18. January 2009 by admin.

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.

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18. December 2008 by admin.

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.

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7. November 2008 by admin.

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.

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19. September 2008 by admin.

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.

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23. July 2008 by admin.

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

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12. July 2008 by admin.

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 calles 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.

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9. July 2008 by admin.

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.

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6. July 2008 by admin.

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.

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2. July 2008 by admin.

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.

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21. June 2008 by admin.

Hey Bobby-

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