justprompts: I hope I die before I get old. -Pete Townshend
Warning: Spoilers for up to ep. 4x12 of Supernatural behind the cut. And language.
[private]
I am old. I mean, whatever, hitting thirty is a joke - except that I'm technically hitting seventy, and there's not enough that can be done to cleanse up some of the shit I've done, ever. So it doesn't matter.
And I did die before I got to here. And that's not making it any better.
We're so screwed up, Sam and I. There's nothing anymore that's normal for us. Live, death, age, what we can do, what we can't do. Angels told to follow what I tell them to, demons trying to get him to do what they want or me to ... do what they want. We try to do the right thing, why, so many people try to do the right thing, like that nerd back with the wishing well, or Jay... And in the end, what good do they get out of it? Diddly squat. No, worse. They end up with the crap they wouldn't wish on their worst enemy, because they're decent people. Is that the point? IS THAT THE FREAKING POINT? Do the right thing, and end up screwed up three ways from sunset?
And guys wonder why people don't believe in angels? Why people don't believe in God?
No freaking good deed goes unpunished.
Whatever.
Growing old and dying's the normal thing, right? So why should it happen to us? After all, we can't have the universe giving us a break or anything.
I don't have enough hope left to be able to say that I hope one way or the other. The way things are, I can't seem to do anything right anymore either. Or anything at all. War's still happening, freaking seals still being broken, for all I know.
Maybe I hope to not die before this war is over, if I'm really going to make any difference in it, at least. That would make a nice birthday wish. Except that wishes don't really come true, or if they do, the price is so damn big that they turn from something you wanted into a nightmare. They come true badly. Except for the bit where Sam's alive. Threatened and shit, but he's alive. That's... more than anything else.
Whatever, wishes... deals... it doesn't matter.
I don't expect us to get old. Or sane, if we do. Even if this war is over, and I sure hope it is - this whole shit is giving me creeps - but even if it is... the old playmates would still be around. Ghosts. Zombies. Vamps.
It never ends. It never stops. And one way or another, it gets to you. It ends bloody or it ends sad. Sad as in obsessed son of a bitch who only goes for the kill, never mind that things have changed, never mind that somebody might have a chance if they're given one. And yeah, I know I'm the one more likely to end like that. Heck, I'd probably be like that already, if it wasn't for Sam to point out this and that and stop me from sliding too fast. But you cause enough damage, it just sort of blurs and you think, it doesn't matter anymore. I've done this and this and that, and there's not much difference on whether I'm careful or not, so long as I get the job done.
Sixty, yeah? I'm "halfway" there.
But I've done way too much harm already, and though the two options are pretty much even... no. I'm actually not sure which is worse.
I don't know shit anymore.
Happy fucking birthday to me tomorrow.
Yeah, I'll be fine. Sam deserves better than me throwing a fit about it. Not that there's anything to throw a fit for - all of it is my doing.
[/private]
People in our line of work don't exactly often live to a ripe old age in any case. Even in the best of circumstances. Why should my hopes or wishes actually matter on the subject?
I'm not rushing to it with undue determination anymore, at least.
[private]
I am old. I mean, whatever, hitting thirty is a joke - except that I'm technically hitting seventy, and there's not enough that can be done to cleanse up some of the shit I've done, ever. So it doesn't matter.
And I did die before I got to here. And that's not making it any better.
We're so screwed up, Sam and I. There's nothing anymore that's normal for us. Live, death, age, what we can do, what we can't do. Angels told to follow what I tell them to, demons trying to get him to do what they want or me to ... do what they want. We try to do the right thing, why, so many people try to do the right thing, like that nerd back with the wishing well, or Jay... And in the end, what good do they get out of it? Diddly squat. No, worse. They end up with the crap they wouldn't wish on their worst enemy, because they're decent people. Is that the point? IS THAT THE FREAKING POINT? Do the right thing, and end up screwed up three ways from sunset?
And guys wonder why people don't believe in angels? Why people don't believe in God?
No freaking good deed goes unpunished.
Whatever.
Growing old and dying's the normal thing, right? So why should it happen to us? After all, we can't have the universe giving us a break or anything.
I don't have enough hope left to be able to say that I hope one way or the other. The way things are, I can't seem to do anything right anymore either. Or anything at all. War's still happening, freaking seals still being broken, for all I know.
Maybe I hope to not die before this war is over, if I'm really going to make any difference in it, at least. That would make a nice birthday wish. Except that wishes don't really come true, or if they do, the price is so damn big that they turn from something you wanted into a nightmare. They come true badly. Except for the bit where Sam's alive. Threatened and shit, but he's alive. That's... more than anything else.
Whatever, wishes... deals... it doesn't matter.
I don't expect us to get old. Or sane, if we do. Even if this war is over, and I sure hope it is - this whole shit is giving me creeps - but even if it is... the old playmates would still be around. Ghosts. Zombies. Vamps.
It never ends. It never stops. And one way or another, it gets to you. It ends bloody or it ends sad. Sad as in obsessed son of a bitch who only goes for the kill, never mind that things have changed, never mind that somebody might have a chance if they're given one. And yeah, I know I'm the one more likely to end like that. Heck, I'd probably be like that already, if it wasn't for Sam to point out this and that and stop me from sliding too fast. But you cause enough damage, it just sort of blurs and you think, it doesn't matter anymore. I've done this and this and that, and there's not much difference on whether I'm careful or not, so long as I get the job done.
Sixty, yeah? I'm "halfway" there.
But I've done way too much harm already, and though the two options are pretty much even... no. I'm actually not sure which is worse.
I don't know shit anymore.
Happy fucking birthday to me tomorrow.
Yeah, I'll be fine. Sam deserves better than me throwing a fit about it. Not that there's anything to throw a fit for - all of it is my doing.
[/private]
People in our line of work don't exactly often live to a ripe old age in any case. Even in the best of circumstances. Why should my hopes or wishes actually matter on the subject?
I'm not rushing to it with undue determination anymore, at least.