Author's Note: I don't know if what I'm about to write is my sane mind or my insanity coming out. Or I may be just severely deprived from Doctor Who. (CHRISTMAS COME FASTER, DAMNIT) Anyway, this is Idris and the Impala. That's all I'm going to say, as my story is pretty self-explanatory.

Blue TARDIS Everdeen

Chapter One: Journal Entry

Thursday, March 10, 2012

Space. The Final Frontier. God, that's cheesy. But that's what I get for watching Star Trek. I don't know if I believe in aliens, or even if they are actually real. Faeries, Ghosts, Monsters, Demons, Angels, and a whole shit ton of other crap that we hunt, THAT's real.

Sammy got me this thing for Christmas awhile back. I guess I've never actually written in it before. It's kind of nice. I can talk about a lot of things in here. Just like my dad's journal, only with fewer monsters. Not that I'm gonna let anyone read it. Except maybe for Sam. Or Cas, if he steals it. That man has really sticky fingers.

Speaking of Cas, I know that son of a bitch was trying to save me, but he poisoned the whole damn water supply and made a whole shit ton of people into flesh eating monsters. Then again, I'm sure that was the whole point of the Levia-whatevers anyway. I knew he was trying to save us; I don't think he thought about putting an entire town in danger.

God. Cas. My friend. I woulda died for him, you know. God knows he's done that multiple times for me.

I don't really know how to end this, and I'm DEFINITELY NOT going to do the girly-ass "Sincerely" or "Dear Diary" crap.

So…this is it for today, I guess.

Dean closes the journal and takes a swig of warm beer. He's alone in the room, but Bobby and Sam are just a shout away. It's around noon, and the sun shines through the dust covered window of Bobby's so-called "living room". His desk is scattered with half open books, papers, and the occasional empty whiskey bottle. He heard a distant shuffling of feet, and then a crashing sound, followed by a muffled "Balls!" from Bobby. Dean couldn't help but crack a smile. Bobby has been more of a father to him and Sam than John probably ever was, and Dean was grateful.

"Are you just gonna sit there brooding or are you gonna come here and help me?" Bobby yelled from the other room.

"Keep your pants on. I'm coming." Dean got up from the leather couch and went over to the kitchen/dining room, which was in the same state as the living room, minus the layers of dust. He saw Bobby, crouching down to pick up glass shard off the wood floor. "What did you do, trip?"

He got a glare from the older man. "No, you Idjit. A ghost tripped me." He tossed the glass piece into the metal trash can with a loud CLANG!

"Oooh. Sarcasm. How long've you been working on that one?"

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Not really. No case is on, and YOU called ME over here, remember?"

A pause from Bobby. "Oh. I guess I did, didn't I?" He took off his cap and rubbed his forehead.

"You okay, Bobby?" Dean said, with a wary look.

"Of course I'm okay. Now is this chick flick moment over? Or are you gonna help me?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, sure. I've got nothing else better to do."