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I never minded blood. And with everything I've seen and experienced, I still don't mind it. Most people think the service makes us like that, seeing how the hunting life has taken with me, I can’t say for sure.
It’s Veteran’s Day today. All over America, the troops are honored, the disabled are taking care of and the dead are remembered. In the living room, the boys quickly got tired of the ceremonies and the pomp, the television is set on MTV, a girl is seriously shaking it and the chorus is stuck in my head, as much as her shape is imprinted in Dean’s… Oops I did it again, yeah sure!
Still, I don’t care about the ceremonies as well. We fought, we got hurt, we died. Each of us were part of a unit, a reformed family with members for which we’d give our lives. Those opinions mattered. The people out there, they remember the fallen comrades once in awhile, they respect their sacrifices without ever realizing there is another breed of soldiers out there, who sacrifices just as much without any support, any recognition, any respect. I don’t mind either.
What I like about this day, is how well it reminds me of what is important: the end results. As a hunter even more than as a soldier, I bow under the weight of this responsibility. Less Demons walking on this earth, more personal tragedies avoided, bright beginnings to make the new days stolen count. So, today, I told the boys about Pastor Jim and Billy and Deacon and Harry and all the others in the Echo company. Told stories about the men that carried me in my times of hardship and who I held in their times of need. The boys laughed, and I did too. Sometimes with tears shinning at the corner of my eyes and not always because of the entertaining tales I tell. I didn’t mind it too.
Tonight, it’s pasta night. Dean has created a new recipe, I shiver just thinking about it but it involves an oven, cheese and sugar melting… who knows? Anyway, he says it’s my treat. Cause I’m a vet, cause I’m wounded, cause he was the one that had to patch me up. I’m okay with that. The boys are good to me. I went to that last hunt, intent on forgetting their mother, my Mary burning on our ceiling. I came back battered but also feeling invincible. All soldiers know the feeling. And it beats dwelling on the nightmares…
Sammy is laying on the sofa, a pencil in the mouth and an open book in his hands, the picture of the studious kid Mary must have been. Dean is on the floor, his back to the same sofa, taping his foot to the rhythm of the music while cleaning up his box of tools; he said he wanted to take care of the Impala by himself now. I’m having a good day, counting my blessings rather than counting my old and new wounds, As Veteran’s Day goes it’s a good one for the books. It is a good one…
Crossposted at my LJ: http://spankedbyspike.livejournal.com/9037.html