There’s a theory that I love about miracles.
And if you think about it, it’s not so much of a theory as it is a truth.
You’re always one step away from it. From getting closer, and closer, and closer, and eventually, there. At any given time. And if you don’t make that step, you’ll never reach it. Or approach it.
All it takes is one step.
In January 2017, I stopped believing in this. And therefore, I stopped trying. Actually, I stopped, period.
Little did I knew that I was, actually, less than a step from mine. I was one click away from it.
And sometimes…Miracles comes in the form of two brothers and an Impala.
I have always been the weird kid. The freak. I’ve always felt like I was walking on a slightly different road than anyone else was, and it didn’t exactly change as I grew up. Actually, if anything, it became more palatable. I wasn’t interested in becoming what I had been taught to look up to, and I started expressing it in a certain number of ways. The weird kid became a strange teenager, and the strange teenager grew up to be an abnormal adult. And we live in a world that just doesn’t like abnormalities of any kinds. I just wish our currency was happiness rather than normality. I was happy.
Then I became normal.
And I stopped being happy.
I’m a traveller. A writer. An obsessive Muse fan. A passionate Arrowhead. A fascinated The Walking Dead watcher. Gigs and conventions are part of the beating heart of my world. TV shows and books are my safe place. I love things immensely, regardless to the wounds it will open or create. Everything is an inspiration. Everywhere has potential to be something, and when I fall, I fall hard and wholeheartedly. And I don’t give a flying fuck about what normal people make out of me.
Until I did. And until it slowly erased who I was to become who they wanted me to be. To become them. To delete the inconvenience I was in their strictly routined existence. To suppress the rolling eyes and the urge to call me crazy. To fit their mold and break mine permanently.
I wasn’t born to be normal. I was born to be me.
And it nearly killed me.
Seven months ago, all my head was full of were ideas of taking the easy way out. And I fought those ideas once before, so, I knew I wasn’t armed enough this time to win. So I stalled. I tried and I failed and I was in a world of pain because nothing was making any sense anymore. I was so close to give up.
I was about to.
And then…Then I wasn’t anymore.
I’ll never know how what I actually did that day happened. If stars were correctly aligned, or if something just pushed me the right way. I’ve searched, but so far, came empty. I don’t know. I have no clues. All I have are hints. Friends blowing the wind my way. Possibilities of possibilities. And a gigantic “what if…” glowing from afar, pushing me to make one simple choice that would change everything.
A leap of faith, if you must. Not even that big a leap, actually.
July 27th. All I wanted was to find some place to just lay my head to rest and stop thinking. Fill it with stories and pray so that they wake something up in me, a trace of emotion, a glimpse of who I was.
All it took was one click on a suggested shows on Netflix. I didn’t made anything out of that click. It was the simplest thing in the world. Something no one notices anymore because it’s part of who we are and how we live.
Aaaaaand that’s when things started to get really, really, majestically off the fucking rails. And that’s all I wasn’t even strong enough to hope for.
I landed in the middle of the most batshit, fucked up, beautifully crafted universe ruled over by the two most amazing fictional characters in the history of television…And possibly the best two actors in the history of acting.
Falling in love with a work of fiction is such a strange process.
I was so numb I didn’t even realized that something was actually happening. I was knee-deep into a Netflix binge-watching, it was feeding me episode after episode, and cutting it short or shutting it down started to pain me physically pretty quickly. Soon enough, worrying about the Winchesters (…Not that anything they might do would warrant any kind of worry whatsoever) (spoiler alert : they jumpstarted the fucking apocalypse, those idiots) (twice) chased away my own worries and debunked all my fears and cancelled all of my anxieties. And by “soon enough”, I mean within hours. By the end of the first season, I was in love. And not in love, like, oh cool, I like this. Naaaaah. I was “let’s order all the seasons on amazon and take a dive into the merchandise and I want to get their pretty faces on my walls” in love.
Falling in love with something would have been of a great help, back then. Probably not worth being called a miracle, though. And miracle is the only word that just sounds fair to me. This is not about falling in love.
A whooole other thing happened, there. Falling in love with Supernatural is, actually, relatively easy. It has everything worth loving : the best writers, the best showrunners, the best crew, the best directors, the best (and prettiest…AS IF I WASN’T GOING TO MENTION IT) actors, a dense and deep mythology worth biting your nails off every three episodes, and a magical brain, a heart beating so loud it’s deafening, and the most beautiful soul a show could possibly get. So, yeah, easy.
Even for me…Before I became the protagonist of what would turn out to be a (super fucked up but thoroughly enjoyable) fairy tale, I was pretty much the villain. Plot twist, eh ? Not even…Let’s say, a couple of years ago, and because I had been force-fed for almost a decade the wrong idea of what Supernatural is, this show was my arch-nemesis. The one thing I’d lash out on, and on various, wildly unfair and totally moronic occasions. Oh, I have been a bitch. But some people, upon seeing the wrong thing in the show, had been spreading something that harmed it in more than one way. Instead of the absolute, stunning masterpiece I’d stumble upon years later, I deemed it too silly and light for me. A sub-par fangirl territory. Getting gifs of the Winchesters about every-fucking-where didn’t help.
It lasted…Hmmm…Oh, a good five-six years. Maybe more. Maybe less. I’m not one to hide behind my mistakes. I own it and make up for it once I’ve measured up how wrong I was. And I’ll never not own this one, because so far, it’s probably one of the biggest I’ve made. One of the most obvious, too.
Then I fell in love with Arrow, watched Stephen’s friendship with Jared and Jensen blossoming nicely over my twitter timelines (laughed my socks off when they trashed Arrow’s set), and decided to follow them both.
It took two years to make the second one. Time to settle down a few things, become a massive Arrow fan, an even bigger The Walking Dead one, and change a lot. Still, the chances of me getting to even watch Supernatural weren’t looking up, at all. For one massive, huge, and reasonable reason. Eleven, then twelve seasons. Of 22-something, then 23-something episodes. That’s about 260 episodes. Who the hell goes willingly on a binge this humongous ??? (emphasis on “willingly”)
So…The unlikeliness of the situation make everything bigger, better, faster and far, far more lifesaving than anything I could have dreamt of. Anything.
At the beginning of the second season, I was game for anything, and I was already convinced I was onto something. Something big.
Boy, I couldn’t have been further away from what would actually happen.
Because that’s when, instead of just going off the rails, things went majestically off it.
In early august, as I was starting the second season, I was also starting to show worrying signs of something that was physically wrong with me, and yet all the fear that should have come with it got suddenly blocked. If it wasn’t for the pain that went with it, I was starting to feel a lot, lot more alive than I had been in forever. The hidden truth in this is that loving something, anything, and letting go of everything else to indulge that love is a power that is evidently the strongest one. If it took them days to remind me of who I was, it took them less than two weeks to breathe so much life into me that my dark skies were suddenly lit and high in colors, and before I even noticed it, I was armed with far more than I could possibly dream of to actually beat whatever was eating me alive. Not temporarily halt it. Actually beat it. All the steps backwards taken this year became steps forwards back again, and the deal was to grab two for one lost. All of my creativity, gone down the drain, came back stronger than it ever was, and where there was a great ball of nothing before, ideas and dreams and projects were now pulsating with passion. It wasn’t a makeover at all, it was more of the initial steps of an actual rebuilding of everything that had been destroyed over the past few years. And they didn’t exactly waited for me to help. They did that on their own, regardless to how big of an idiot I might been in the past, and so far, the result is so fucking spectacular.
A month. It took me a month to watch ten seasons. I’m not even sure that this doesn’t qualify for a world record, or something. And that month was nothing but perfect, despite three emergency calls to the on-call GPs, two painful antibiotics treatments to derail a vicious infection and one day in the ER with the least capable of all nurses who had to try four different places on my arm to place a fucking I.V line (and left there a bruise the size of Texas). And none of those things got me to freak out or to lose my incredible new grip on the world. None. Had it been any other time, I would have lost my goddamn mind, twice over. That’s when I started to look at things a little differently, and that’s when I knew that this time, I was up for something different.
How wrong was I.
It doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s not different, it’s otherworldly. And I mean it with all of my heart.
When I fell in love with Arrow, what spoke to me right away was the main character. Same with The Walking Dead. To this day, they both remains my favorite ones, from each show. Then those characters will meet and confront and fight and argue and love and like and play or not with other characters. Some you’ll love, some you’ll hate, some you’ll find bloody useless (HELL-O ISABEL ROCHEV)…
Supernatural took me by surprise from the get going, because right away, you don’t get one character to love, but two, and two you’ll be unable to disassociate from, say, the second episode on. Possibly the end of the pilot. Granted, there’s X-Files…But I dare you to find a tenth of Jared and Jensen’s chemistry in Gillian and David. A twentieth. Don’t even try, because long story short : you won’t. I’ve seen my fair share of shows, old and new, short and long, streamed and on networks, in a various array of languages, and there is nothing that can beat the relation between the two brothers. Nothing that can even pretend it would at least challenge them. It’d be like trying to dig a hole in a concrete wall with a plastic spoon. You’re just going to look pretty stupid and waste everyone’s time.
There’s no doubt about how good the writing actually is. That’s what makes the canon so dense and complicated and fascinating to navigate. And the directors are really, really doing one hell of a job, same for the technical side of the thing. It’s visually creative, sometimes even downright daring, and it’s smart, fun, and deeply rooted in the most fertile and imaginative mythology I’ve seen in decades. To cap it all, it’s a show that’s not afraid of big, major emotions, and one that has an heart that beats so loud. No point in taking away all of those major things, or to try to make them smaller or less important than they actually are.
But, clearly, had they cast anyone but Jared and Jensen, they would probably have had a dead horse on their hands very, very quickly. That’s where lies the actual core of my miracle. That’s what makes the whole thing incredibly…Alive. And real. The monster that has become Supernatural, and its glorious ongoing longevity in a world packed with dozens of shows that won’t get to see past the first season is completely carried on both their shoulders, and they’re doing that with such grace it’s mind blowing. Anything I had experienced and felt and seen with some of my top shows is miles and miles away from that. That’s taking what could have been a great experience into THE greatest one. I found myself falling in love with Sam and Dean at the exact same pace I was falling in love with Jared and Jensen, and the whole thing became so strong and so overwhelming so quickly, I had to take evenings off (…And eventually failed miserably and gave in at some point of the night) to just take a breath and settle down whatever was going on inside of my own mind. I wasn’t spared anything. Every single kind of emotion humanly known was felt a hundred of times each, and I’ve taken everything in as if through an echo chamber : bigger and bigger and bigger each season. I have cried actual rivers, feared dehydration about every two days (basically upon reaching mid-season finale and the feared finale), emptied 200-tissues boxes every half-weeks, and I have loved every. Single. Second. Actually, I begged for more, despite my obvious liquid state. And they made us go through everything : every single loss you could possibly imagine, we’ve endured them, and some of them a few times over. I have been angry, mad, disappointed, I have felt every single shade of fear, from minor concern to actual terror and all the hundreds scales in between, I have experienced all kinds of worries, and felt my own heart break a hundred times over. And nothing I could either foresee or guess : state of actual shock every damn time something remotely important happened to them. But if I had to pick the biggest of all emotions, the one I’ve never ceased to felt even once, despite everything they did (and boy, did they screw up A LOT) and everything they even said to each other, the one that kept on growing way, way beyond what I actually thought was my own limits and that keeps on growing nowadays, twice bigger each day than the day before, and doesn’t look anytime about to slow down…The one feeling that is so strong it is everywhere around me at all time is how much I am loving this show, and how deeply, deeply in love I am with the Winchesters and their actors. It even got to the point of becoming scary, because for someone who was supposedly broken, I sure as hell got hit hard in the face by those two and it fixed me in ways I couldn’t possibly imagine. Oh I am scarred for life, that’s for sure. But with those scars came the most amazing recovery from the darkest times, and I’m going to cherish them forever. The best of help came from the one place I wouldn’t have looked for, and I’ll never stop feeling grateful something crashed my course and deviated it in the right way, even if I don’t precisely know what.
I’m unable to pick a favorite episode. Ask me for the other two important shows of my life, and I’ll blindly go for 309 for Arrow and 106 for The Walking Dead, without even having to think of it. There, I can’t. It’s not like there might be five or six…We’re in the low hundreds. And I can’t pick a season either. I have welcomed each and every character with a growling worry that it might take me away from the brothers, and learnt to love every single one of them (ASIDE FROM RUBY. FUCK YOU RUBY), even the sickest, most twisted assholes they could possibly create. I haven’t rejected even half a character, and everything just worked so well. It’s like going for the biggest puzzle in the history of humanity and every new character is so perfectly cast and written, it’s just fitting the bigger picture the best possible way. It’s not even far-fetched to assume that some of those, I actually love more than Rick and Oliver altogether. And when they got me confused over some episodes (early season 6, I am SO looking at you), the reason why I was confused in the first place turned the whole thing into a borderline genius trait.
The bond I have felt right away with Sam and Dean is shaping up to be unbreakable, and it’s rooted through hardship : theirs, and mine, closely intertwined in the most incredible way. The cathartic power of this show is beyond insane, and going through this massive, violently bumpy, highly addictive journey has proved itself to be the most effective way to keep my head out of the water and push me toward the shore, rather than down the storm. Walls have been decorated, iphone cases have been changed, piles of DVD boxsets have started to form the happiest Pisa tower we’ve ever seen (despite the fact that it’s precarious state made it fall right on my face a few times, no concussion so far, thanks), and everywhere I can lay my eyes on, I’ll eventually end up on the Winchesters, or so very close. A tiny part of my brain freaked out for a few days, unable to process the fact that I basically went from the state of mortal enemy straight to lover one, and it’s still so very bizarre to feel my heart jumping anytime any cast member posts on twitter or instagram, let alone J2. Everything has changed.
I was lucky enough to have a new, and an already a very close friend to accompany me step by step through this (insaaaaaaaaane*) amazing (but insaaaaaane**), emotional (completely insaaaaaaane***) and beautiful (and insaaaaaane****) journey and with whom we can spend hours to debate everything and feed each other’s love for the show, the characters, and the actors. And it’s like the second you start digging into the mythology, you find something so massive it’s going to warrant mails of 6000 words.
Up until today…Well, up until a few days ago, I was quite the passive fan. I love some show entirely, but it never really got me into digging the canon, or write fanfiction (not the slash type, actual, canon-rooted one). Well, it’s a bit of lie, since there’s one that’s in current edition, born out of frustration after last year’s Flash/Supergirl musical crossover. But that’s it. Not that I don’t want it…I just don’t need it. Usually, I just follow wherever the writers and actors are taking me, and I’m not one of those annoying complainers that could have done soooo much better than anything you’d throw at them. I’m just happy building my own universes and characters and enjoying other people’s. I could never have guessed that digging into the canon of anything could be SUCH a thrill.
You got it : head first into Supernatural’s. We’re actually trying to answer a question Sam’s actor asked a while back about one major side of his character (Jared, what have you done there…) and we understood pretty quickly that to answer that question in the most thorough and fact-based manner, it’d take a rewatch of the whole thing at least twice. At least. And as I’m already so in love with the show, I wouldn’t dare trying to answer that any other way. And it makes my heart beats faster and my brain works in ways it hasn’t been able to pull through with for a long, long time, and on the overall…Whatever was going so wrong not even two months ago is such a distant memory, I can’t even know how and why I fell so low. This is not only completely unexpected, it’s…Borderline crazy. I keep the imprint of how darker and darker everything went for a long while, but I can’t even remember not feeling this sudden influx of life. I don’t know how it felt. And I know it was there, and I know it was hard, and I know the fight’s been unfair and bloody…But it’s as if, given this…Thing ? And the power it’s having on me has pretty much wrapped this chapter of my life into an ugly cardboard, and threw it in a dark, forgotten corner of my own brain. I don’t know how they did it…But it certainly works better than any of the drugs we tried. A billion times better. Probably even more.
As I reached the latest season, I’ve discovered that it is, actually, possible, to love every single season of a 12-seasons show, and that it’s even possible to love every single episode from the pilot up to last season’s finale (aside from 920. Fuck you 920), which was a complete surprise, because in 20+ years of loving TV shows, I had been confronted by countless disappointments, growing frustration, and even gave up on some I loved dearly. But there…I don’t have even an inch of doubt about the future, because they pretty much set up the magical formula from the first episode on and never deviated from it (aside from 920. Fuck you 920) : as long as Sam and Dean and the Impala are the center of the show, you can throw anything at my face, from the most catastrophic to the most insane, I’m game. I’m game for everything. I don’t worry about the current spoilers for the forthcoming season like I do for the 25+ other shows I watch, I’m just excited and impatient (and counting down the days, hours and minutes as we speak) and every glimpse we get at the new season is nothing but pure bliss. I’m slowly transitioning from the late to the party watcher to a fully-fledged, taking it all in, convention-going fan, and it’s the most thrilling, uplifting experience I have ever had the chance to live.
We’re going to hit the two months anniversary in a few days. Eight weeks next Thursday. It’s been both insanely quick and so powerful it does feel like it’s been a lot, lot longer. I’ve changed so much over the past 50 days. I can’t even explain how or why and it’s going to take a whole lot of articles over here to actually figure it out even so slightly, but there is one bond, one link that’s already stronger than any other newly knitted ties with every characters and every actors, and, actually, it’s already stronger than any other connection I have ever felt with any of my heroes and any of the people I love and admire so deeply.
By extension, Jared, too. Actually, I don’t really know which one fuels the other one, now that I come to think of it. Which is both weird and totally normal, in this very case. I mean, technically, the actor gives life to the character. It’s the way it works, the way it always has and always will.
I’m the first in line to take a stand and underline how amazing Jensen is. And he is so good. He gave the show some of its best scenes, scenes that were making my head spin with emotion, in their rawest, purest form. Three comes to mind, as I write : a heartbreaking, begging cry for help at the end of the 5th season, a conversation with god that just echoed throughout everything I’ve ever thought about religion, ever, at the end of the 11th, and taking a stand for Sam confronting his absent mother in the penultimate episode of the 12th season. Those three scenes only are the factual, palatable proof that Jensen Ackles is one of the best actors this world has ever had. And by far.
But what is happening with Jared is both the same thing, because he’s THAT good, and completely different all at once, and it’s making my head hurts when I’m trying to gather each and every single time he just wrecked me, and every time I’ve been hit by what happens to this character I already love more than any other one from any other show put together. Sam’s life is so close to mine (monsters aside, I mean) in so many ways, and the differences between him and me are actually making me see some situations in a whole new way, and it’s probably adding layers to the constant work-in-progress that I am. I don’t think I’ve ever been this influenced by a character ever before. And I get it, the writing is essential, but it takes a lot to go from acting a few lines to actually giving life to a character. And Jared hits the right note every. single. time. His portrayal of addiction ? Spot on. Of struggling to find his own way and to build a future the way he intends rather than the way that was paved for him ? Devastatingly accurate. Of choosing the hardest path, and the one that leads to sacrifice to protect the ones he loves ? Simply stunning. And I could go on for hours, and will end up at the same conclusion exactly. Being moved by an actor and by a character is a question of alchemy and precision, and one smile too far or one tear short will just mess it up. It takes nothing to make it fail. And through 12 seasons, Jared never missed, not once, to hit the right emotion at the right time. Not. Once. Not even close to.
I’m in love with Sam. And I’m probably in love with Jared too. And with Dean, and Jensen, and Castiel, and Misha, and Crowley, and Mark…You name them, I fell in love with all of them.
I fell in love a lot of times, over the past eight weeks.
But most of all, Supernatural made me fall in love with life all over again. Being and staying alive in order to be able to live all those things never looked like a gift quite as much as it does now. It takes quite a fight, at times, but I have been reminded that it’s worth it.
One step. It’s all it took. One click.
*name any other show where a character died a hundred times over. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
**angels wearing trench coats and unable to get anything beyond first degree
***the king of hell is addicted to human blood
****talking with dogs is a thing