AN: Hey everyone! Thanks for the reviews and reads! Enjoy the story!

I don't own Supernatural.

Day 27- I'm pretty sure. Like, 47.5% sure.

Sam,

I really don't know which day it is, but it seems like three days since I wrote last. I know I'm writing sooner than I usually do, and I have good reason for it. I don't think I'm going to make it out of this one. Remember that werewolf pack I told you about? About how they attacked me? Well, the wounds they left me with got infected. It's pretty bad, too. Not to mention I have had more monsters on my ass than should be possible, and it isn't easy fighting them off with an infected leg and arm. I do my best, though often, it seems, my best isn't good enough. I just keep getting knocked down, getting scratched up, and getting pushed around. My wounds keep reopening every time they scab over or they start bleeding as soon as they stop because I have to fight another monster.

The wounds are getting worse each day, so I made time to stop and write to you. I can barely walk. I can't catch food or a break. The bastards just keep coming. Maybe the infection has something to do with that...maybe they can smell it. I don't know. I'm currently holed up in a nice little cave by the stream, so at least I have water, if nothing else. Cas is still a no show, even though I have prayed again and again. I'm really beginning to think that maybe he doesn't care whether I live or die. Whether we get out or not. It wouldn't surprise me.

How are you holding up, Sam? I hope you're doing well. I'm sure you are, you're a smart kid, you know how to get by. I wish I could actually talk to you. I know, right, Dean Winchester actually wishes he had someone to talk to. I really do, though. Even if it would have to be a chick flick moment, that's okay with me. It's lonely here. There are only the monsters, and they don't do much more than scream. I guess that's what I get for torturing them though, so I can't complain. I miss how you always analyze me, though, and always seem to know when something is wrong. I miss trying to hide my pain from you, 'cause I sure as hell can't hide it from myself. I see everything here. There's no escaping myself. I see who I really am.

I am a coward, first and foremost. I run and hide whenever I get the chance. I can't fight anymore. It's too painful. For my leg especially. The infection is really spreading. Secondly, I am a piss poor excuse for a brother. I should have known that killing Dick would have had a negative side effect. I mean, when doesn't killing the big boss monster have a negative to it? It always does. I should have said goodbye, told you how much you mean to me. I just hope you know from my actions, but before I left I guess my actions weren't really the stuff of big brothers. I just drank and wallowed in self-pity, and now I see how wrong I was to do that. I should have stayed strong for you. I know you didn't really need it, because you don't need me, but I'm sure you wanted it. Wanted to know that your brother wasn't going out of his mind. But I guess that's all water under the bridge now. Thirdly, I am a ruthless killer with no remorse. I couldn't care less about the souls I have tortured and murdered. Actually, I guess I could care less, because I really enjoyed it. It still makes me smile. In a sick way, though. I know that it's wrong, but I can't seem to care that it is. So maybe I really truly am no better than what we hunt.

Since I'm probably dying here I guess I should say goodbye. I never got the chance. I don't even know where to begin. There's so much to say, so much that has yet to be said. I can't put it onto paper, I'm sorry. I just can't. I can't say goodbye yet, 'cause that means I'd be giving up, and I can't give up. Not yet. Not ever. I'm still holding out that you're looking for me, that you'll find a way to spring me soon enough. I know you're looking. You have to be. So I'm not saying goodbye yet. Not officially. I guess, rather, I'm saying a maybe goodbye. I might be dying. Maybe. If you get here in time, I won't die. If you don't, then this will be my last entry.

Purgatory is rough. I know I told you that before, but I didn't realize then how rough it is. It's non-stop combat, all the time, everywhere. The monsters come out of nowhere and just attack viciously and without meaning. They only know to fight, to kill, so I guess maybe I belong. It feels pure here. No grey. It's all black and white. No confusion. Just kill, or torture as it is in my case, or be killed. So I guess I can't really feel remorseful, because if I did, I wouldn't survive here. I'd have been dead a long time ago. The only reason death is looming over me now is because I was attacked by a pretty big pack of werewolves. I can't remember how many, just that they were huge, and they were coordinated. They had a plan when they found me, which leads me to believe that I was probably a target. They probably wanted revenge for my extra-curricular activities. I can't blame them, not really, but that doesn't mean I'm not pissed.

They attacked and one got the best of me. It pinned me down and raked at my leg, ribs, and arm with its nasty claws. That's probably where the infection came from, the claws. While it was focusing on making me puppy chow I stabbed it right in its heart with the demon knife. That's when I got lucky, 'cause the rest of the pack broke formation and just began attacking haphazardly. Because of them breaking rank, I managed to get the hell out of there and run. I ran far and fast, just like my first day here. I didn't stop until I couldn't go anymore, and that's when I killed them one by one as they showed up at my hole. It was easy then, they had let their guard down.

After I killed them off is when I wrote last. After I wrote to you I prayed to Cas again. And, again, he didn't answer. I know you probably think it's absurd that I'm still praying, but I can't just stop. I still fear he may be out there hurt somewhere, just unable to get to me. So I pray to him, to let him know that everything will be okay. That I'm going to find him. That I'll get us out of here if it's the last thing I do. I also pray to him because it helps me. It gives me hope. I don't know why, but it does, just as much as writing in this journal does. If I know you two are still out there somewhere, then I know I have to keep fighting. I know I can't give up. I'm not allowed. I have to look out for my pain in the ass little brother and my adopted angel of a brother. It's my job to look after you guys, and I can't just skip out on that, so I write and I pray. To remind myself that I have a purpose still. That I can't lose myself in torture and kills. I can't allow myself to become something other than Dean.

I don't know how I'm faring on that point. I still enjoy torture, so maybe that makes me less of who I am, or maybe it makes me more. Maybe I would have had a knack for torture even if I hadn't gone to Hell. Maybe it would have always come naturally to me, whether I wanted it or not. So maybe torturing is like killing. It was something I was always meant to do. But then that begs the question of Destiny. The one thing we dedicated a large portion of our lives to fighting. By saying that I was always meant to be good a torturer, am I conceding to the idea of destiny? Or am I just acknowledging the fact that I am a grade-A psychopath, and I am so because of my upbringing, not my soul? Not destiny? If Mom hadn't died, would I have still enjoyed torture and murder? I'd like to think that answer is no, but what I like is rarely my reality, so the answer is probably yes. Despite my dispute with Destiny, I think I would have always been a murderer. A psycho. The only thing is, is that in this life I kill the monsters. In the other life, I probably would have been the monster.

I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I can't regret my actions here. I can't be sorry. It's who I am. Purgatory fits me, as much as I hate it. I feel like I finally belong somewhere, but that doesn't mean I want to be here. I want more than anything to go home. To get back to you, Sammy. But I rarely get what I want, so I'll just keep trudging on for as long as my legs will carry me. Though, in the condition they're in, I don't think I will have much farther to go.

I know, I suck at goodbyes. Sorry about that. I just wanted you to understand why I reverted and resorted to the methods I have to gain information. To stay alive. It's because I need to stay alive, and it's who I am. Does that make me a bad person? If I die here, will I go to Hell again for my actions? Once again, I would like to think that the answer is no, so that probably means that it's really a yes. So if I do die here, Sam, don't come looking for me in Hell. I'll be fine. Don't do anything stupid. I don't think you will, though, I mean, you're New Sam, right? You don't carry the guilt anymore, remember? So, I guess I shouldn't worry about you seeking me out.

Wait, does that mean you aren't looking for me now? Wow. I never really thought about it, but you probably aren't. You probably haven't lifted a single finger to look for me. You probably found some pretty girl with a dog and a nice house, haven't you? I know we had that agreement, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. I guess I should have realized before, huh? You aren't looking for me. That's why I'm still here. Not because you can't find a solution, but because you're not trying. I thought it was taking a little long, I mean, you're the smartest person I know. I knew it shouldn't have been taking you this long to figure it out.

You really aren't looking, huh? I guess I'll have to go with plan B then and find Cas and find my own way out. Not that I'm coming back for you now. I mean, I am, but I'm not. Maybe I'm just hurt right now, because my little brother, the only person in the whole entire world that I trust, isn't looking for me. You know I am coming back because of you, but just let me have a moment of pettiness to think that I'm not. That I'm going back to get Cas out of here and nothing more. I know it's a lie, but right now I feel justified in that lie. You should have looked for me. After everything I have done for you.

Maybe this is the infection talking. I don't mean what I wrote, Sam. Any of it. I'm just upset. You would be too. Of course I'm coming back for you, as well as Cas, because I sure ain't coming back for myself. I don't know. I'm torn between thinking you need me and thinking that you don't. I don't know what the truth is anymore. I can't tell reality from my own dark thoughts. Maybe you are looking, maybe I'm just being paranoid. That's it. I'm just paranoid. This infection is just getting to my head. That's all. It's all just a crack theory produced by a fevered brain. I know you're looking, and I'm sorry I doubted you. I know I shouldn't have.

I'll keep my faith in you. It's all I have left. Without that, I have nothing. Nothing at all. Cas isn't answering, so you're all I've got. I think. Like I said, it's getting hard to tell what's real and what my brain has cooked up. I guess it might be a side effect of not having anyone to talk to. Your brain just thinks and thinks and warps ideas and thoughts until the truth is unrecognizable and becomes tangled in the lies until they're one and the same. The only things I know for certain are that you are my little brother and my job is to protect you. No matter what. I have to watch out for you. At least that's one thing that can never be warped. It's the one constant I have ever had, even when you walked out all those times, the notion of having to watch out for you always remained. I always looked out for you, and I'm not about to stop now.

So I'm going to fight this infection as best I can, even though it is a losing battle. I can feel it already, the fever. It's rising, and fast, too. I know because I'm cold and hot at the same time. I'm seeing shadows moving and I swear some of them look like you. Have you finally made it? Are you finally here to get me? Am I saved?

I guess not, 'cause you moved on. Maybe you just didn't see me. I can't exactly yell for you, my throat is so dry that speech is impossible. I'm even finding it difficult to write. I'm sure you can tell from the wobbliness, if that's even a word. Is it a word? Who knows. Bye, Sammy. I hope that was you. I hope you turn around...and find me here. Please...Sam...hurry. I can feel...the darkness...it's coming. Fast.

Cas,

It's Dean. Listen, I'm not doin' so good. I'm probably not going to make the night, but don't tell Sam that. I tried not to...worry him, but you know him. He'll worry if it's even just...a scratch. So don't...tell him. How...are...you doing? Are you...okay? I wish you would...let me...know. Stay safe...Cas, and stay...by...

AN: I hope you enjoyed it! Please review and tell me what you think! If you have any suggestions, I'm open to them. Thanks for reading. (: