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18. June 2008 by admin.
Hey Bobby-Man, I don’t know if I can do this. I thought, when Dean died, we were just gonna come up with some amazing brainstorm and bang, Dean’s back. But we haven’t and he’s not.
I just have this awful feeling inside, this whole dark pressing sensation, it feels like it’s pushing me down into a pit that I can’t crawl out of. I just want to give up and lie down and cry until I can’t feel anything anymore. Honest to god, Bobby, I’m so tired of feeling like this all the time, I… sometimes I wish Dean hadn’t cared so much and thought I was worth dying for. I mean, look at me; I’m a mess. Why the big sacrifice for me? I’m so screwed up, my whole life is just one long series of horrible events. I’m not normal, if there is such a thing. I’m a 25 year-old college drop-out orphaned unemployed brain-glitched loser with a police record and a demon on my ass, and the only person who gave a damn died to save me. Why? I’m no savior. I’m nothing special. I’m pretty much just plain nothing.
Then I get mad at myself for being so helpless, and so self-pitying… Bobby, I know that people go through loss and tragedy and guilt every day but I can’t help wonder why does it always happen to us? I mean, always. Is there a big target on the back of every Winchester ever born? I know being Bobby Singer is no walk in the park either… did we jinx you somehow? Curse you by getting close to you? Man, I am so sorry you ever got mixed up with my family… but I’m really glad you did too. There’s no way Dean and I could have come this far without you. I just hate that you feel so responsible for us that you don’t have the time to get your own life straight. You’ve got your own worries, I know. I mean, I’ve known you all ever since I can remember but damn… I never knew about your wife. I never knew about your life. I was always so wrapped up in myself that I couldn’t see the pain others were going through.
And it’s true with Dean too. He was always there for me. Always. Never turned his back on me, never was too busy to spend time with me… and I think I took it for granted. He gave up his whole life for me. I was his #1 priority since I was born and look where it got him. Some great brother I turned out to be. He gives up his life for me and all I can do is wallow in a big pool of self-pity and self-loathing because I’m not strong like Dean. But I can’t be like him… Bobby, Dean is so strong, I know he’s still being strong even now, wondering what I’m doing wasting time and not hauling him out of Hell. He’s probably looking at his watch right now, “Damn it, Sammy.. get a move on!”
So, I’m gonna take a deep breath and try to make some sort of sense out of the mountain of research I’ve gathered up and I’ll get together with you later and we’ll hash it out. I don’t know why I’m writing that because you won’t be reading this anyway. And I resisted putting a little smiley-face there at the end of the sentence even though it would drive Dean crazy and he’d punch me in the arm and call me Samantha, and in a way I’m almost tempted to do it anyway because maybe it would make him mad enough to storm out of Hell himself and kick my ass for being such a wimp. And I deserve it.
Okay, Bobby.. thanks for listening again… I swear I’m through with the pity party and I’m ready to man up and be the brother I need to be.
Later-
S.W.
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17. April 2008 by admin.
Hey Bobby-We’re down here in a little town on the Texas-Mexico border… you know I’m not used to high-toned living but man this is rough. We’re holed up in a crappy little motel and have been for what feels like eight months; half the time the shower doesn’t work, the toilets don’t flush and I swear to God, Bobby, there are cockroaches here that are bigger than the Impala.I kinda have to hand it to Dean though; if comes to surviving, he’s a champ. He made some sort of concoction out of Alka Seltzer and tequila that saved my life after a bout with some bad goat-meat tacos… goat meat, Bobby! I ordered it, I had no idea what it was..hello, Kansas, anyone?! But Dean knew and let me eat it… about four hours later he was telling me, through the bathrom door, how this was “a life experience they don’t teach you at Standford.”
Anyway, we can’t really pinpoint this whole attack being of tlahuelpuchi origin. (Tlahuelpuchi, might I add, is the noise one makes a few hours after eating slightly spoiled goat-meat tacos.) We’ve been through the usual rituals of trying to repel the creature by leaving metal and garlic underneath the crib of the baby being targeted but nothing yet. I spoke with a guy who works border patrol, who originally contacted us, and he’s directed us across the border to a village shaman. We’re off to Cuidad de la Sangre tomorrow morning.
And I swear, Bobby, if Dean wakes me up one more time by jumping on my bed and shouting “Fiesta!” I will lock him in the trunk of the Impala and drive it off a cliff.
Later.
-S.W.
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3. April 2008 by admin.
Hey Bobby-
Kicking back here in Cowtown still, waiting for Dean to show up (eventually) so we can head down south to Laredo in the morning. A local border patrol guard says they’ve picked up a good dozen illegals who’ve reported something called a “tlahuelpuchi“. According to a little research I’ve done, they’re vampiric shapeshifters who prey mostly on infants. Sounds pretty interesting.
Oh, man, you’d have died laughing the other night… this girl Dean has been seeing… not only has she turned him every which way but loose, get this: she’s a witch! Ha! And Dean’s lame excuse is ”well, you know, it’s research…” but after a couple of beers, he’s all about reporting the “tantric experience.” Seriously, dude, is he channeling Yanni now? I thought you’d get a kick out of that; you know how Dean leads the “I hate witches” parade wherever we go. It just seems fitting (in a karmic way) that he gets it handed back to him on a silver platter, and then he begs for more.
Oh hey, Cosmic Lover is just pulling up in the parking lot. I swear to god if we have to eat at Hooter’s again, I’m going to puke. Please, Bobby.. please tell me I’m adopted!
Later-
SW
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27. March 2008 by admin.
Hey Bobby-
It’s me again.. well, that was obvious. I just have to get this off my chest.
Dean is driving me nuts. Crazy. Freaking over the edge.
Seriously, man.. laundry. We’re still here in Fort Worth, right, because we’re not sure this bookstore deal is done. I asked Dean, nicely, if he could just throw a load of laundry in while I went back and double-checked some calculations. About ten steps from the motel door is a Wally’s Washateria, right? How difficult is that? Even for Dean!
So I ask him, and I figure he heard me, he gives me this sort of wave, since he’s all engrossed in some trash mystery he bought at the bookstore (an obvious excuse to hang around and talk to the girl in the mystery section, since Dean does NOT read!). Anyway I come back a couple of hours later and here’s Dean, still reading the damned book and eating M&Ms, and the laundry is still piled on my bed!
Straight out.. “Dean, did you not do the laundry?”
“No, Samantha, I did not do the laundry.” Never looked up from the book, never stopped shoveling candy into his mouth.
“Can I ask you why not?” And at this point, I’m imagining how it woudl feel to slowly strangle him…
So, get this, Dean picks up an M&M, very carefully places it between the pages, closes his precious Dan Brown novel and says “I did not do the laundry because I’m the guy. Laundry is more of a girl thing. So I saved it for you.”
Okay, Bobby, Dean is my brother and I love the guy more than anything in the world, right? But I swear, I cannot take his crap much longer. And he knows I won’t do anything about it because the minute I try to make him feel just a little responsibility, he says something like “Well, you need to get used to this stuff, I won’t be around to do your laundry this time next year.” And I don’t want to let that happen, but I know he may be right.
So yeah, I did the damned laundry. But… just for spite, I put my red t-shirt in with his underwear… ha! Pink socks, buddy! Take that!
Anyway, thanks for listening, Bobby. I’m gonna try and call tomorrow, just to check in. We thougth we may have had a bhuta causing trouble in the bookstore but it manifested even after we went back and burned turmeric, and we can’t find a strong Indian connection to the staff or property anyway. I hope you can give us some ideas.
-SW
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25. March 2008 by admin.
Okay, I’m taking your advice but if Dean finds out I’ll never hear the end of it. The Journal of Sam Winchester… it has a nice ring to it. I figured this would be easier than trying to keep some therapist appointment. “Oh sorry Doctor, I gotta cut our hour short, me and my brother have to gank a succubus in Toledo tonight.”
I hope you don’t mind me using your name; this self-help book I was looking through said it’s easier to relate to a journal if you give it a personality. I thought writing Dear Diary would have to be followed by “Dean and I were watching Gilmour Girls last night..” and so on. Which would work if I were a fourteen year old girl, but I’m not (shut up Dean).. I know for a fact, since I’ve seen myself naked.
Now there’s an awkward thing. Dean and I spend a lot of time together, and I mean, a LOT of time… and seriously, I’m not a prude or anything but I kind of worry about Dean, that he may have some sort of, you know… “addiction”. Last night, in fact… lights out, I crashed like a ton of bricks after that whole bookstore thing in Fort Worth (that’s another story!) and like, five minutes later, there goes Dean, right? I said “Dude, are you for real? Can you not do that now?” And Dean is all “Can’t help it, man… I think I’m pretty hot.” And it’s dark but Bobby, I can hear him smirking! I wanted to smack him, I swear..
But then, other times, he really worries me. I mean, we’ll come back from a job and we’re really just drained, right? I mean, you know how it is.. you just have nothing left inside. But Dean… I know he’s a lot like Dad in some ways, and he keeps a lot hidden, but he’ll just go to bed and lie there and you know, inside he’s just raging and all these feelings are boiling up and they have no place to go because he won’t let them out. All those feelings have to go someplace, right? That’s when he won’t talk to me. I mean, I try but he gets all stoic and says “It’s okay, go to sleep, Sammy”, like I’m four years old. That’s all he’ll say. And with everything that’s happened the last three years, those are the only times that scare me.
Anyway, thanks for listening, Bobby. I’ll get back later as soon as I can grab five minutes alone. -SW
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