Burnished
Every year (well, for the past two years), I like to kind of take a fannish breath. We're about to be witness to Sam and Dean Winchester's fate. I feel like I'm looking into the abyss, like there's a rocks in my stomach, like there's test results to be read, like there's a natural tension in everything I can see and it's building and tightening. This constriction is a uncomfortably keen pleasure. It's finale time.
It's amazing to me that a show I accidentally flipped to while doing my homework and trying to get through a lonely last year of college could be this...important. It's like a friend, really, albeit a friend that likes nothing more than to gross me out and feel me up at inopportune moments. And now, here's that friend...on the precipice with me and I'm so nervous. I care. That's the big deal to me, that as monogamous as my fandoms usually are, this both feels still fresh and new and just wracked with the anguish of having grown into something - a relationship of sorts - where everyone is having a really hard time and there's a way of leaning on one another...absorbing one another's pain that exists in real life friendship. I'm astonished that there's no boredom, no re-prioritization, no desire to watch anything else, meet anyone else, there's just the clock ticking off the last minutes of our shared life until something, good, bad, unbelievably painful, is going to happen.
It's also amazing to me that so many of you, while going through your own hells, heavens, and the wastes of Limbo to get to this point, are here with me. You're here. You've made it, and I hope collectively we have the strength to spit in the Devil's Eye and say: Bring It On.