You Got Lucky
by Lucy Gillam 

I'd never admit it, but I always thought you were the lucky one.

Not for the reasons you'd think. Sure, wish I could remember Mom even the little bit that you do, but I figured out by the time I was fifteen that those memories were as much a curse as a blessing. They're the real reason you'll never get out, the reason you'll never even try.

It isn't because you were closest to Dad, either, because man, I stopped wanting that even younger. I mean, I wasn't happy about it, even resented you sometimes, but I didn't want it.

But then I'm not sure you ever wanted anything more from him than you already had. Anyone who got to know us now (yeah, there's a joke) would think you probably spent your whole childhood fighting for Dad's approval, but if you did,

I never saw it, and let me tell you, Dean, I watched. Oh, sure, you did everything he asked, with a "sure, Dad," but you weren't doing it because you wanted something. I don't think I ever saw you want more than you had.

And that's why you're the lucky one. The only thing you want is this, to keep doing what we're doing, to keep killing as many evil sons of bitches as you can. You never wanted anything else, to be normal, anything.

You have no idea how lucky you are.

***

Rabid Wendigo wouldn't drag it out of me, but I always thought you were the lucky one.

I used to think I was. I mean, I got to remember Mom. Except, after a while, I wasn't so sure I did. I thought I remembered her, but man, how many people really remember things from when they're three? After a while, I couldn't tell if I really remembered how she smelled, or if Dad had just pointed out her favorite perfume enough times to make that a memory. I swore I remembered her voice, but when I heard it again in Lawrence...I'm just not sure anymore.

And sure, I got along better with Dad, but that was never any big deal. Mostly, I think he just didn't know what to do with a baby. I was old enough that he could explain things to me by the time we really got going on this thing we do. But I had Dad to look up to and you to look up to me, and I won't pretend that wasn't pretty damn cool.

It wasn't until you left us that I figured out you were the lucky one. Not because you could. Not even because you wanted to. Because you didn't want to stay.

It wasn't because you could leave, or even because you wanted to.

It was because you didn't want to stay.

Until Jess, you didn't want it the way I did, didn't want to kill them all. You do now, and I wish like hell you didn't, not for that reason, not because someone gave you a reason that had nothing to do with Dad, or the family business, or me.

I wish you were doing it because you want to be with me... but you don't really want that, either.

Yeah. You're pretty lucky, there.