Well... it's a long story. And don't think I didn't catch that fae magic bull. But fine. Seems like you have nothing but time. I was born in November of 1973 to a retired hunter and a Vietnam vet. In 1983, my mom, the hunter, burned in a house fire set by some demon after he made my brother partly demonic, but we didn't know that at the time. My dad went into hunting after that, brining me and Sammy for the ride. I was the one who cared for both Sammy and John, and always wanted John to appreciate my effort.
After a long time, Sammy was 19, and he left for college, but my dad watched the musical 9 to 5 too many times, and told him to Get Out and Stay Out. That was 2002. I'd been trained as a supernatural hunting machine, one of the best out there, outclassed only by my brother. I spread salt like second nature, and "Salt and Burn" became my life's motto beside "Others before me."
Fast forward a few years, its 2005. John is missing. Again. I ask Sammy to help find him. This triggers a year long attempt to find him, while maintaining the family business.
Fast forward again to 2008. Sam is murdered after being forcefully made to be part of a part-demon child game of Survivor. I sell my soul to save him. In 2009, I die and spend what feels like 40 years in Hell, but it was only 4 months. In 2010, I am resurrected and meet my actual guardian angel, Castiel. Most attractive guy I'd ever seen. Platonically, of course.
From there, I keep on dying and being brought back, until November of 2020, when a giant rusty nail does me in for good. I'd lost everyone by then. Cas, Crowley, Charlie, Kevin, Garth, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Bobby, John, Jack, Adam, Gabriel, Gadreel, Benny, the list could go on.
Truth is? Those six years since the nail? Most peaceful years of my life. I got to choose what I could do. I could hunt because I wanted to help, not because I was a forced soldier. Hell, I wasn't even a kid. But I've just felt like I could not be responsible. Not be to blame. Not wrong for thinking Cas could've been more than a friend, but he definitely couldn't have been.
And now, here I stand, in an admittedly very nice tea shop, run by what is very likely a fae, telling the unfortunate story of my 41 year life and the 6 years of afterlife I had.
God. No, wait, I killed him. And Death. And that painter-turned-politician with the mustache.
I'll just have whatever. You can take your pick after hearing that. I didn't mean to dump my sob story at your feet. Hell, you might've read it, since I was written as a book character.
*Dean just sits at one of the low tables*
You sure you don't want money for becoming my therapist non-consensually? Usually I care about consent a lot, just... something in the air or the bamboo or the very authentic Oriental feel of this place that just made me decompress. Like I'm being hugged by my dad.
As if I'd even remember what that feels like.
