Diary of Dean Winchester

Monday, May 6th, 1991

Sammy had his birthday on Thursday. As usual, Dad had to go away. I kinda felt bad for little guy, cos he was really looking forward to a party with his new friends. But hey, he pretended he wasn't cut up about it, so I just pretended it was fine too. I'll kick Dad's ass when he gets back though. Should be tomorrow. Going to be the mother of all brawls this time. He shouldn't have missed Sammy's birthday. Not again.

Anyway, it meant we got Thursday and Friday off school (so it's not all bad) cos while Dad was MIA Bobby came down and looked after the house. He always says that: 'Hey boys, I'm just here looking after the house'. I know what he really means: he's here to check on Sammy. Makes me mad. What do I look like, an idiot? He should know I wouldn't let anything happen to him. Unless he starts whining on at me about not getting the Rubik's cube again.

Bobby made me wash his car. Sweet! I made out like I didn't want to do it, cos like, if Bobby knew how cool his car was, he would never let me touch it. Think I foxed him good; he'll be making me wash it for years. Feel bad about Sammy though; he was kinda itching to help me - can't stay away from me sometimes - but I know he wanted to read Bobby stories more. He loves reading, that kid. If it ain't the right topic I hate it, so hey, let him read enough for both of us.

Sunday rolled around and I was looking forward to reading the pile of auto magazines Bobby had in his bag, but he told us we had to get out of the stuffy house and go to the park - like I really wanted to go to the park! But Sammy got all excited so I thought we might as well go. It'd make the poor kid feel better about Dad skipping his birthday again.

It started off alright, cos I saw these two kids I'd seen around school. We were talking about the Ford pick-up this kid's dad's just got himself, and it was kinda fun. Maybe if we stay here longer than the last place I'll make an effort to get to know this kid. I might end up at his house, then we can go snoop round his dad's pick-up.

Then it all went real bad real quick. I heard this boy's voice calling, and I knew - I just knew - that whoever this joker was, he was shouting at Sammy. I look round and sure enough, there he is, stuck up some tree, these three mooks yelling at him.

Couldn't have that, could I? Who the hell do they think they are anyway? I went over to teach them some manners - there were three on one, and that ain't fair, no matter who's in the tree.

Then this kid just shouted summin and I knew I was gonna kill him. He actually looked at Sammy, looked him straight in the face, and told him our Mom had died cos she didn't want to be around Sam. I really wanted to just lay into his ugly face, really put a dent in that melon-head of his, but I remembered Dad telling me I shouldn't be fighting everyone who makes me mad. So I just told him to shut his fat mouth. He looks at me and had the ginger to say I was even worse, cos Dad didn't even want me around too, cos I was the stupid one.

Dad, if you get to read this, I'm real sorry, I am. But I had to shove him. It was shove him or just plain boot him where a boy ain't supposed to scratch in public. I thought a bit of a push and yell at him would get rid of him - it works on all the others. But cos he went down his two girlie friends jumped me.

I put them straight alright - all I could think of was what they'd said to Sammy. And I was wishing and hoping he'd never heard what they said, cos if he had, I'd have had to kill all three of them. The little softie don't need some horse-faced idiot telling him stupid things like that, cos he'll believe them and he might just go to his room and never come out. And I mean never.

I was really laying into the last boy, really re-arranging his ugly mug. But Bobby found us and pulled me off him. I was so mad I could have hit him too! But he was so angry with me. He just kept shouting and telling me Dad would be disappointed and would beat the tar out of me for a week if Bobby actually told him what I'd done. He said I should hope to Hell that my face would heal over before Dad came back, or there'd be more trouble than even I could handle.

One day I'll ask him what he means saying that. Does he think there's a kind of trouble I couldn't ever handle? Yeah right.

He kept shouting, wanting to know why we were fighting. I wanted to tell him, I really did. But Sammy would have heard me, and then it would have been worse. What was I supposed to do? I mean come on, what was I supposed to do? I said nothing, and man, I really hope some day Bobby reads this and knows why I never told him. Will he laugh at me? I don't care. He can laugh all he wants, and Dad can crack seven shades of shit out of me, but I ain't telling. I'm not having Sammy hear what they said.

So Bobby gets Sammy out the tree and says we have to go home. I could have argued about the 'home' bit, but I knew it'd just make things worse, so I just kept my stupid mouth shut and walked back with them.

When we got back to the house Bobby made me go to my room. He said I'd get nothing for dinner and I should stay in my room till he came for me in the morning. I was pretty bummed - no TV or nothing, man! I hate being by myself. Where's the fun in that? I mean, that's what Hell's got to be like, just me and no-one else ever, anywhere. So Heaven must be full of people - Mom and everyone we like. And no bad people like them boys.

It gets late and I'm lying on the bed, just staring at the ceiling, thinking all these things and wondering why I just couldn't be left alone with those boys for a little while longer. I'd make them regret what they said.

Then someone knocks on my door and I know it's Sammy - it was a girl's knock. He can't help it man, he was just eight before the weekend. I open the door and he's stood there looking at me like he's the guiltiest person in the world. I ask him what's going on, he just asks me all the stuff Bobby's already been asking me. Like I'm going to tell him. I just told him to forget it - he'll think it's cos I'm always fighting anyways, not cos of anything they did. I can get away with it if I look confident enough. That's what Dad always says.

And then Sammy brings out this plate from behind his back and he's brought me pizza!

I knew the little guy wouldn't leave me hanging by myself.

I let him in and even let him eat one of the slices - he'd had a rough day, rougher than me, even if he didn't know it. So then I thought it'd be good to teach him poker. He's young, he should pick it up easy.

It was going really well till Bobby found us. He didn't see the plate - Sammy leaned on it to hide it just as the door opened. Not the boyest boy in the world, but pretty quick at slight of hand when he wants to be. Good little Sammy.

Bobby told him to leave and I swear he mosied on out of there with the plate behind his back, straight past Bobby and out down the landing. I got another lecture about teaching Sammy things he shouldn't know at his age, like fighting and playing poker.

Whatever. If I don't teach him things, who's going to? Dad? He's never here. Bobby? He's too blinded by doing Dad a favour looking after us, and don't think I don't know it. He likes us and all, but it's like he's worried what would happen if Dad knew he was covering for us both. Like he's going to do tomorrow when Dad gets back and my face is still cut.

I don't care. Bring it on, Dad. I'm the one who did it, and yeah, I'd do it again. And I will if I see those three boys at school tomorrow. Just annoyed we've been kept home today, to tell the truth. Then again, Monday's test day, and I just don't do those too well. But Sammy does.

That's it, diary, I'm calling it a day and getting to bed. I can hear Sammy next door, telling Bobby stories from the Grimm book again. Hey, as long as he's enjoying himself, I don't care.

Will report back on kicking those boys asses tomorrow. And my showdown at the So-Not-OK Corral with Dad over him missing Sammy's birthday for the second time in a row. Just hoping I don't cave like every other time when he goes on again about how he's bringing us up by himself.

Huh. So who's doing the bringing up when he ditches us to go kill some random monster in the dark?

This ain't getting me anywhere. Stupid diaries. I'm going to bed.

'Night.