I was never good at the whole writing thing, like Sam was. Sam could write an article on an entire case in less than four hours. He always kept a journal, kinda like Dad's, except more about what we did, our adventures as a whole, rather than information on the shit-bags we hunt. When Sammy decided to go through with the plan of throwing himself in the cage...he told me to write about my adventures, like he did with us. At first I thought it was an absolute shit idea. I thought, "I can't write. Hell, sometimes I can't even think straight, much less write down a lifetime worth of little stories." But, here I am, writing damn little stories for my brother.

I feel like an idiot...but this is for Sam, I try to remember. Sometimes that doesn't work. Sometimes, I break down, and I try not to, but I break into tears-and I am right now. It feels so fucking wrong to sit around while Sam's in the cage, just fucking writing about my days and my feelings. I'm doing nothing for him, but then I know I am, because I'm writing these shit little stories how he wanted me to. Out of all the things, Sammy. Why would you ask me to do this? Why couldn't you ask me to save you from the cage, from Lucifer and Michael? Was that any harder to ask for?

Cas came over a few days after you fell. He told me he wanted to give me space, but he didn't want me to do anything stupid, like try to get you back. How could they think that's stupid? Sure, it might involve some stupid stuff in the process, but getting you back could never be stupid, Sammy. Remember that. Anyway, um, Cas came, and I was looking at the empty journal you had saved, like you knew this would come. He asked me what it was, and I told him. His silence was comforting, I'll admit that. And then he started talking about how maybe you staying down there could be a good thing, how you caused stress on my shoulders sometimes. And dammit, Sam, I hit him. I hit him so hard, and the sucky thing about that is he let me, He let me beat him to an absolute pulp, until he was bloody and in a fetal position on the floor. I used him like a punching bag. He looked at me like he knew that's what I needed, but he looked sort of scared anyways, and then he vanished. It's been a little over a week now and I'm scared I lost my only real friend in the world. Sam, I'm scared I'm losing everyone. I'm pushing everyone away, and I don't want to be alone.

Lisa won't take me back, either. I've fucked up too many times with her, too. I've fucked so many people over, thinking I won't need them in the long run, thinking I'll always have you. But I guess I was wrong, for once, huh, Sammy? Bobby's gone, Lisa & Ben are gone, Adam's gone, Ellen, Jo & Ash are gone, Kevin & Garth are gone, Cas is incognito, maybe gone. You're gone, and I'm alone.

I hate writing these things already. Damn you, Sam. I laugh because basically you are, right? Damned, I mean. I'll have to stop writing these for a little bit. I have to recollect myself, maybe hunt Cas down. I'll write back when I can find it in me.