Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

I was actually writing something that has nothing to do with this when that thing popped out. I swear, my pencil was possessed.

Despite what Dean thinks, he doesn't mind not having a home that smells of freshly baked cookies or of dog hair and febreeze.

The realisation that his home smells like the Impala's leather mixed with salt and lighter fluid and just a little of blood doesn't disturb him nearly as much as it maybe should.

Sam's life is a never-ending series of hunt and kill, salt and burn. That's what hunters do – what Winchesters do. They say that they're doing this to find mom's killer, to get some justice or some vengeance. Sam knows that they're not. They don't have any hint, any lead, any hope to do so. They don't have anything, so they grasp the hunt for salvation. Sam knows they're on a rampage to destroy. He wonders if Dad and Dean know that too. If they're just pretending they don't or if they always refused to think that far.

For them, hunting is the very meaning of life. It never needed an explanation, never warranted questioning. They say it's about "doing what's right", but somehow that's always killing. "killing evil, Sammy, it's a big difference" would Dean say. And it is. But there's so much evil in people too and the truth-that-can-not-be-told is, they're only going after what's different.

(Despite what Dean thinks, he doesn't give a flying fuck about white picket fences.)

He tries to follow as they run from a kill to another, tries to feel satisfied after a job is done. Someday, he will decide that he won't accept that there is nothing more to life than that.

Sam's life is a series of do and don't and never ever ask.

It starts when he is six months old and a curse latches onto the happy Winchester family.

Four little pigs went to sleep in their house

The big bad wolf passed and the fire caught

Only three little hunters will come out.

It starts when he's 8 and he knows when Dean lies. (Dad's no FBI agent. Making up false names isn't a game. Dean didn't get this four inches gash on his stomach from ice skating). He knows about salt and omens and evil. He knows he is being protected, kept in the dark and not trusted.

It starts when he is 9 and he decides that enough is enough.

It starts with too much Jack and not enough thinking and never ever asking. It starts with a bullet from his gun straight into a werewolf ( a man) 's skull.

It ends with a sentence, from his father's mouth straight into his ears; it feels like a bullet in the head.

That's how it ends.

Three years later, he learns that it never really does.

So. Yeah. It was my first fanfic in english and I don't have a beta. I figured that if I mentionned it earlier, you wouldn't read it...And it was actually my second fic ever, so I would like some feedback, pretty pretty please.