How should I tell you, then?

In my life as a teacher, I used to hammer away at the idea
of simplicity. In both fiction and nonfiction, there’s only one
question and one answer. What happened? the reader asks.
This is what happened, the writer responds. This... and this... and this, too. Keep it simple. It’s the only sure way home.

So I’ll try, although you must always keep in mind that in
Derry, reality is a thin skim of ice over a deep lake of dark
water. But still:

What happened?

This happened. And this. And this, too.

I was six feet five, blue eyes, brown hair, weight one-ninety. I had been born on April 22, 1923, and lived at 19 Bluebird Lane in Sabattus, which happened

to be my 2011 address.

“Six-five about right?” Al asked. “I had to guess.”

“Close enough.”

Если вы думаете, что двое мужчин вокруг одной женщины сражаются за обладание этой женщиной, так этого не бывает даже в мультиках. Двое мужчин вокруг любого предмета сражаются не за предмет, а исключительно друг с другом, а предмет - это тот ринг, на котором протекает этот бой. Да, и женщина тоже. Цель мужчины - не получить эту женщину. Цель мужчины - победить другого мужчину. Женщина просто удобный повод сцепиться, а дальше они уже катаются клубком как Мцыри с барсом и на женщину плевать хотели, у них есть дела поважнее. А женщина такая скачет вокруг в недоумении, отчего это про нее все забыли, ведь так все весело начиналось, а теперь никто с ней не побегает и не поиграет, всем весело без нее.

Jess straightens his shirt, heading toward the door, only to be yanked back by Dean’s hand in the crook of his elbow.
“Wait! I’m still —!” he motions down at himself, and Jess nearly snorts, the prominent tent in Dean’s pants glaringly obvious. 
“Tuck it up under your belt — not like it won’t reach,” Jess mutters, and Dean’s expression turns pained. 
“Could you not compliment it right now?”

 

“I’m done.”
Jess blinks.
“Done with what,” he says around the mouth of the bottle, raising one eyebrow and feigning disinterest as hard as he can, because it’s the only way to combat the dread that’s climbing up his chest. Because if Dean means what Jess thinks he means then he means he’s done with Jess. Done with whatever little game they’ve been playing all this time, done fighting for dominance, done having verbal battles and knocking his shoulder against him in the hallway at school and towering over him and looking at him like he’s a piece of shit.
And that’s just one more person to add to the list of people who’ve washed their hands of him.
His mother. His father. His entire family, in fact, except for Luke. Luke too, once he catches on that Jess isn’t following his rules, isn’t going to graduate, isn’t going to be worth anything, ever. Rory, soon enough, when she realizes the same thing.
At least when Dean is looking at him like he’s a piece of shit, he’s looking at him.

SAM: What do we need?


BOBBY: Blood.


SAM: How much blood?


BOBBY: Ritual says near a gallon. And it's gotta be fresh, too.


SAM: Meaning we have to bleed a person dry.


BOBBY: And it's gotta be tonight. Or not for another fifty years.


SAM: Then let's go get some.

TRICKSTER: Sam, there's a lesson here that I've been trying to drill into that freakish Cro-Magnon skull of yours.


SAM: Lesson? What lesson?


TRICKSTER: This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain. Dean's your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too. It's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go.


SAM: He's my brother.


TRICKSTER: Yup. And like it or not, this is what life's gonna be like without him.


SAM: Please. Just—please.

BRADY: I bet this is a real moment for you, big boy. Gonna make you feel all better? Gonna make up for all the times that we yanked your chain--Yellow eyes, Ruby, me? But it wasn't all our fault, was it? No, no, no, no. You're the one who trusted us. You're the one who let us into your life, let us whisper in your ear over and over and over again. Ever wonder why that is, Sammy? Ever wonder why we were so in your blind spot? Maybe it's because we got the same stuff in our veins and, deep down, you know you're just like us.

LUCIFER: I'm your real family.
And I know you know it. All those times you ran away, you weren't running from them. You were running towards me. 
Sam Winchester, this is your life. Azazel's gang–watching you since you were a rugrat, jerking you around like a dog on a leash.