Chapter 2
It would be a few days before Sam would get a chance to look at the rest of journals. After waking up at half past noon the next day, groggy and lightheaded, Dean made a point to keep a close eye on Sam's every move. Not wanting to make Dean anymore suspicious than he already was, Sam opted to wait until Dean wore himself out rather than take the chance with another dose of sleeping pills.
It didn't take long.
Taking the same precautions he had a few days ago, Sam eased his way out of the hotel room and into the empty parking lot of the two-bit hotel room they were staying in that particular night. Cautious of his surroundings, he made his way over to the car and set to work finding where he had left off.
Just as he had noticed a few days before, there were three journals devoted to the past year. Hoping that this would mean longer entries and a larger insight into Dean's psyche, Sam quickly dove into the task of reading.
He should have known better.
Longer doesn't always mean more quality reading, sometimes it just means more pictures and newspaper clippings. And girls' phone numbers on paper napkins.
However, between Candi-with-an-i and Megan-that's-M-E-G-A-N's digits Dean had left some thoughts on their little adventures.
The time between the end of the first journal and the beginning of the second seemed to span a few weeks and a couple of creatures.
I saved a life today. I've done it a million times before but somehow this felt different. I don't know why. It seems like lately (ever since Sam came back) that everything, every "job" is a test. And I hate tests.
By the way, Sam, (I know you'll find these eventually —hopefully, for your sake, after I'm long gone) that's reason number six on the "list of reasons I didn't go to college." You and Dad are reasons number one and two (and I'll just leave the two of you to fight over which number you are). Three and four involve money —a lack there of and an inability to get some (wasn't necessarily a genius like you, kid —on paper anyway). Number five is just because I was just too hot. Those sorority girls would've never stood a chance. I was just trying to help keep the educational system afloat.
Sam turned the page and found only a single sentence that took up the whole page:
I HATE FLYING!
After that a few filler pages of cocktail napkins and scraps of paper with smeared numbers on them and one picture of Sam's nostrils with nickels shoved inside them, the ends of the photo worn and curling. Stuck behind that picture was a photo of a ten-year-old Dean with a wiry grin, obviously trying to stifle a full-blown smile, and one arm slung over Sam's shoulders and the hand of the other pointing, Vanna White-style, to his brother's red puffy nose, the emergency room background completed the picture.
A few pages seemed to be ripped out and the entries skipped a couple more weeks, most notably missing were their encounters with Bloody Mary, the shapeshifter, and the Hookman. And the only thing that remained of their dealings with those disgusting bugs were some notes on Indian legends and burial grounds.
'Now, what's the point of reading these private journals if he knows I'm doing it and takes out everything he doesn't want me to see,' Sam thought.