A/N: Prompted by Bobby, Sam and Dean start independent blogs. The following entries, authored by myself and Roadhouse Ellie, were written on the actual dates indicated on each blog.
Hey Bobby-
25 March 2008
Okay, I'm taking your advice but if Dean finds out I'll never hear the end of it. The Journal of Sam Winchester… it has a nice ring to it. I figured this would be easier than trying to keep some therapist appointment. "Oh sorry Doctor, I gotta cut our hour short, me and my brother have to gank a succubus in Toledo tonight."
I hope you don't mind me using your name; this self-help book I was looking through said it's easier to relate to a journal if you give it a personality. I thought writing Dear Diary would have to be followed by "Dean and I were watching Gilmour Girls last night.." and so on. Which would work if I were a fourteen year old girl, but I'm not (shut up Dean).. I know for a fact, since I've seen myself naked.
Now there's an awkward thing. Dean and I spend a lot of time together, and I mean, a LOT of time… and seriously, I'm not a prude or anything but I kind of worry about Dean, that he may have some sort of, you know… "addiction". Last night, in fact… lights out, I crashed like a ton of bricks after that whole bookstore thing in Fort Worth (that's another story!) and like, five minutes later, there goes Dean, right? I said "Dude, are you for real? Can you not do that now?" And Dean is all "Can't help it, man… I think I'm pretty hot." And it's dark but Bobby, I can hear him smirking! I wanted to smack him, I swear..
But then, other times, he really worries me. I mean, we'll come back from a job and we're really just drained, right? I mean, you know how it is.. you just have nothing left inside. But Dean… I know he's a lot like Dad in some ways, and he keeps a lot hidden, but he'll just go to bed and lie there and you know, inside he's just raging and all these feelings are boiling up and they have no place to go because he won't let them out. All those feelings have to go someplace, right? That's when he won't talk to me. I mean, I try but he gets all stoic and says "It's okay, go to sleep, Sammy", like I'm four years old. That's all he'll say. And with everything that's happened the last three years, those are the only times that scare me.
Anyway, thanks for listening, Bobby. I'll get back later as soon as I can grab five minutes alone.
-SW
What the Hell
25 March 2008
It's not like anyone will ever read this, right? Anyway, this girl I met, I think her name was Heather (very hot), suggested this journal. She said all the crap I can't tell Sam has to go somewhere. Actually, she said she used a blog to write out stuff so it doesn't build up and explode. Seems to make sense to me. When Dad died and I had to keep my game face on for Sammy, talking to Gordon helped. Well, until I found out he was buckets of crazy. So instead of finding another psycho that wants to kill my little brother, I guess I can put it here. At least until my year is up. Then maybe my fan club can take over talking about how awesome I am. I'm NEVER showing this to Sam. He'd probably want to hug or cry or something.
-Dean
He's Got a year... If He's Lucky!
27 March 2008
Hey Bobby-
It's me again.. well, that was obvious. I just have to get this off my chest.
Dean is driving me nuts. Crazy. Freaking over the edge.
Seriously, man.. laundry. We're still here in Fort Worth, right, because we're not sure this bookstore deal is done. I asked Dean, nicely, if he could just throw a load of laundry in while I went back and double-checked some calculations. About ten steps from the motel door is a Wally's Washateria, right? How difficult is that? Even for Dean!
So I ask him, and I figure he heard me, he gives me this sort of wave, since he's all engrossed in some trash mystery he bought at the bookstore (an obvious excuse to hang around and talk to the girl in the mystery section, since Dean does NOT read!). Anyway I come back a couple of hours later and here's Dean, still reading the damned book and eating M&Ms, and the laundry is still piled on my bed!
Straight out.. "Dean, did you not do the laundry?"
"No, Samantha, I did not do the laundry." Never looked up from the book, never stopped shoveling candy into his mouth.
"Can I ask you why not?" And at this point, I'm imagining how it woudl feel to slowly strangle him…
So, get this, Dean picks up an M&M, very carefully places it between the pages, closes his precious Dan Brown novel and says "I did not do the laundry because I'm the guy. Laundry is more of a girl thing. So I saved it for you."
Okay, Bobby, Dean is my brother and I love the guy more than anything in the world, right? But I swear, I cannot take his crap much longer. And he knows I won't do anything about it because the minute I try to make him feel just a little responsibility, he says something like "Well, you need to get used to this stuff, I won't be around to do your laundry this time next year." And I don't want to let that happen, but I know he may be right.
So yeah, I did the damned laundry. But… just for spite, I put my red t-shirt in with his underwear… ha! Pink socks, buddy! Take that!
Anyway, thanks for listening, Bobby. I'm gonna try and call tomorrow, just to check in. We thought we may have had a bhuta causing trouble in the bookstore but it manifested even after we went back and burned turmeric, and we can't find a strong Indian connection to the staff or property anyway. I hope you can give us some ideas.
-SW
Downtime Sucks!
27 March 2008
Ok, got bored waiting for Sammy to figure out the details on this new gig and was screwing around online. I took one of those silly quizzes. Thought it would be lame, but it turned out to be pretty cool (so not telling Sam that either). And they even provide a way for you to post results on a blog. So is this what normal people waste all their free time with? Maybe normal isn't so bad sometimes.
Your results:
You are The Flash - Fast, athletic and flirtatious.
The Flash 75%
Hulk70%
Iron Man65%
-Dean
Sam Winchester says:
8. July 2008 at 23:16
Dude, I totally whipped your butt on that quiz! I am only the coolest of superheroes… Spider-Man, Superman and Batman are my top three matches. Seriously, man.. who would a hot chick rather date? A guy they call "The Flash" (which, well, the implications are not kind) or a guy with web-shooters? Kinda kinky. hahaha!!
You are Spider-Man!
85%
You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility
Superman
75%
Batman
70%
Running out of time
28 March 2008
This blog thing may be just what I need to set things straight with Sam. I can stop taking my frustration and fear out on him. And after I'm gone, he can read this and know all the things I can't bring myself to say out loud. I know it is the coward's way out. But then so was the deal. I was so afraid of being completely alone, I chose to let Sam be alone instead.
People always think I am the strong one, but they couldn't be more wrong. I'm all talk. Hiding behind charm and a gun. Only Sam ever saw through it. He's the one with real strength. The one who can still have a life without his brother. He didn't need me when he went away to college. He'll learn to do without me again. Maybe if I piss him off enough before I go…
Anyway, that'll have to be enough for now. Sam's due back soon from doing some research. The last thing I want is for him to learn about this blog before I'm gone. Maybe I should tell Bobby about it in case I die ahead of schedule.
-Dean
Dean Bewitched?
3 April 2008
Hey Bobby-
Kicking back here in Cowtown still, waiting for Dean to show up (eventually) so we can head down south to Laredo in the morning. A local border patrol guard says they've picked up a good dozen illegals who've reported something called a "tlahuelpuchi". According to a little research I've done, they're vampiric shapeshifters who prey mostly on infants. Sounds pretty interesting.
Oh, man, you'd have died laughing the other night… this girl Dean has been seeing… not only has she turned him every which way but loose, get this: she's a witch! Ha! And Dean's lame excuse is "well, you know, it's research…" but after a couple of beers, he's all about reporting the "tantric experience." Seriously, dude, is he channeling Yanni now? I thought you'd get a kick out of that; you know how Dean leads the "I hate witches" parade wherever we go. It just seems fitting (in a karmic way) that he gets it handed back to him on a silver platter, and then he begs for more.
Oh hey, Cosmic Lover is just pulling up in the parking lot. I swear to god if we have to eat at Hooter's again, I'm going to puke. Please, Bobby.. please tell me I'm adopted!
Later-
SW
I'll be damned!
3 April 2008
Right after Dad died, I joked about a Hunter's newsletter called Demon Hunter's Quarterly. A little while later, I found out that not only is there this huge Hunting community, but a newsletter. And it actually is called Demon Hunter's Quarterly! Both were things I wish we'd found out from Dad and not from friends we never knew he had. It's thanks to that newsletter I have this blog. Now, not only do I find out that the newsletter is on the internet, but they have an award. Not a "you won a million dollars" award. More like, "you're the best and we all know it" award. And get this. The first online issue is honoring the "Hunter of the Year". Me.
Holy crap! Me, the "Hunter of the Year". I mean I know I'm awesome. Sam knows I'm awesome and won't admit it. But after all the crap we've gotten over that Devil's Gate thing, I never expected other hunters to know it too. And the person who wrote the article even says we weren't to blame for all those damn demons getting freed. Maybe this will make some hunters stop trying to hunt Sam. Maybe they'll help keep him safe when my year is up. At first I thought maybe Bobby wrote the article. But it never once called me an idjit, so I know it wasn't him. I can't decide whether to show it to Sam or not. This is the first thanks I've gotten for our work that didn't include Dad. That recognizes me as hunter in my own right. I'm glad it came before I die.
-Dean
Moseley says:
16. April 2008 at 22:23
Boy, you stop tearing youself down! There are plenty of poeple who want to stand in line to do that for you. You're not the first Hunter to face Hell and sure enough you won't be the last. Your daddy may have taught you all about monsters and demons but the one thing you refuse to believe in is yourself. You wouldn't have gotten this far if you were stupid. There are plenty of people willing to help you find answers but they ain't gonna hand them to you on a silver platter. You and your brother haul back to Lawrence when you get ready to hear some ideas.
They say as soon as you figure out you're in a hole is when you're supposed to stop digging. So put the shovel down, Dean, and start trying to figure out how to climb out of that hole you dug! And feeling sorry for yourself ain't gonna build you no stair-case!
-M.M.
Still in Fort Worth
13 April 2008
It took us forever to deal with the problem in that bookstore, but we finally figured it out. Ok, the witches we hooked up with (never thought I'd say that) figured it out. Well, not we. Sam is still too uptight. They totally blew my theory that the state was full of rednecks in pick-ups and trailer trash. I guess the fact they work in a bookstore should've been a huge clue. They were pretty well versed in the lore and even knew some Hunters. Wonder if they know Bobby or Ellen?
Anyway, our next gig is still in Texas, further south in Laredo. I keep trying to put off leaving. One of the witches is a hot MILF that is definitely into Sam. He's just so lost in the hunt and worrying about my dying to take his eyes out of the research. If she's anything like her friend, she could teach him a thing or three. Don't think I'll ever look at a witch the same way again. Nothing like that bitch Ruby or those crazy women getting their power from a demon. He needs to have a little fun before this job kills him. And while I'm still here to see him happy, even if it's only temporary. He hasn't smiled in days. I can't remember the last time he laughed. God, now I'm sounding as emo and depressing as Sam.
-Dean
Chupacabra Tacos
17 April 2008
Hey Bobby-We're down here in a little town on the Texas-Mexico border… you know I'm not used to high-toned living but man this is rough. We're holed up in a crappy little motel and have been for what feels like eight months; half the time the shower doesn't work, the toilets don't flush and I swear to God, Bobby, there are cockroaches here that are bigger than the Impala.I kinda have to hand it to Dean though; if comes to surviving, he's a champ. He made some sort of concoction out of Alka Seltzer and tequila that saved my life after a bout with some bad goat-meat tacos… goat meat, Bobby! I ordered it, I had no idea what it was..hello, Kansas, anyone?! But Dean knew and let me eat it… about four hours later he was telling me, through the bathroom door, how this was "a life experience they don't teach you at Standford."
Anyway, we can't really pinpoint this whole attack being of tlahuelpuchi origin. (Tlahuelpuchi, might I add, is the noise one makes a few hours after eating slightly spoiled goat-meat tacos.) We've been through the usual rituals of trying to repel the creature by leaving metal and garlic underneath the crib of the baby being targeted but nothing yet. I spoke with a guy who works border patrol, who originally contacted us, and he's directed us across the border to a village shaman. We're off to Cuidad de la Sangre tomorrow morning.
And I swear, Bobby, if Dean wakes me up one more time by jumping on my bed and shouting "Fiesta!" I will lock him in the trunk of the Impala and drive it off a cliff.
Later.
-S.W.
Goodbye (hopefully just for now)
29 April 2008
I know I won't get the chance to say goodbye to Sam. I plan to go out fighting, taking as many evil sons-of-bitches with me as I can. Hey, I wouldn't want to be lonely down in Hell. If I have it my way, Sam won't have to watch the end. But knowing him all too well, he won't let me have it my way. He's still convinced he can save me. Don't get me wrong, I pray to whoever I have to that he is right. I just know how Winchester luck runs. All bad.
Anyway, seeing as Sam will probably get to read this soon, I should get this over with. I'm sorry I am leaving you behind to finish the war we started. I'm sorry for getting you killed in the first place. I'm sorry I won't get to watch you have a wife, kids, and grow old. I'm sorry to put you in the same position Dad put me in two years ago. You shouldn't have to deal with that much pain. Especially because of me. I am sorry for so many things in our lives. The only thing I won't ever apologize for is making the deal. I couldn't let you stay dead. You were the best part of my life and I couldn't bear to lose you.
I know I'll sound like such a girl, but I love you little brother. More than anyone or anything in my life. Yes, that includes my baby. Though you'd better take care of her, or I'll find a way to come back and kick your ass. Seriously, though dude. I know we never say the "L" word, but we've never had to. It has always been a given. Look after Bobby and let him look after you. He may not be blood, but he is family. I don't want to say he's an honorary Winchester. That would jinx him with our bad luck. And look after Ellen too. She may not want to admit it, but I think she has a soft spots for Winchesters too. Probably those puppy dog eyes of yours. Most importantly, don't be like Dad and spend your whole life trying to avenge my death. I made the trade so you could have a life. Don't give that up for me. You deserve better. That is a direct order, Bitch!
-Dean
Sam Winchester says:
22. June 2008 at 01:26
Bobby told me about this blog. I can't believe you did this, Dean.
This is so like you to toss out a whole bucketful of emotions and then leave like some mysterious super-hero while everyone else picks up the pieces. How dare you, how dare you make it sound like "Ah, no big deal, I'll die, you're all better off", and then go away and leave me holding a big bag of nothing? We've had each other's backs from Day One, man. What, are you done? Just gonna blow it off because you got tired of playing? You know what, Dean? That's just fine. A whole bunch more people are gonna die because you're so damned busy nailing yourself to a cross that you just can't be bothered to help. I guess that's just too bad for the rest of us who aren't allowed to quit, or, hell, Dean.. allowed to die. The past three years, we've been in a constant battle to see who can martyr themselves first and you know what? Nobody wins, dude.
But I can promise you this much: whatever we did, we made a difference. We may not make it perfect, but at least we gave enough of a damn to try. And I'm gonna try my damnedest to drag your sorry ass back out of Hell and make you help me, because Winchesters don't quit, Dean. We may screw up and we may make mistakes and sometimes we don't have room for all the regrets, but Winchesters aren't anybody's bitches.
-Sam
Bobby Singer says:
22. June 2008 at 01:54
Damn, Sam! Don't pull any punches. I didn't tell you about this damn thing so you could bitch your brother out. Yes, we know he's an idjit, but you know how he is. He wanted to tell you these things. To your face. That damn Winchester pride got in the way. Even after death, your Dad had an effect on Dean. Can't show weakness. Can't cry and still be a man. It took everything in Dean to find a way around John's influence. And I think a part of him was hoping we'd find a way to save him so you'd never have to see this. So cut him some slack.
You know when we get him back, he 's gonna kick your ass for this. And I think I'll make sure to share your bitchfest with him. He'll be just as pissed at you for all the things you said in your journal. About not being worth the sacrifice. About not being special. Then he'll smack you upside your fool head for thinking you aren't strong. Just remember this post when he's out of Hell. It'll come back to haunt you.
Flying Solo
18 June 2008
Hey Bobby-Man, I don't know if I can do this. I thought, when Dean died, we were just gonna come up with some amazing brainstorm and bang, Dean's back. But we haven't and he's not.
I just have this awful feeling inside, this whole dark pressing sensation, it feels like it's pushing me down into a pit that I can't crawl out of. I just want to give up and lie down and cry until I can't feel anything anymore. Honest to god, Bobby, I'm so tired of feeling like this all the time, I… sometimes I wish Dean hadn't cared so much and thought I was worth dying for. I mean, look at me; I'm a mess. Why the big sacrifice for me? I'm so screwed up, my whole life is just one long series of horrible events. I'm not normal, if there is such a thing. I'm a 25 year-old college drop-out orphaned unemployed brain-glitched loser with a police record and a demon on my ass, and the only person who gave a damn died to save me. Why? I'm no savior. I'm nothing special. I'm pretty much just plain nothing.
Then I get mad at myself for being so helpless, and so self-pitying… Bobby, I know that people go through loss and tragedy and guilt every day but I can't help wonder why does it always happen to us? I mean, always. Is there a big target on the back of every Winchester ever born? I know being Bobby Singer is no walk in the park either… did we jinx you somehow? Curse you by getting close to you? Man, I am so sorry you ever got mixed up with my family… but I'm really glad you did too. There's no way Dean and I could have come this far without you. I just hate that you feel so responsible for us that you don't have the time to get your own life straight. You've got your own worries, I know. I mean, I've known you all ever since I can remember but damn… I never knew about your wife. I never knew about your life. I was always so wrapped up in myself that I couldn't see the pain others were going through.
And it's true with Dean too. He was always there for me. Always. Never turned his back on me, never was too busy to spend time with me… and I think I took it for granted. He gave up his whole life for me. I was his #1 priority since I was born and look where it got him. Some great brother I turned out to be. He gives up his life for me and all I can do is wallow in a big pool of self-pity and self-loathing because I'm not strong like Dean. But I can't be like him… Bobby, Dean is so strong, I know he's still being strong even now, wondering what I'm doing wasting time and not hauling him out of Hell. He's probably looking at his watch right now, "Damn it, Sammy.. get a move on!"
So, I'm gonna take a deep breath and try to make some sort of sense out of the mountain of research I've gathered up and I'll get together with you later and we'll hash it out. I don't know why I'm writing that because you won't be reading this anyway. And I resisted putting a little smiley-face there at the end of the sentence even though it would drive Dean crazy and he'd punch me in the arm and call me Samantha, and in a way I'm almost tempted to do it anyway because maybe it would make him mad enough to storm out of Hell himself and kick my ass for being such a wimp. And I deserve it.
Okay, Bobby.. thanks for listening again… I swear I'm through with the pity party and I'm ready to man up and be the brother I need to be.
Later-
S.W.
Guilty, much? Hell yes.
21. June 2008
Hey Bobby-
I'm really, really sorry about my last post. I just felt like I needed to get that all out of my system, you know? There's just been so much to do and read and think about, I haven't really been able just to talk to anyone and it sort of .. got intense.
I think I may be losing my mind. Ha ha. I know, "More than usual?" right? Seriously… I feel so isolated and so alone, and now I feel bad even writing that down because I know it's nothing, nothing compared to what Dean must be going through. At the risk of sounding extremely girly, I miss him so much.. it makes me sick to think of how he's suffering. God, Bobby… it's this kind of thing that's been running through my mind; I know we'll get Dean out of Hell, but… will he be all right? I mean, will he be Dean? I know after I went Dark-side, Dean told me later that the thing that scared him most was… would I still be Sammy? And I know there were times when I wasn't myself; I knew what was going on, I could feel and hear and see, but.. I didn't have a real grip on it. It was me but I couldn't get my head around the fact that the horrible stuff I was doing just wasn't normal, you know? All the bitterness and the coldness of it, the things I did.. it just seemed, you know.. right.
But Dean coming back, filled up with the kind of black void where his conscience used to be… still Dean, but not caring about anything and leaning way toward nasty.. it's a scary thought. Are we going to be okay, the two if us? Can I still joke around with him? Do I have to worry that Hell has turned him so sour that I should afraid of my own brother? That Dean might want to .. you know.. hurt me? I mean, it's my fault he's there in the first place. The whole selling-your-soul thing probably sounded like a really good and noble gesture for a while. I mean, it is, of course… I would have died. End of story. But to think that he's been down in Hell all this time, with plenty of time to think about it.. is he gonna come back thinking "Hey, that stupid little bitch ain't worth this crap!"
I just want to get this over with and bring Dean home, Bobby.
Later.
-S.W.
Sam's Rambling…
2. July 2008
Hey Bobby-
First off, I wish I could tell you how much all your help means to me. I'd come right out and say it but you'd brush it off like it was nothing, then we'd have a few minutes of feeling uncomfortable. But I do appreciate everything you're doing and trying to do, and there are times, and I'm pretty sure Dean would agree, that I just wish things had been a little , I dunno, re-written and you had been our Dad instead. Sometimes I wonder if things would have turned out differently, you know? I figure for sure, we wouldn't be dealing with trying to bargain Dean out of Hell, right? You would never have put up with that kind of crap. And seriously, you never would have done some half-cocked demon deal to bring either of us back from the dead, because chances are we wouldn't be dead in the first place.
I dunno, I'm just so tired, like I have to tell you, right? I'm having a really hard time sleeping and when I'm so exhausted I can't keep my eyes open anymore, I refuse to sleep because I'm scared of what I might see. I keep having dreams about Dean; at least I hope it's dreams and not visions. I see Dean in hell, and God, Bobby… I know I'm being weak and stupid but I can't see that anymore. It's driving me crazy because I know it's my fault he's there in the first place… and he's suffering so much.. and it's all so bad, really really bad, Bobby… And when I wake up I think "Oh thank god it was just a dream," but then it hits me: Was it really? And now I'm wondering if I'm seeing it the way it really is or maybe I'm causing this to happen, I'm dreaming up Dean's Hell. Is that possible? Or am I going crazy?
Then sometimes, not often, but sometimes I dream that Dean is back and he's okay and we're both fine. It's always the same; I'm asleep in some dank little motel in the middle of Nowhere, and I wake up and Dean is there and he says "Rise and shine, we're burnin' daylight," and I just get this really intense feeling that washes over me that everything is fine. And I'm so relieved I almost start to cry but I don't because I know Dean will make a big deal about it and call me "Francis"… then I do wake up and I know that wasn't real and nothing is fine and Dean is worse than dead. And that intense feeling hits me again but this time it's like nothing will ever be right again, nothing will ever be good.
I just feel lost, Bobby. Like a big part of me is gone, and I'm never gonna get past it. I want to believe that we'll figure it out. I just can't actually have this conversation with you because I'm afraid that saying it out loud will make it true, you know? That I have all these doubts, and I'm so afraid and so scared and so sick inside… guilty that I set all this in motion by being irresponsible in some way, that I didn't do enough, that I got in the way or didn't pull my weight.. would Dean have been better off without me? Probably so. But I would be so much less of a person without my brother around.
Despite everything that's happened, if I had it to do all over again and Dean showed up at my apartment in Stanford and asked me to help him find Dad, I'd go in a heartbeat. Even knowing what I know now. Because there is nothing I would trade for these last three years with my brother.
I just want Dean to come home, Bobby. No matter what.
-S.W.
Bobby Singer says:
5. July 2008 at 10:44
I thought your idjit brother was the only one that screwed up in the head. Apparently your Daddy did quite a number on the both of you to think so little of yourselves. Makes me wish I could drag his ass back to Earth just so I could kill him myself. The man had no clue what great kids he had, not just great Hunters but great kids. Or the smarts to tell THEM that once in a while. I think no matter who raised you boys, some things would never change. You would still be the most important person in Dean's world. He would still do everything in his power to protect you. And you would do the same for him. That was simply how it was meant to be.
What would Dean tell you if he heard you blaming yourself for any of this? Damn right! He'd smack you upside the head and make it clear that that Yellow-Eyed son of a bitch was the one to blame. Of course, inside he'd blame himself. I don't know what to do with the two of you. If you didn't feel a part of you was missing without Dean around, then I'd be worried. He was as lost when you died as you are right now. We will get him back. You know we will. And when we do, he's going to need you more than he ever did before. You need to be strong for him. We both do.
Dean's Visit
6. July 2008
Hey Bobby-
I'm really sorry about.. well, pretty much everything. I know I'm not holding it together very well and I guess my head is kind of screwed up. I say stuff I don't mean, I write stuff that comes off sounding snippy and pathetic and juvenile; generally I'm becoming the big girl that Dean is always accusing me of being. I feel like I'm always either apologizing or doing something that will need apologizing for later.
I had a weird thing happen last night, and I probably should have told you but when I went into the living room, you were asleep on the sofa, and I mean dead to the world, Bobby. Snoring and the whole nine yards. There was an infomercial blaring on the TV, some smarmy guy selling his secret natural cures and I know had you been anywhere near awake, you'd have Colt-blasted that snake oil salesman right off the screen. I know how much you hate hucksters!
A few hours ago, I was lying in bed, not asleep but in that sort of floating state where you're just about to drop off but you're still pretty much aware of things around you. Anyway, I was just lying there, I could hear the TV and you were snoring and the refrigerator was making that humming sound that happens when the motor kicks on… in an instant, the room went absolutely freezing and I reached down to pull the sheets up further and something, someone grabbed my arm. It startled me and I guess I gasped or something and a voice, I swear Bobby, it was Dean's voice, he said "Sammy, don't fall!"
I didn't move.. it sort of freaked me out because I wasn't sure what he meant. I just laid there for a second and I could still feel his hand on my arm and it felt so warm and the rest of the room was so cold. Then all of a sudden, it was gone. The warmth rushed back into the room like flipping a switch. I turned on the light and checked my wrist; for sure, there were marks on my skin just as if someone had grabbed me.
The thing is, I know I wasn't dreaming. I know I was awake. Maybe drifting but awake. But I can't figure it out. Was Dean warning me of actually falling, or falling for something, like a lie or a story someone is going to try to make me believe? Or was he warning me not to fall asleep? Whatever it was, I'm certain about this: Dean is trying to communicate, he's aware and he's still looking out for me. Most important, Bobby, is that Dean's hand was warm. He's alive.
Since it happened, I've been online researching similar experiences and I found that the moments just between waking and sleep place the brain in a trance-like state which makes you very receptive to psychic imagery, like ESP and remote viewing. Maybe that's the only time my conscious brain shuts up enough to let Dean get through?
I'm gonna tell you about this when you wake up. This sort of helps me get it straight in my head though, so I don't start babbling like a moron at you before you even have a cup of coffee.
This is big, Bobby. It's contact.
-S.W.
Little Help, Here…
9. July 2008
Hey Bobby-
I can't stop thinking about what happened with Dean the other night. I got some pretty good advice from somebody who knows what they're talking about, so I think I'm gonna follow it. This guy told me to get in contact with a psychic, so I want to get in touch with Missouri Moseley.
And I'm not sure how you're gonna feel about that. So.. I think I'll tell you after the fact, right?
-S.W.
Second Contact
12. July 2008
Hey Bobby-
I figured I'd better let you know what's going on, so I'm actually going to send this one to you, since you've been out of touch the past week. I thought it would just be easier to tell you what has happened rather than go through it all over the phone. This way you can sort of sift through it all, you know?
I talked to Missouri a couple of days ago. She sounded like she was really happy to hear from me, and of course, she was already pretty much up to date on what's been happening. It was both weird and very comforting in a way; I called her and when she picked up the phone, she didn't even say hello. She just started with "Sam, I am so sorry about your brother, but don't you let go on me now, you hear?" Of course, she scolded me pretty harshly for not keeping in closer touch, but hey, what can you do?
I told her about the incident or vision or whatever it was and she was absolutely convinced that it wasn't a dream at all, but it is Dean trying to reach me. She told me that it isn't at all uncommon for people who are very close in life to remain so after one of them passes on, or "leaves this plane", as Missouri calls it. And in this particular circumstance, Dean is… well.. obviously not a spirit at rest and she said she couldn't hear him or read him or whatever she does to contact ghosts, so she doesn't think Dean is dead. I mean, not, you know… really gone for good. Missouri said she can always feel the spirits even if they don't want to communicate with her, and that Dean isn't out there sending signals for her to receive.
She gave me some instructions for meditation, which she said would basically make me relax and be receptive to whatever I'm supposed to be picking up on. I tried to do what she said the first night but I was so tense and anxious and I think I was over-thinking it all, you know? So I called her back the next day, which was yesterday, and she told me that I probably was so geared up that I needed some help in letting go of all the anxieties. This is gonna crack you up, Bobby, but Missouri told me to smoke a joint! Can you believe that? Dad would completely freak out. Anyway, I figured she knew what she was talking about, so I went to this bar in town near the university.. long story short, Bobby, by about 11:30, I was back in the motel, knocked down a couple of whiskey shots, fired up the sage and incense and some pretty decent weed. Missouri was right, I felt pretty damned relaxed.
About twenty minutes later, I'm not sure what it was, whether it was the Jamesons or the smoke or I was just on some sort of nag champa high, but I was lying on the bed, feeling way better than I have in months… and I heard Dean. I swear to god, Bobby, I heard him say "Sammy?" like he was gonna ask me something and I sat there for half a second waiting for him to go on, and then.. nothing else. But it was real. And it proves to me beyond a doubt that Dean is waiting for us to come and get him.
So please call me as soon as you get this; there's some stuff we have to talk about in person and I need to know how soon we can meet up.
Thanks, Bobby.
-S.W.
The Beaten, The Broken, and the Damned
23. July 2008.
Dean-
I know I usually write to Bobby here but… man, I have some stuff that I really need to say to you, Dean.
We never really took time to say things we probably didn't need to say out loud, that we already knew the other was thinking but still, it probably would have been nice to hear, you know? And I hope to god that I don't die regretting this, that I have another chance, one more chance, which I guess everyone who loses someone close might say. They bargain and deal, just more more day, minute, second to say the things they've had a lifetime to say but pushed aside in order to start some stupid argument or toss out an insult, when all they really wanted to make sure that person knows is stuck somewhere deep inside and they're afraid to say anything.. because it might mean something else, you know? That saying it out loud might.. I dunno.. make it into more of a eulogy than a compliment.
And I know what you're gonna say, Dean, and yeah… you're right. I've been drinking a little bit. Actually I've been drinking a lot. And it's really screwed up when you think about it, that I'd have to get this drunk to tell you the truth. I mean, the real stuff, Dean. The stuff I hoped you guessed but now I'm really scared that you never knew.
What I really wanted to say is… you have always been an awesome brother. I know, I know, you made it a joke but seriously dude, it's true. Whether it was running interference with Dad, or kicking that crappy little Steven Carmody's ass when I was in third grade in Reno.. geez, what a douche. Do you remember helping me build that styrofoam ball solar system in fourth grade in… maybe El Paso?…and we ended up using Uranus as a kickball and I didn't get the joke for ages and all that time you were running around yelling "I'm kicking Uranus!" but I laughed because I knew you were cool and funny and whatever you said was hilarious, well, it pretty much always was. And the time I threw up in the backseat of that old Ford Galaxy sedan and you told Dad that some hobo had done it.. and he believed you? That was cool.
The whole going-to-Hell-for-me thing, though, dude.. that was really.. wrong. I mean, yeah.. it's freaking epic that you did it… and if this whole unbelievable mess was reversed, I hope I could do it for you, even though the thought scares the crap out of me. And what you're doing there, and that you did it to keep me from being dead.. I mean.. dude.. it wasn't like you traded places with me. I was dead, Dean.. just dead. And no, you didn't just take my place being dead, which in itself would have been really really amazing, not that I would have let you if you had asked me! "Hey Sammy, do you want me to be dead instead of you so you can stay alive and get laid and maybe out-smart some huge-assed demons in the process?" No. you went to Hell, man.. to Hell… who does that for another person?? How do I deserve something that incredible? And honestly, it freaks me out and puts all this pressure on me to do some huge demon-defeating thing… which might I add I have no clue how to manage but still.. that you, my pain in the ass big brother, life-long protector, #1 Sammy Champion Dean Winchester.. you have some possibly misguided idea that I'm gonna come through in Zero Hour and save humanity from a demon army. Well yeah. Sure. Can you give me a clue, dude? Because.. I got nothin'.
I keep waiting for you Dean. I know you're gonna get back through the veil and let me know what to do. I'm waiting… I had the few vision/dream/out of body things but for weeks now, zilch. Is it you? How do I help you to contact me? Is it me? Am I so damned stressed and tense that I couldn't decipher a conscious thought of my own, let alone some cryptic message from my brother who's being tortured in Hell?
That's another thing, Dean… I know I talked to you about it before .. about what Hell would be like.. and you said " Basic cable, man, No HBO. No skin-flick channels. And frozen Weight Watcher's food." But now at night I lie in bed and think "Does Dean have a bed? Doe he have a body?? Is there food?" because I know you'd suffer a major freak-out with no food!
And the whole torture thing…I figure it has to be really, truly bad… if it drives a demon crazy, it has to be intense. Do you have to have a conscience to be tortured? Is part of it feeling bad about what you're experiencing… or bringing on others? Are you still Dean? Are you all the experiences that made my brother so awesome? And when I do bring you home, will you remember who that Dean Winchester was? Ever? Will you still be able to remember my ninth birthday, when Dad bought us a whole box of cherry Popsicles and we ate them on the porch of Pastor Jim's cabin… and remember that big red dog that wandered up and licked Popsicle off my hand, which in itself was pretty awesome and you told me that it came by to tell me Happy Birthday? And Dad freaked out because he drove up as it was trotting off and he told us it wasn't a dog at all but a coyote? Oh man, that was so cool…
So yeah, I guess I'm rambling a little more than I should but damn… this whole bottle of Jameson's is pretty much gone and I'm still feeling pretty sorry for myself because I have such an awesome brother and I screwed up and now he's gone and I'm not really sure if I can get him to come home. Dad beat Hell, Dean. I may be broken but I'm not quitting yet. And you… well if I had a nickel for every girl who said "Damn that Dean Winchester to Hell", I could afford to pay the Devil himself your bail.
So, just a thought: Don't quit on me, man. I'm not quitting on you. Ever.
-Sammy
Four Months
19. September 2008.
To Whom It May Concern-
For four months, I grieved. I agonized. I railed against God and gods, man and non-human. I crawled through mud and blood and horror and came out more or less unscathed, but still not fully alive. For days I didn't sleep, didn't close my eyes. I was afraid to see what was inside me. Other days, I never woke. I lived in a dream-world, one that spun out of control as wildly as my waking world. I had lost everything.
Last night, my brother came home.
I was given my greatest wish, my most fervent desire. The one dream I would sacrifice everything for came true. And suddenly, everything that has happened in the last four months paled in comparison.
I couldn't bring myself to write this to Bobby. I don't think he would understand, or maybe he would understand too well. It's as if saying it out loud would make it true. And I don't want this to be true. I don't want to feel this way. But if I am going to be honest with anyone, I have to be honest with myself.
Last night, my brother came home. And my greatest, most overwhelming emotion was not happiness. It wasn't relief, or a feeling of completion or revenge or any damned other thing I would have expected.
I was afraid.
I was scared of my big brother, the guy who raised me, made sure I had enough to eat, played army men with me even when he was way too old, shared a room with most of my life… he taught me to tie my shoes, took care of me when I was sick.. he was always always there for me, every waking moment, and every sleeping moment too, until I went away to school. When Dean died, I felt like I had died too. At least, I stopped living. I spent every single minute plotting, scheming, dealing and strong-arming anyone and anything into trying to help me get him back. I swore vengeance, I swore retribution and I swore to God and anyone who would listen that I would bring Dean home.
Somehow, Dean crawled out of Hell alone. No help from me. Just walked through the door. "Hey, how's it goin'?" Hi, I'm home from Hell. Whats for dinner? And I'm not sure what happened or how it happened; hell, even Dean has no idea. At least, he says he doesn't. I guess he's telling the truth, or what he thinks is the truth anyway.
But what really scares me most of all is that, at some point, Dean will recover the last four months and realize that I did nothing to help him. Nothing at all. Despite everything, he did it alone. And I was of no use whatever. And I'm really, really afraid that he'll finally discover that he doesn't need me anymore. And that, I couldn't live with.
-S.W.
Afraid of the Dark
7. November 2008
Hey Bobby-
Things have been… weird, to say the least. I mean, of course I'm beyond happy that Dean is back and everything but I'm really concerned about him. I understand that he's been through Hell, literally but damn it, Bobby, he should at least be happy about being alive.
It's like he's taken all the nightmarish images and horror and disgust and fear that he experienced and is just setting it aside. He won't talk to me about it. He won't let me talk to him. Every time I try to let him know that it's okay to tell me anything, he shuts off. He jokes his way out of every effort I make to help, he acts like it's not a big deal, that he can handle it alone, but Bobby, he shouldn't have to do it all by himself.
Why can he not trust me? Am I that dumb or naïve or does he think I just can't "get" it? Because, man, I totally can. I can't even begin to imagine what he went through but damn it, how does he think I feel? I fucking put him in Hell, Bobby. Everything that happened to Dean, every single second of pain he went through.. I was the cause of it. He made the deal to save me; it was all my fault. I can't even begin to tell him how sorry I am for that.
Dean keeps telling me that the deal was his choice to make; he keeps telling me that, if he had it to do all over again, he would choose the exact same thing. Now, how am I supposed to live up to that? How do I live with the knowledge that my brother thinks so much of me that he would sentence himself to Hell a second time, or a third, or a fourth, if he thought he had to? How do I reconcile the absolute blind faith that my brother has in me with all the darkness that keeps welling up inside me, just begging to be released?
I don't know what to do anymore… I'm sick of trying to sort things out with Dean and either having him act like it's not big deal, or worse, that he has to protect me from some big bad monsters. It is a big fucking deal, Bobby… and the monster he's trying to protect me from may end up being me.
-S.W.
Hell-Bent
18. December 2008.
Hey Bobby-
Remember how I said I was worried about Dean not talking to me honestly about his experience in Hell? Well… he did. And now I kinda wish he'd kept it to himself.
The shit he went through, the things that happened to him and around him, what he saw, and now.. probably most disturbing, what he did himself.. it's just, well… I can't get it out of my head. Every time I look at him I picture what he told me; the indescribably horrible things he went through. God, how can a person deal with that? I don't want to sound selfish but seriously, man, how am I supposed to feel the same way about my brother, knowing he was some sort of Hell-bent Sweeney Todd? I know, it's not about me, it's not about my inability to put myself in his place. That's insanely selfish. But, Bobby.. I can't not think about it.
I can't say that I haven't had a few moments, a flash here and there, of actually liking the demon part of me. It's a rush, it really is; knowing that you're pretty much guaranteed to out-think, out-fight and out-last the bad guys. But does that make me the worse guy? I don't know… and I can't help but wonder if maybe Dean is, deep down inside, missing the power?
So the thing is, how can I judge Dean? How can I look him in the eye and think I'm better than him, man? Because I am so not… Dean and I, more than ever in our lives, are so much alike. But now I've got all this guilt and shame about things I did (and still do, sometimes) when Bad Sammy is in the driver's seat. I apologize to Dean and try to explain but he still gives me the sideways look like "Yeah, sure, you're sorry, whatever…" And now that I know what went on in Hell, it pisses me off that he thinks he can judge me.
I don't know, Bobby. This is hard, way harder than anything else we faced. We've always at least had each other to lean on, and we still do, but it's different now. We're different. Things aren't so black and white anymore; there is no Good or Evil. Things just are.
-S.W.
Back from the dead
27 December 2008
I really didn't think I'd be back, much less posting on this blog again. I mainly set it up to say goodbye. So much has happened since coming back, stuff that I didn't plan on talking about. But I did and now I think things are worse. I feel like everyone is looking down on me, judging me. And with what I did, I probably deserve it. I know I've let Sam down. I left when he needed me most and I hope it doesn't cost me my little brother.
He's so much different from when I left, stronger and more independent. I know I haven't told him, but the demon power doesn't freak me out like it did at first. It only scares me when he lies to me and takes off to use them. Or that one time when taking out Samhain could've killed him. Unfortunately, that fear comes out as anger and I lash out at him instead of talking calmly. When Cas told me that I had to stop Sam from using the powers or the angels would, I overreacted. Big time! Then we had that case where the guy evolved into a monster. I monumentally screwed that up. No matter what I do or say, I seem to push my brother away, the one person I still trust completely. Maybe I should tell him that once in a while.
Now I've told Sam what went on in my years in hell. I feel like the gap between us got wider instead of bringing us back together. I know he sees me differently. I'm not sure if it is disgust or pity, but I'm no longer the super awesome big brother he wanted to be just like. And I feel like a total hypocrite. I've looked down on him (which I didn't even realize I was doing until he pointed it out) for using his demon-given powers, knowing what I did for ten years in Hell. And everything he did, he did for the good guys. What the hell does that make me? Maybe the angels should've left me in Hell. Maybe I'm the evil one, not Sammy. Man, I can't even remember the last time I called him Sammy.
-Dean
Sam's Cyber Confessional
18. January 2009
Hey Bobby-
You may fall over in a faint, but yeah, I'm actually e-mailing you.
Let me just start this out by saying that I love my brother. I do, more than anything in the world. But I think my patience is starting to wear thin.
Dean started doing this thing a couple of years ago; we're driving, usually after we finish a gig, and Dean is all quiet and moody, and suddenly he pulls off the road and stops. Just stops in the middle of nowhere. Then he gets out of the car, and I'm all "Uh, okay, what the hell, Dean?" And then it turns into what I call in my head Dean's Roadside Confessional.
And before you say it Bobby, I know Dean's been thorough a lot. I know he's literally been through Hell. But I'm getting sick of the Dean Winchester Pity Fest, the School of Me-Me-Me, I've Had It So Fucking Hard and Nail Me to a Fucking Cross Sermon. Goddamn it Bobby, does he think I've been at a frat party the past four years? When is it time to recognize that, yeah, Sammy hasn't gotten off easy? When does my big brother say "Hey, I'm really sorry about all the stupid crap I've done, all the shit I've put you through due to my selfishness and recklessness"? Why is it always more important to listen to Dean talk about his suffering and anguish?
I'm not trying to be a jerk here, Bobby. I just want Dean, for once in his life, to acknowledge me and what I feel… without the usual "Yeah, Sammy, I'm real sorry about you dyin' and stuff but I sold my soul to bring you back so deal with that and don't complain because I'm making such a huge sacrifice for you." Not to mention this whole nightmarish "Oh I'm so special that I was touched by an angel" thing he seems to have fixated on. I mean, he's on God's kickball team so now he's better than me? And he has the nerve to look down his nose at the whole demon issue? I'm sick of it. I'm sick to death of being my brother's confessor, his therapist and his punching bag.
Maybe someday if we both survive this particular shit-storm, we can look back on it all and laugh. "Oh yeah, remember when I was in Hell? Ooh, what a time that was, har har. Hand me another beer." Better still, we can just not talk about it anymore, because I think we've already talked it to death. We've dissected every moment, deconstructed every day and rehashed every decision time and time again and nothing changes the reality.
It's time to move on, Dean. Let it go.
-S.W.