … Happy First Birthday, Dean! Now blow out the candle and let’s get back to work.”
The young man’s eyes snapped open as he moved from the realm of sleep to that of awareness with a slight heart stopping gasp. Lying perfectly still, waiting for his heart to slow down from a pounding gallop, he adjusted from the utter darkness and the sounds of his nightmare to the calming familiarity of a motel heater grinding and the muted traffic noise outside the window. Turning his head to the side and checking the bright red digital numbers of the bedside clock, he realized that he had actually gotten a couple of hours of real sleep before his subconscious decided once again to turn back the clock a few months and his time in ... nope ... not gonna go there.
Eyes adjusted to the shadows of the room made by garish curtains pulled as tightly together as possible, meaning good size cracks of light showing through each side and down the middle, the young man realized he was alone. The other bed was empty, the chair pushed up to the table, the laptop closed, the bathroom door open to a completely dark room. Pushing up to his elbows, he once again looked over towards the table between the beds and noticed a torn piece of sack with some writing on it.
“Checking out bookstore down the street. Decided to walk. Will bring back food.”
Huh.
Flopping back onto the bed, he debated whether to attempt to go back to sleep or to get up and go back through one of the books he’d been researching to figure out what was going on in this town. Deciding against sleep … it’s overrated anyway … he got up and, after splashing some water on his face in the tiny motel bathroom, headed back towards the books.
Rounding the corner of his brother’s bed, his foot caught on the not quite matching paisley spread, nearly sending him head first to meet the carpet. Jerking his foot back, as he found his balance, he caught sight of something bright and shiny. Reaching down, he pulled out a slim, but long box … “hmm, heavy sucker” … gaily wrapped with shiny paper and actually boasting a bright red bow on top.
“What the … ?”
Suspicions gathering, he laid the box down on his brother’s bed and went over to the table, pushing aside the printed papers & macabre pictures to get to yesterday’s paper buried underneath. Checking the date, he gave a mental groan.
“No … nonononono … no!”
Today was January 24th ... his birthday. Not only his birthday, but his 30th birthday. He remembered last year’s little impromptu party in the back of the bar … the cake that had been embarrassing and also … secretly … touching. He remembered the way his brother’s eyes glistened as he toasted with a long neck, fiercely declaring that his big brother WOULD have a 30th birthday. Well, he’d been right … even if it had taken going to hell and back.
His brother had promised a big blowout … “God, I really hope he was kidding about that moon jump” … and suddenly he realized he couldn’t stay in the room. He knew that the minute his little brother got back, he would be working to get him to the destination of the promised party.
“No! Nonononononono … No!”
Grabbing the battered leather jacket off the back of the chair and searching for his keys, he raced out of their room towards the sleek, black beauty that was always waiting for him. Sliding into the car, closing the door, he grasped the wheel and laid his head forward, willing his heart to slow down. He couldn’t deal. He just couldn’t face it … cake and candles and presents and well wishes … he couldn’t. It wasn’t right.
Starting up the engine, listening to its rumbling life for just a moment, hand on the gear shift, he sat there … quiet and still … trying to decide where to go … what to do.
How could his brother think that he would want to deal with a party?
What was he going to do … have a mixer with some hunters, a couple of angels, and a demon? Wonder what kind of invitations got sent for that.
No … he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t believe his brother would try to spring something like this on him … not after everything he had told him of his memories. Not while they are in the middle of this war … in the middle of all this evil. What kind of crazy person would try to plan a party?
He sat back against the seat and glanced over at the passenger side.
His freakishly tall little brother … that’s who.
His little brother who, on his sixth birthday after opening the presents the older boy had managed from the second hand bookstore, feeling very wise now that he was six, questioned his older brother about why they never had a party for HIS birthday and cried when he was told that you don’t need birthday parties when you get bigger.
His little brother who woke him up the next year … the day after his birthday, but hey, the little kid was only six … with a gleeful shout, a package of two hostess cupcakes – a bit smashed from being hidden under a pillow, and a box cracker jacks with the solemn promise that it was really okay if he were to help his big brother eat the popcorn, cause it was actually the prize that was the present … the popcorn was just the wrapping paper.
His little brother who demanded that their dad take them somewhere special for dinner the next year … first with a jut of his little seven year old chin and a glare in his eye that slowly began to falter and glisten as their father, who had obviously forgotten the date, just looked at him, unable to understand why his little boy was suddenly ordering him around, before he quietly whispered in a trembling voice … “Please, Daddy. It’s his birthday and I couldn’t find any cupcakes.”
The pizza had been good that year and the fact that their dad actually took them bowling afterwards had delighted both of the brothers … having them declare it to be the best birthday ever.
Blinking his eyes quickly, the young man shifted the car's gear and sped out of the parking lot. Birthdays were for little kids. They weren’t for guys that had lived the life he led … seen the things that he had seen … done the things that he had done.
No!
“Sorry little brother … but cancel the shindig cause I’m not doing the moon jump this year.”
Passing the bookstore, he hesitated, almost stopping and going in to give his brother an earful, but decided against it knowing full well that his little brother would effectively turn his tirade around and head him right back to wherever it was that he planned to hold his birthday blowout.
Nope … he wasn’t even going to give the dude a chance. He’d planned and arranged it … well … he could just un-plan it!
Driving around the small town for a bit, the young man realized the flaw in his haste … there really wasn’t anyplace to go. He wasn’t really hungry and, whether his brother would believe it or not, he wasn’t in the mood to make time in a bar – drinking or hustling. Not this time. The town wasn’t big enough for a movie theater and he wasn’t feeling up to driving the extra 30 minutes to get to the city that did have one.
Great! Just freakin’ great! It’s his birthday and he’s driving around avoiding his party and can’t figure out anything else to do. Stupid one horse little town with an evil problem that they can’t seem to figure out what it is yet!
Turning the corner past the grocery store, his eye caught on a sign … Fast Lanes … and suddenly, he grinned. Pulling into the almost empty parking lot, he got out, pocketed his keys, and head inside. Opening the glass door, he made his way through the dark entry listening to the intermittent sounds of thuds and rolling balls, of pins clattering as they fell. His senses took in the smells of popcorn and beer, of pizza and shoe deodorant. As he approached the long counter, he found it was empty, rows of cubbies behind it filled with tacky shoes of all sizes waiting. Past the cubbies and stretching out on either side were the smooth, brightly lit lanes of the bowling alley and the racks of balls of all sizes and weights. Off to his left, he saw a young kid wielding a huge mop and bucket against the tide of water that seemed to be never-ending coming from the old upright water fountain. Another, seemingly older, boy joined him … squatting down beside the ancient machine and pulling a wrench from his back pocket while hollering to the young man that they would “be with ya in just a few minutes!”
Leaning his arms on the counter, the young man’s frame seemed to finally relax as he, first watched the water fight and then just let his gaze roam over the lanes … relaxing further as he watched the ghosts of a man with two small children laughing as they struggled to roll the balls to their destination, even more gleeful when they watched fascinated as the ball they’d just thrown popped back up in front of them out of the dark hole beside the alley.
The young man heard the door behind him open … felt the rush of cold air do battle with the warm air inside the bowling alley. He felt the approach of his little brother, sensed his presence long before a word was spoken.
“I saw the car.”
He nodded in acknowledgement … never actually turning.
“I also saw you found your present.”
Again, another nod.
“What are you doing here, man?”
Shaking his head, not ready to give up the memories, not ready to return to the reality of their life, he kept his back to his little brother and just shrugged his shoulders.
“You ran … didn’t you? You thought I had planned a party and you ran.”
The voice was soft … factual … not angry … not accusing. It was just the voice of his little brother calmly figuring out the answer to his own question.
“I didn’t, you know. I didn’t plan a party. I thought about it. I wanted to. And I’m not the only one. Bobby’s still pissed that we’re here and not at his house. But somehow I figured you weren’t really in the party mood. Plus … we aren’t really known for our big blowout bashes.”
The young man turned around, leaning back against the counter as he raised his eyes up to the softly smiling eyes of his little brother.
Clearing his throat … he gestured towards the alleys and asked, “Do you remember the year you bullied Dad into celebrating my birthday?”
He watched as his little brother looked around with puzzled eyes, his mind searching for the memory that had evidently captured his older brother. He saw the moment the eyes cleared and the memory caught. He heard the soft “oh!” as his little brother relived the evening that the three of them had spent laughing and playing and so … normal.
“Wow. That was a long time ago. What made you think of that?”
A shrug of the shoulders and a soft, “I don’t know, man, it was just a night. But it was a good night.”
Glancing over, he saw that the two young men had won their war against the overflowing water fountain and were finishing cleaning up.
Pushing away from the counter before one of the young men made their way over, he looked at his little brother and said, “Come on. You found me. Might as well go do whatever it was that you wanted to do.”
Putting his hand against his brother’s chest, the younger man halted him.
“No, man, this is good. Let’s stay.”
“But … the present … the party …”
“Dude, there’s no party. I picked you up a gift and figured I’d make you crazy and wrap it up all fancy. I was gonna stop and bring back something from that diner by the motel when I saw you drive by the bookstore.”
“No party?”
“No. No party. Sorry, dude, didn’t even get you an over-the-hill cake.”
“Oh.”
Looking down at his shoes, he suddenly felt so foolish. He must be getting old … this birthday nonsense was making him crazy. First he couldn’t deal with the fact that his little brother was throwing him a bash and now his suddenly feeling disappointed that the bash wasn’t real.
Laughing, the younger man turned him back around to the counter as the kid approached them, thanking them for waiting while he dried off his hands.
“Come on, dude. Let’s bowl some balls and drink some beer and have a pizza.”
******
A few hours later, he was lacing up his boots after changing out of the dorky shoes and feeling lighter than he had in quite a while, as his brother went to return their shoes. Standing up, he reached to pick up his jacket when his little brother approached him … hand behind his back. Looking over, his eyes widened as he watched a cupcake with a brightly lit candle stuck in the top came out and behind his brother the two kids from the alley and the teenage girl from the snack bar were joined by a couple of older bowlers and they all began singing Happy Birthday … really off key.
Grinning down at his older brother, the young man handed him the vending machine cupcake and said, “You know … you could look at it this way … you don’t have to be an old man of 30. You’ve been given the gift of a new life and I for one can’t be happier for that. So … Happy First Birthday, Dean! Now blow out the candle and let’s get back to work.”
Season 3 - January 24, 2008
Dean turns 29.
Stretched out on the bed, shoulders and head resting on the headboard, eyes closed, ear-buds pumping a continual beating rhythm into his mind as one song followed another, the young man gave the impression of zoning out into sleep. His arms folded across his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, someone glancing over would have thought he was simply relaxing after a long day. No one would have guessed that his muscles were tense, that his body was waiting, that his mind was churning with thoughts.
“Where is he?”
“Thank God the wallpaper in this room is solid … I don’t think I could take another room of flowers or circles or velvety patterns.”
“Library is two blocks away, how long could it take?”
“Hmm. May look better, but whatever they use to clean stinks worse than …”
“Maybe I should go look for him.”
“What made me download THAT song?”
“Didn’t he say he wouldn’t be gone long?”
Finally giving in to restless nerves, the young man got up from the bed, removing his ear-buds, turning off the music. Glancing out the window, he realized that it was darker than he thought … later than he thought. The car was still parked in the almost empty parking lot. He smiled to himself looking at her, seeing how she gleamed under the neon lights that were beginning to turn on as the day slid from blue to gray to black.
Glancing back at the laptop lying closed on the table, he considered doing a bit of research himself – this latest job was a confusing one – but he wasn’t in the mood. He was ready for this day to be over, but he was also hungry and he wanted to relax and get something to eat. He wanted to sit down and spend some casual time with his brother – talking of nothing, talking about the job they were working, simply being together. Wasn’t that what his little brother had asked for?
“Little” he smirked to himself. “Yeah, and bigfoot is a cuddly teddy bear.”
However, his brother had been silent today, barely answering direct questions. When he jumped up from the computer, grabbed his jacket and announced he was going to the library as he slammed out the door, the young man knew that –even though he hadn’t mentioned anything – his little brother had remembered what today was after all.
Sighing, he wandered back to the bed and sat down, lost in thoughts … lost in memories. He had a vague memory of a party when he was little … a cake with little green plastic soldiers on it … and the look on his mom’s face when she caught him and his dad taking the soldiers off and playing “war” with them. He remembered asking her why she called him her Christmas Valentine and she laughed her soft smiling laugh, snuggling him close and telling him that’s what Mommy’s get when their little boys are born in January.
The young man thought of how his father had tried those first years after his mom died, but after a couple years, birthday parties and presents of games and toys became a thing of the past for him, although he made sure his little brother’s day was special, no matter where they were staying.
Once he found out why his brother hadn’t wanted to celebrate Christmas, there was no way he was going to say a word about his birthday. After all, this birthday wasn’t a “big one”, he’d made it to twenty-nine – he wouldn’t make it to thirty. He wouldn’t get “old” to quote that blonde vampire they wasted. He was okay with that – he had what he wanted. His little brother would carry on. Besides, he didn’t want anything for himself. He had his “baby” looking shiny and his brother was with him. Well, he would be whenever he decided to come in from the library. Right now, all he wanted was to spend a quiet evening without being thrown into a wall or digging in a graveyard – a quiet evening with his brother.
Sitting alone in the motel room, listening to the silence, the young man wondered again if he should go looking for his little brother or if he should simply order a pizza and wait, when his phone began playing his brother’s ring-tone. Answering the phone, he was surprised when the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t his brother but another man, a bartender calling to have him come and pick up his drunken little brother.
“Way to go, dude” he muttered as he pulled on his jacket and head out to the car. “It’s MY birthday and YOU get smashed.” He couldn’t get angry, though. He understood. He knew that his little brother was simply trying to create a fog to hide his frustration that he hadn’t been able to save his big brother yet, that he was trying to escape the mind numbing despair that this is truly the last year his older brother would get older.
Pulling the car smoothly into a parking spot in front of the bar, shutting off the low rumble of her engine, the young man entered the dim smoky room and crossed the worn wooden flooring towards the bar. Eyes searching, unable to locate his little brother, he approached the bartender with a questioning glance. Recognizing that this must be the person he called, the bartender jerked his head in the direction of the room to the side where the young man could see some pool tables. Changing his direction, he headed for the back room, eyes continuing to search for his brother.
Entering the room, his glance fell upon his little brother standing just inside the doorway, watching him with a quiet smile on his face. Puzzled, realizing that his brother wasn’t wasted as he’d been led to believe, the young man also realized that standing next to his little brother was a familiar grizzled face, beaming as he pushed his cap back and then pulled it back on closer. Reaching out, the men each grabbed one of the young man’s arms and pulled him towards the back corner, to a decorated table, complete with balloons tied to one of the chairs. Resting on the table was a cake with a car on it … a little black car … pointed towards a little hill. On the other side of the hill was the number 30.
Dazed and puzzled, the young man looks over at his little brother with questions in his eyes. Still quietly smiling, Sam hands his brother a long neck, leans forward and looks him in the eyes as he says with a grin and fierce determination,
“Happy Birthday, Dean. I figured 29 deserved a little party with just me and Bobby. Next year, and there WILL be a next year, when you have made it “over the hill”, you can have a bigger party … complete with a moon jump … I understand they’re epic … hot chicks think they’re awesome.“
Stretched out on the bed, shoulders and head resting on the headboard, eyes closed, ear-buds pumping a continual beating rhythm into his mind as one song followed another, the young man gave the impression of zoning out into sleep. His arms folded across his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, someone glancing over would have thought he was simply relaxing after a long day. No one would have guessed that his muscles were tense, that his body was waiting, that his mind was churning with thoughts.
“Where is he?”
“Thank God the wallpaper in this room is solid … I don’t think I could take another room of flowers or circles or velvety patterns.”
“Library is two blocks away, how long could it take?”
“Hmm. May look better, but whatever they use to clean stinks worse than …”
“Maybe I should go look for him.”
“What made me download THAT song?”
“Didn’t he say he wouldn’t be gone long?”
Finally giving in to restless nerves, the young man got up from the bed, removing his ear-buds, turning off the music. Glancing out the window, he realized that it was darker than he thought … later than he thought. The car was still parked in the almost empty parking lot. He smiled to himself looking at her, seeing how she gleamed under the neon lights that were beginning to turn on as the day slid from blue to gray to black.
Glancing back at the laptop lying closed on the table, he considered doing a bit of research himself – this latest job was a confusing one – but he wasn’t in the mood. He was ready for this day to be over, but he was also hungry and he wanted to relax and get something to eat. He wanted to sit down and spend some casual time with his brother – talking of nothing, talking about the job they were working, simply being together. Wasn’t that what his little brother had asked for?
“Little” he smirked to himself. “Yeah, and bigfoot is a cuddly teddy bear.”
However, his brother had been silent today, barely answering direct questions. When he jumped up from the computer, grabbed his jacket and announced he was going to the library as he slammed out the door, the young man knew that –even though he hadn’t mentioned anything – his little brother had remembered what today was after all.
Sighing, he wandered back to the bed and sat down, lost in thoughts … lost in memories. He had a vague memory of a party when he was little … a cake with little green plastic soldiers on it … and the look on his mom’s face when she caught him and his dad taking the soldiers off and playing “war” with them. He remembered asking her why she called him her Christmas Valentine and she laughed her soft smiling laugh, snuggling him close and telling him that’s what Mommy’s get when their little boys are born in January.
The young man thought of how his father had tried those first years after his mom died, but after a couple years, birthday parties and presents of games and toys became a thing of the past for him, although he made sure his little brother’s day was special, no matter where they were staying.
Once he found out why his brother hadn’t wanted to celebrate Christmas, there was no way he was going to say a word about his birthday. After all, this birthday wasn’t a “big one”, he’d made it to twenty-nine – he wouldn’t make it to thirty. He wouldn’t get “old” to quote that blonde vampire they wasted. He was okay with that – he had what he wanted. His little brother would carry on. Besides, he didn’t want anything for himself. He had his “baby” looking shiny and his brother was with him. Well, he would be whenever he decided to come in from the library. Right now, all he wanted was to spend a quiet evening without being thrown into a wall or digging in a graveyard – a quiet evening with his brother.
Sitting alone in the motel room, listening to the silence, the young man wondered again if he should go looking for his little brother or if he should simply order a pizza and wait, when his phone began playing his brother’s ring-tone. Answering the phone, he was surprised when the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t his brother but another man, a bartender calling to have him come and pick up his drunken little brother.
“Way to go, dude” he muttered as he pulled on his jacket and head out to the car. “It’s MY birthday and YOU get smashed.” He couldn’t get angry, though. He understood. He knew that his little brother was simply trying to create a fog to hide his frustration that he hadn’t been able to save his big brother yet, that he was trying to escape the mind numbing despair that this is truly the last year his older brother would get older.
Pulling the car smoothly into a parking spot in front of the bar, shutting off the low rumble of her engine, the young man entered the dim smoky room and crossed the worn wooden flooring towards the bar. Eyes searching, unable to locate his little brother, he approached the bartender with a questioning glance. Recognizing that this must be the person he called, the bartender jerked his head in the direction of the room to the side where the young man could see some pool tables. Changing his direction, he headed for the back room, eyes continuing to search for his brother.
Entering the room, his glance fell upon his little brother standing just inside the doorway, watching him with a quiet smile on his face. Puzzled, realizing that his brother wasn’t wasted as he’d been led to believe, the young man also realized that standing next to his little brother was a familiar grizzled face, beaming as he pushed his cap back and then pulled it back on closer. Reaching out, the men each grabbed one of the young man’s arms and pulled him towards the back corner, to a decorated table, complete with balloons tied to one of the chairs. Resting on the table was a cake with a car on it … a little black car … pointed towards a little hill. On the other side of the hill was the number 30.
Dazed and puzzled, the young man looks over at his little brother with questions in his eyes. Still quietly smiling, Sam hands his brother a long neck, leans forward and looks him in the eyes as he says with a grin and fierce determination,
“Happy Birthday, Dean. I figured 29 deserved a little party with just me and Bobby. Next year, and there WILL be a next year, when you have made it “over the hill”, you can have a bigger party … complete with a moon jump … I understand they’re epic … hot chicks think they’re awesome.“
Season 2 - January 24, 2007
Dean turns 28.
Can’t you just imagine the scene? Local small town diner, formica tabletops, simulated leather booth seats, possibly an individual jukebox selector on the wall and underneath it the metal napkin dispenser surrounded by salt & pepper shakers, catsup & mustard bottles, little container of sugar packets. The table is served with a couple plates of burgers and fries, along with a couple of long neck beer bottles. The laptop computer and papers pushed over to the side as the two young men begin to eat, quietly continuing their conversation of possible jobs … extraordinary circumstances that could just be a freaky coincidence or could be something more. The atmosphere is relaxed and the camaraderie is apparent. After their meal is completed, one looks around for the waitress in order to call for the check, the other makes a show of pulling together the sheets of paper strewn on the table while nodding his head. From the back, through the kitchen door, comes a young waitress with a small tray. She heads to the table and sets down a piece of cake with a small candle burning brightly and invites the surprised young man to make a wish and hands him a note with a phone number on it. Across the table Sam looks at his brother with a smile, tips his beer to him and says, “Happy Birthday, Dean.”
Can’t you just imagine the scene? Local small town diner, formica tabletops, simulated leather booth seats, possibly an individual jukebox selector on the wall and underneath it the metal napkin dispenser surrounded by salt & pepper shakers, catsup & mustard bottles, little container of sugar packets. The table is served with a couple plates of burgers and fries, along with a couple of long neck beer bottles. The laptop computer and papers pushed over to the side as the two young men begin to eat, quietly continuing their conversation of possible jobs … extraordinary circumstances that could just be a freaky coincidence or could be something more. The atmosphere is relaxed and the camaraderie is apparent. After their meal is completed, one looks around for the waitress in order to call for the check, the other makes a show of pulling together the sheets of paper strewn on the table while nodding his head. From the back, through the kitchen door, comes a young waitress with a small tray. She heads to the table and sets down a piece of cake with a small candle burning brightly and invites the surprised young man to make a wish and hands him a note with a phone number on it. Across the table Sam looks at his brother with a smile, tips his beer to him and says, “Happy Birthday, Dean.”
Sunday, January 23, 2011
In Honor of the Day - January 24th
Tomorrow is Dean Winchester's birthday.
The first birthday post I wrote in honor of the day was during Season 2.
Each year I've continued the tradition and plan to do so again this year.
In honor of the day, and in an attempt to continue my "construction" in this little area of the blogosphere, I thought that I would re-publish my previous birthday postings before I post for this year. Of course, this year needs to be finished. But I'm working on it and hope to post soon, along with a few other pieces that I hope will be enjoyed.
I may run late, but I eventually get there!
Thanks for stopping by!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Title Card Glee
Honest to goodness … there are sooo many things about the show Supernatural that I love, but I have to tell you, the Title Card ranks right up there in Keeper’s Top Five. From the very beginning it has been The Boys, BDW, The Metallicar, The Music, and the Title Card. Seriously … it is amazing to me how something so seemingly insignificant can just make me down right giggly.
I know I’ve discussed the Title Card before, yet here I go again. I think it’s going to have to be an annual event now because each year fascinates and tantalizes me a little bit more. This particular year is no exception. I mean, seriously … shattering glass? Awesome!!
That lightning strike Title Card for the First Season … it seemed a fitting beginning. A bolt of lightning, ominous and foreboding as it flashed across our screen, leaving behind the title of Supernatural. As it flashed and faded, it let us know that a storm was brewing … a storm that seemed to begin November 2, 1983 … catching up the seemingly normal, happy Winchester family and casting them smack dab in the middle of it. Nothing remains the same after a strike of lightning hits and this certainly was no exception.
Second Season was actually when the Title Card truly drew my attention as a forebear of events to come throughout the season. Why else the change from a lightning strike to a blast of fire, branding Supernatural across our screens, complete with the pentagram. Beginning with In My Time of Dying and blazing through to the end of All Hell Breaks Loose Pt. 2, there was a fire burning in Dean for one thing … protect Sam, not only as his father told him but also because it was his job, one he knew even before his dad told him. Thinking about the pentagram in the Title Card … it seems appropriate, doesn’t it? Remember? In the Pilot? Sam and Dean sitting with the girlfriend of the last guy taken by the Woman in White? She was wearing a pentagram that Troy had given her. She wore it because it freaked her parents out with all that “devil stuff”, but Sam earnestly leaned forward explaining that the pentagram was actually a symbol of protection. Isn’t it interesting how the year had Dean spending it protecting Sam, only to have it end with Sam vowing to protect … to save Dean?
Then comes that Third Season Title Card, black demon smoke blasting forth from a Key of Solomon’s Devil’s Trap before giving us Supernatural. Everywhere we turned that season there seemed to be demons. The Devil’s Gate had been opened and the repercussions seemed to be endless. Demons intent on taking over, demon’s biding their time, demons hunting for The Boys, and then the cunning ones … intent on trapping The Boys for their own interests. No less intense were the personal demons The Boys had to deal with throughout the year - insecurity and fear being a couple of the biggest ones to cast their inky black shadows over the hearts of the Winchesters. The year ended with the demons seeming to have won … Dean was taken to hell, while Sam was left in hell on earth … both to be tortured by demons – external and internal.
The fluttering of black wings brought a whole new Title Card for Season Four. Angels … Supernatural gave us Angels of God. The season began with an angel raising Dean … gripping him tight and raising him from perdition, but as we find out later … not soon enough. Dean had broken the first seal and the season was spent with Winchesters working with and dodging against these seeming warriors of God, until the magnitude of reality came crashing at the end … leaving one angel siding with Dean, rebelling against his brothers in an effort to reach Sam before he mistakenly brought forth the Angel of the Apocalypse, Lucifer.
Blood … blood is life and also the Title Card depicting Season Five. This was a bloody season, looking back. Blood brought forth Lucifer and in the end, blood was the sacrifice that sent him back. And in between, it was a bloody battle for The Boys. You know how the saying goes … Blood is thicker than water. That means family. Bonds were stretched and seemingly broken, but in the end … family won out. Bloody and broken by Lucifer within Sam’s body, Dean watched as his brother gained back his ground, and gave himself to save the world.
A world that had Dean retiring from hunting, of returning to Lisa and Ben at the request of his brother, of backyard barbeques and normal jobs … a world that looked all shiny from the outside, but was only separated from the darkness of the supernatural by a picture window of glass. Making the Season Six Title Card of shattering glass all the more ominous.
I don’t know how this Title Card will continue to foretell the theme of this season. I have a thought on that, but I’m not ready to give it over. Only time will tell if the shattering glass is so that The Boys may “see face to face”, or whether it is a shattering of illusions. Or, could it be a how the glass flies and wounds as its reality shatters? Only those within the sacred Writer’s room know for sure at this point.
Yep … the Title Cards tell their own story for each season, creating a mood and atmosphere. The exceptions to this are rare – A Very Supernatural Christmas, Monster Movie, The Monster at the End of This Book, and Changing Channels – where the change in mood setting is deliberately changed and therefore, the Title Card is given a change as well. Just as the music, they set the tone for the episodes and the season. They are a small, yet huge part of what makes Supernatural such a unique show.
One that isn’t afraid to shatter boundaries and preconceived notions in order to entertain and drive its obsessive fans crazy each week.
Not that I’m admitting to being obsessive.
I just like Title Cards.
*grins*
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Little Brothers ... Some Things May Change, But Some Things Don't
Hmmm.
It's been awhile since I've done this. By "this" I mean writing one of my rambles. I've done some intermittent personal blog type writing, but to take an episode or a Supernatural thought and just begin writing ... nope. I'll say it again ... it's been awhile. I did get one started last spring, it actually got kinda lengthy ... like really, insanely lengthy. Problem was, it rambled so far that all train of thought got lost somewhere on the path. I hope that one day I can do some trimming and wield it back into a sense of some coherency. It was/is on eppy 5.13 - The Song Remains the Same and I blame John Winchester ... young or old, the man just gets to me. :-)
I mean ... seriously ... "Shut up, all of you! Look ... not another word or so help me, I will turn this care around!" *giggles* Matt Cohen or Jeffrey Dean Morgan ... doesn't matter ... my mind blends their voices at this point and I am hopelessly in YDW/BDW fangirl love!
Ahem. *deep breath*
Aaaaanyhow ... as I said ... it has been awhile. So, I thought a bit of practice might be in order. A refresher course in Rambling 101 for both you and for me.
Now ... let me remind everyone ... a ramble, as stated in the English dictionary, is a walk taken merely for pleasure, without a definite route. That's the positive. And definitely true. I enjoy these writing excursions and I, for sure, don't have any route in mind when I begin. My brain just kinda takes off and my fingers follow without knowledge of where they're going. Of course, I have to be honest, there is also a negative connotation to my "style", if you would, of writing. It should also be noted that rambling talking/writing is considered aimless and discursive, or rather ... digressive or, as one synonym so aptly puts it ... long winded. *sigh* I don't try to be long winded, but I do tend to wander and I realize this. Ya'll have been supportive of the lengths in which I write, however, I'm gonna try to limit some of this because I'm not sure how lengthy things can be in this area of the Blogosphere. I really don't want to break this one. Ya know?
Plus, there's the fact that somewhere along the way I seem to have lost hours in the day and it's just not as physically feasible to write discursively (ie. long winded tomes).
Yet rambling with you is also something that I miss tremendously, so it is that I'm here, testing a few of the waters with a ramble or two (if I get lucky) before the Season Six premiere on the 24th. I'm gonna begin with a thought I had. I've been watching The Pilot ... actually Disc One of Season One ... and then, for some reason I flipped over to eppy 5.22 - Swan Song. Then I flipped back to The Pilot.
I will be talking more about The Pilot in another blog I hope to post before Friday, but this thought kept popping on me, begging to be written on it's own. No real reason, certainly no pathway, just some aimless thought about the fact that ... no matter how old, how tall, or how big and how muscular Sam Winchester gets, he will always be Dean Winchester's little brother. Always.
That is just plain fact.
I was six years old when we got my little brother. I remember, like it was yesterday, the feeling of sitting on that high, leather couch ... my feet clad in my little white anklets and black Mary Janes ... trying not to wiggle too much, yet squirming under the constant, watchful eye of the lady behind the typewriter across from my seat. I remember being led by the hand, by that same lady, to a small green room that seemed crowded with a large table and chairs. Sitting on a couple of those chairs were my mom and my dad. In my mom's arms was this little person ... not much bigger than my beloved Baby Boo doll I had gotten for Christmas just a couple months earlier. Of course, this "dolly" had spindly arms and legs that seemed constantly moving all by themselves, as opposed to Baby Boo, whose limbs I had to make move to just sit her up. This little person didn't have any hair and he couldn't talk, but when he looked at me with those big eyes ... and then smiled ... I was hooked.
From that moment on ... forever and for always ... I was a big sister.
Forty-three years later, I take the job just as seriously as I did when I was six.
It's hard to explain and, if you are not the older sibling by more than just a year or two, you might not ever completely understand, but when that mantle of "older sibling" fell upon my shoulders that day ... everything changed. Here was a person who could aggravate me so entirely, scare me incredibly silly, frustrate me fully and yet ... never once in all these years have I stopped loving him, caring for him, wanting to protect him ... no matter how far apart we might live. I can tease him. I can torture him. I can pull rank on him. That is my right and privilege as an older sibling, but woe to the individual who hurts him in any way, shape or form!
I may seem mild, but there are times when I can be quite formidible. Messing with my little brother can bring that side out, most definitely.
After being the older sibling for so long, it is hard to realize that it's okay to let go ... to relinquish the control ... to allow my little brother to move forward without me holding his hand, guiding his steps, protecting his back. My little brother hasn't been little for a very long time now, yet, when he is sad or hurting, I still yearn to be with him to comfort him, to wrap him in my arms and let the world and it's troubles melt away. When he is happy or excited, I want to be right there celebrating with him, hugging and doing the dance of joy.
Such is the nature of the older sibling.
Sam Winchester may be a "Sasquatch" ... he may be taller than his older brother, he may have gone to college and grown in they eyes of the world, he may battle demons and supernatural creatures of the dark formidably in his own right, however he is still, and always will be, Dean Winchester's little brother Sammy. In the five years that Supernatural has been airing, we have watched the evolution of the Winchester brother's relationship. We've seen both Winchester boys grow and age as life has battered on them body and soul. There have been twists and turns, heartache and pain, but through it all one thing always remained ... Dean Winchester held tight to the reins of being the big brother. It took him five years to truly realize that it was okay to let Sam go, to let Sam truly make the "big" decision(s) - right or wrong. To not just say the words "I do know that if anybody can do it ... it's you", then to let him go and simply be there to back him up ... to support him ... no matter the outcome.
Cas: "I just want you to understand ... the only thing that you're gonna see out there is Michael killing your brother."
Dean: "Well, then I ain't gonna let him die alone!"
It wasn't just the moment that John put his infant son into the arms of his older brother on that fateful, November 2nd night that started Dean on the road of protector. He always had been. While we don't have any "canon" story to prove it, I fully believe that from the time baby Sammy was brought into this world, Dean took on the mantle of older sibling. That night of Winchester infamy simply solidified the importance of protecting Sammy. It was reinforced throughout the years as John began his journey into the world behind the veil, hunting out the darkness that lies waiting in shadows.
John: "Lock the doors and windows, close the shades, and most important ..."
Young Dean: "Watch out for Sammy. {looks at his little brother} I know."
John: "I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"
Dean: "Yeah, Dad. You know I will."
Dean did ... he always had ... he always would. How could he not?
Dean was the big brother ... the older sibling.
He gave Sam the last of the Lucky Charms.
He stole presents and gave Sammy a Christmas.
He told his little brother the truth, even when it hurt both of them to know it.
He let Sam have the "normal" life he wanted, never asking for anything during that time.
He teased and taunted his little brother with everything from itching powder to electric hand buzzers.
He saved Sam from the Woman in White, the fire in his bedroom, Bloody Mary, a rogue lamp cord, a crazy family ... need I go on?
Lest the SammyGirls get upset with me, I'm not saying that Sam didn't have his moments, because he did ... plenty of them ... and he had plenty of reasons, not the least of which were to prove to his big brother that he was no longer in need of protection, that he was no longer Sammy the chubby 12 year old. But that is a ramble for another day. I'm missing my little brother and I'm wanting to discuss older siblings, so Dean gets the hotseat for the moment.
Remember that scene in Season Two's Croatoan? You all know the one ... in the clinic ... after Sam's infected? That moment between the two brother's is memorable and heart wrenching, to say the least ... but the lead in says even more ...
"I'm gonna say this one time ... you make a move on him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground. You understand me? I mean, do I make myself clear?"
Dean Winchester protected his younger brother Sam his entire life, watched over him, kept him safe ... it was his focus, his "one job", his responsibility ... and when a knife severed Sam's life, it also severed Dean's life's focus.
"I couldn't let him die, Bobby. I couldn't. He's my brother."
However, no matter how hard we older siblings work at protecting our younger siblings, in the end, much like a parent who must trust that they have taught their child the skills to know right from wrong, the older sibling has to let the younger one out from under their wing ... out of their shadow ... knowing they might fail ... hoping and praying that they will succeed beyond our wildest dreams ... and all the while standing on the side, to catch, to support, to cheer.
To simply be there.
It wasn't easy for Dean Winchester.
To acknowledge that Sam wasn't his "baby brother" any longer. But he did it.
"You're not a kid anymore, Sam and I can't keep treating you like one. Maybe I gotta grow up a little too."
To give Sam the trust that he had earned. But he did it.
"I don't know if we've got a snowball's chance. But ... But I do know that if anybody can do it ... it ... it's you."
And, even when beaten and bloodied, continued to be with his little brother the only way he knew how ... because ... while some things may change ... some things don't ...
Dean: "Sammy ... are you in there?"
Lucifer/Sam: "Oh, he's in here all right. And he's going to feel the snap of your bones. Every single one. We're gonna take our time."
Dean: "Sam ... it's okay. It's okay, I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you."
That's just what older siblings do.
It's been awhile since I've done this. By "this" I mean writing one of my rambles. I've done some intermittent personal blog type writing, but to take an episode or a Supernatural thought and just begin writing ... nope. I'll say it again ... it's been awhile. I did get one started last spring, it actually got kinda lengthy ... like really, insanely lengthy. Problem was, it rambled so far that all train of thought got lost somewhere on the path. I hope that one day I can do some trimming and wield it back into a sense of some coherency. It was/is on eppy 5.13 - The Song Remains the Same and I blame John Winchester ... young or old, the man just gets to me. :-)
I mean ... seriously ... "Shut up, all of you! Look ... not another word or so help me, I will turn this care around!" *giggles* Matt Cohen or Jeffrey Dean Morgan ... doesn't matter ... my mind blends their voices at this point and I am hopelessly in YDW/BDW fangirl love!
Ahem. *deep breath*
Aaaaanyhow ... as I said ... it has been awhile. So, I thought a bit of practice might be in order. A refresher course in Rambling 101 for both you and for me.
Now ... let me remind everyone ... a ramble, as stated in the English dictionary, is a walk taken merely for pleasure, without a definite route. That's the positive. And definitely true. I enjoy these writing excursions and I, for sure, don't have any route in mind when I begin. My brain just kinda takes off and my fingers follow without knowledge of where they're going. Of course, I have to be honest, there is also a negative connotation to my "style", if you would, of writing. It should also be noted that rambling talking/writing is considered aimless and discursive, or rather ... digressive or, as one synonym so aptly puts it ... long winded. *sigh* I don't try to be long winded, but I do tend to wander and I realize this. Ya'll have been supportive of the lengths in which I write, however, I'm gonna try to limit some of this because I'm not sure how lengthy things can be in this area of the Blogosphere. I really don't want to break this one. Ya know?
Plus, there's the fact that somewhere along the way I seem to have lost hours in the day and it's just not as physically feasible to write discursively (ie. long winded tomes).
Yet rambling with you is also something that I miss tremendously, so it is that I'm here, testing a few of the waters with a ramble or two (if I get lucky) before the Season Six premiere on the 24th. I'm gonna begin with a thought I had. I've been watching The Pilot ... actually Disc One of Season One ... and then, for some reason I flipped over to eppy 5.22 - Swan Song. Then I flipped back to The Pilot.
I will be talking more about The Pilot in another blog I hope to post before Friday, but this thought kept popping on me, begging to be written on it's own. No real reason, certainly no pathway, just some aimless thought about the fact that ... no matter how old, how tall, or how big and how muscular Sam Winchester gets, he will always be Dean Winchester's little brother. Always.
That is just plain fact.
I was six years old when we got my little brother. I remember, like it was yesterday, the feeling of sitting on that high, leather couch ... my feet clad in my little white anklets and black Mary Janes ... trying not to wiggle too much, yet squirming under the constant, watchful eye of the lady behind the typewriter across from my seat. I remember being led by the hand, by that same lady, to a small green room that seemed crowded with a large table and chairs. Sitting on a couple of those chairs were my mom and my dad. In my mom's arms was this little person ... not much bigger than my beloved Baby Boo doll I had gotten for Christmas just a couple months earlier. Of course, this "dolly" had spindly arms and legs that seemed constantly moving all by themselves, as opposed to Baby Boo, whose limbs I had to make move to just sit her up. This little person didn't have any hair and he couldn't talk, but when he looked at me with those big eyes ... and then smiled ... I was hooked.
From that moment on ... forever and for always ... I was a big sister.
Forty-three years later, I take the job just as seriously as I did when I was six.
It's hard to explain and, if you are not the older sibling by more than just a year or two, you might not ever completely understand, but when that mantle of "older sibling" fell upon my shoulders that day ... everything changed. Here was a person who could aggravate me so entirely, scare me incredibly silly, frustrate me fully and yet ... never once in all these years have I stopped loving him, caring for him, wanting to protect him ... no matter how far apart we might live. I can tease him. I can torture him. I can pull rank on him. That is my right and privilege as an older sibling, but woe to the individual who hurts him in any way, shape or form!
I may seem mild, but there are times when I can be quite formidible. Messing with my little brother can bring that side out, most definitely.
After being the older sibling for so long, it is hard to realize that it's okay to let go ... to relinquish the control ... to allow my little brother to move forward without me holding his hand, guiding his steps, protecting his back. My little brother hasn't been little for a very long time now, yet, when he is sad or hurting, I still yearn to be with him to comfort him, to wrap him in my arms and let the world and it's troubles melt away. When he is happy or excited, I want to be right there celebrating with him, hugging and doing the dance of joy.
Such is the nature of the older sibling.
Sam Winchester may be a "Sasquatch" ... he may be taller than his older brother, he may have gone to college and grown in they eyes of the world, he may battle demons and supernatural creatures of the dark formidably in his own right, however he is still, and always will be, Dean Winchester's little brother Sammy. In the five years that Supernatural has been airing, we have watched the evolution of the Winchester brother's relationship. We've seen both Winchester boys grow and age as life has battered on them body and soul. There have been twists and turns, heartache and pain, but through it all one thing always remained ... Dean Winchester held tight to the reins of being the big brother. It took him five years to truly realize that it was okay to let Sam go, to let Sam truly make the "big" decision(s) - right or wrong. To not just say the words "I do know that if anybody can do it ... it's you", then to let him go and simply be there to back him up ... to support him ... no matter the outcome.
Cas: "I just want you to understand ... the only thing that you're gonna see out there is Michael killing your brother."
Dean: "Well, then I ain't gonna let him die alone!"
It wasn't just the moment that John put his infant son into the arms of his older brother on that fateful, November 2nd night that started Dean on the road of protector. He always had been. While we don't have any "canon" story to prove it, I fully believe that from the time baby Sammy was brought into this world, Dean took on the mantle of older sibling. That night of Winchester infamy simply solidified the importance of protecting Sammy. It was reinforced throughout the years as John began his journey into the world behind the veil, hunting out the darkness that lies waiting in shadows.
John: "Lock the doors and windows, close the shades, and most important ..."
Young Dean: "Watch out for Sammy. {looks at his little brother} I know."
John: "I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"
Dean: "Yeah, Dad. You know I will."
Dean did ... he always had ... he always would. How could he not?
Dean was the big brother ... the older sibling.
He gave Sam the last of the Lucky Charms.
He stole presents and gave Sammy a Christmas.
He told his little brother the truth, even when it hurt both of them to know it.
He let Sam have the "normal" life he wanted, never asking for anything during that time.
He teased and taunted his little brother with everything from itching powder to electric hand buzzers.
He saved Sam from the Woman in White, the fire in his bedroom, Bloody Mary, a rogue lamp cord, a crazy family ... need I go on?
Lest the SammyGirls get upset with me, I'm not saying that Sam didn't have his moments, because he did ... plenty of them ... and he had plenty of reasons, not the least of which were to prove to his big brother that he was no longer in need of protection, that he was no longer Sammy the chubby 12 year old. But that is a ramble for another day. I'm missing my little brother and I'm wanting to discuss older siblings, so Dean gets the hotseat for the moment.
Remember that scene in Season Two's Croatoan? You all know the one ... in the clinic ... after Sam's infected? That moment between the two brother's is memorable and heart wrenching, to say the least ... but the lead in says even more ...
"I'm gonna say this one time ... you make a move on him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground. You understand me? I mean, do I make myself clear?"
Dean Winchester protected his younger brother Sam his entire life, watched over him, kept him safe ... it was his focus, his "one job", his responsibility ... and when a knife severed Sam's life, it also severed Dean's life's focus.
"I couldn't let him die, Bobby. I couldn't. He's my brother."
However, no matter how hard we older siblings work at protecting our younger siblings, in the end, much like a parent who must trust that they have taught their child the skills to know right from wrong, the older sibling has to let the younger one out from under their wing ... out of their shadow ... knowing they might fail ... hoping and praying that they will succeed beyond our wildest dreams ... and all the while standing on the side, to catch, to support, to cheer.
To simply be there.
It wasn't easy for Dean Winchester.
To acknowledge that Sam wasn't his "baby brother" any longer. But he did it.
"You're not a kid anymore, Sam and I can't keep treating you like one. Maybe I gotta grow up a little too."
To give Sam the trust that he had earned. But he did it.
"I don't know if we've got a snowball's chance. But ... But I do know that if anybody can do it ... it ... it's you."
And, even when beaten and bloodied, continued to be with his little brother the only way he knew how ... because ... while some things may change ... some things don't ...
Dean: "Sammy ... are you in there?"
Lucifer/Sam: "Oh, he's in here all right. And he's going to feel the snap of your bones. Every single one. We're gonna take our time."
Dean: "Sam ... it's okay. It's okay, I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you."
That's just what older siblings do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)