... this is so not funny.
I mean, been there, done that. I knew I was going to die for a damn year. And so did the people closest to me too. And some not so close. Like, just about every fucking demon out there, I guess. Yeah, including Ruby.
(Which she used to try to bully Sam into using his powers. Go me, for giving her the leverage. But then I gave her more by wiping myself out of the picture altogether, didn't I? Then again, there were things I didn't know back when I-- oh whatever)
But anyway, I knew I was going to and I did... what I had to. Went on hunting. Tried to leave a few memories here and there for Sammy that wouldn't be just about blood and gore and all that. Raised a little hell. Kicked the ass of some evil sons of bitches.
Tried to get out of it. 'cause, man. Whatever I was thinking back when I got myself into that - Sam was right. He usually is, after all. I do not want to die. Oh, I don't mean that I'm suddenly stingy and would stop doing what I do. Saving people, keeping Sam safe, those are still my jobs, and since risking my life is what I do to do it, yeah, I'm not bailing out!
But that's different from signing my own certain death sentence. For all the close ones we've been into? Mostly we've done well enough. There's always a chance to make it through, if when push comes, we both shove. And that's why I know I have the awesomest brother, because he does. And Bobby's awesome too. You know. Anyway. Things seem different now than they did then. I guess I'm learning from experience or something. Big shocker there.
What else. Enjoyed my food (as always). Chicks (as always, and Sam, that still so was your own fault for witnessing!). Tried to keep the world from crumbling at least for some people by wasting some mofos or sending them back down South. Tried to squeeze as many final wishes outta life as I could.
Reevaluated what it did and didn't mean. My life, that is.
You know. When I made the deal, I did think I was making a difference. Giving my life a meaning. But that was all bullshit. Oh sure, I'd not undo bringing Sam back for anything in the world. But...
Whatever the meaning of my life is, it's more than the meaning of my death. At least, as far as good things go. Sure, I screw up. I screw up a lot. Sure, I don't manage to do things on time, don't manage to save everybody, or maybe even most.
But we do help some. And in some cases, we help a lot, even if we don't tend to stay around and, you know, watch our handiwork and see the folks that do survive. Or even never got to learn about the shit we've done away with, all the better for them.
I still failed to get that realization to make a difference, dammit. And I'm sorry for that. Sorry I left Sam alone, and it wasn't because I didn't want to be around. Yeah, for a bit I thought it was better off like that. And I still think that him being alive even without me is better than him not being alive at all.
But both of us alive? That rocks even better. Just for crying out loud.
In all... there's only fewer than ten things. Be there for my brother. And learn. And kick evil asses. End of story.