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I can’t stand the rain anymore. At least in the Vietnamese jungle the air was hot not just humid. Here, the cold is seeping through my bones, chilling my veins, closing its freezing fingers on my lonely heart. It’s been two days since I’ve seen the kids. Dean is almost a man now. 14 years old. His brain is turning mushy, all his thoughts focusing on girls and yet, his eyes… his eyes are just so dark sometimes.
He barely sleeps some nights, like his old man. Except, I know why I can’t. I remember horrors he has never imagined, I recollect the errors I’ve made on scary and shitty hunts, I memorize toxic recipes to repel monsters with no names, I consider reckless actions to protect thankless innocents, I summon up strength that I don’t believe I have, strength to feed, give shelter to, prepare and save the blood of my blood. Guess it doesn’t leave much room for sleep…
I accept the fact that Dean is afraid, no matter how well he hides it. He is afraid for me, and it’s a palpable anxiety. I’ve tried to teach him that the name of the game was preparation. The more prepared we are the less chance of being hurt we have; I show him my strength, and I praise his. His little brother thinks I like him because he is my good little soldier, Sammy has a cute way of making fun of him, of us, and I think Dean is taking it to heart. One more worry to disguise. And then, there is the well being of his brother, the hidden phobia in this young mind. I wish I’d know how to reduce his alarm, how to rationalize the world I am raising them in, how to show the burning love I have for them and how to be proud of the love they share. There really is strength in this family, and the steel core of the Winchesters is a backbone they each have to learn to recognize and rely upon, use it to their advantage.
They are the ones that support my quest, the reason why I even try, train, research, and hunt. The power this kids give me is subtle, maybe too much so. I need to show them that this is a two way street. Dean and Sammy are a vibrant force cursing through my veins, never diluting, firing up my brain cells, feeding my needy soul. Every night when I check on them, I renew the silent vow I made on their mother grave’s, to see them through it all, to love them enough for the both of us, to give them the means to survive the worse the world can throw at them, and as well, to enjoy the best it can give them. I just love these boys so much!
Tomorrow, I’ll be back at Singer’s place, staying a couple of weeks with my children, catching up with the lore, gathering news from other hunters. Life as usual. Simple.
The End.
Crossposted at my LJ: http://spankedbyspike.livejournal.com/4510.html