Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just playing. I'll put'em back when I'm done.

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Life's a bitch sometimes. Sometimes it's just downright unfair.

August 2007

I heard about the accident by chance. – Accident? Hah! That's a good one. From what I've heard, it was more along the lines of an execution.

This guy rolled into my bar a couple of nights ago, all fired up about another half-assed victory for the good guys, and the guy got a little drunk and started talking about how the leader of the demon army had been vanquished. I prodded, asked a few pointed questions, and he spilled the story.

Looks like there was this car chase going on. Looks like the chase ended in favor of that drunken prick sitting at my bar. Looks like the world has become a darker place now. I felt like kicking him out. Hell, I felt like shooting his damned head off. But I played my part like everybody else in this messed up excuse for a war.

Eventually he left. Eventually, I could kick the rest out and close for the night. And my first thought was to get on the phone. I had to call someone, ask what had happened, was it true? So I called the only man I knew who might have something to tell me. Something I could trust.

Seems like that drunk bastard was right. Seems like there was a car chase gone wrong, a crash that had demolished a black muscle car and damaged one of the passengers beyond repair. My stomach knotted when I heard those words. It happened a week ago.

Bobby is a friend. He's helped me through some rough spots in life and I know I can trust him. So I asked. And he answered. And this dark world became a little darker still.

Apparently, the accident had broken something. Apparently Sam wasn't getting better. From what Bobby said, he arrested six times in two days before the docs told Dean it was enough. Apparently, he thought about it for a day. Apparently, he decided to pull the plug. Bobby said there was nothing to be done. Brain damage, he said. Too much strain on the heart from being shocked back to life so many times, he said. For God's sake, the kid was barely twenty-five.

I knew them both, knew their daddy too, and I never thought it would go this wrong. But it did and now Dean's alone and none of us can fill the void his brother has left behind.

I thought of calling him, but didn't. What do you say to a man who's only aim in life has been to keep his little brother alive? What do you say to that man when he's failed at doing so? Sorry? Sorry is such an overrated word. It doesn't cover crap. It doesn't make anything better.

I drank myself into a damned stupor last night and cried myself to sleep. I haven't shed that many tears since my Bill died. Sam was nothing but a kid with some really rotten luck. It's just not fair that he's gone. Not like this.


September 2007

Got a bit of a surprise today. I hadn't heard anything from Dean since I heard about Sam and I actually wasn't expecting to see him again, all things considered. But he rolled into my bar today, looking much like I remember his daddy looking when he first turned up on my doorstep all those years ago. All alight with pain. Like a restless spirit. He wanted a beer, he said. I think he wanted company. I don't blame him. I'm surrounded by people all day long, but I still feel lonely.

He came in around midday and by closing time he was still there. So I asked him if he wanted to spend the night and he agreed. He'd been drinking heavily since noon, but didn't seem the least bit drunk. When the others had left, when the bar was finally empty and I could lock the door and shut off the outside light, I joined him for a drink. I mentioned Sam, said I knew about it, but he didn't say anything, just kept drinking quietly. I know he's not much of a talker, that boy. That must have been the most oppressive night in my life.


It's been a week now and Dean's still here. I think he's scared of being alone and he doesn't know where else to turn. I don't mind. I like having him around. He helps out when he can. But he also goes on hunts. And he's not careful. He said something last night that struck me hard. He drinks a lot, can put away a hell of a lot more booze than most seasoned drinkers, and he doesn't seem affected by it. But he talks more when he drinks. It's like it gets easier for him to open up and talk.

I asked him about Sam again, about what happened. He said one of the other hunters who had chased them had gotten in a lucky shot. Sam was braindead by the time they reached the hospital. Dean told me he carried him there 'cause the car was busted. It took him an hour to walk from the crashsite and he said that a part of him knew that Sam was gone the second the bullet hit him, but he couldn't let go at first.

Damn, I feel so bad for him. I just wanna hug him, but I know he wouldn't appreciate it. He keeps his distance, doesn't like it when others touch him. I wonder where that comes from. His daddy was a lot more physical. I think Sam was too, although I don't know for sure. Never really got to know him that well.

Anyway ... it's a bitch, life, and it sure hasn't been throwing Dean Winchester any bones. That's for sure. We talked a while about odds and ends. Then he suddenly started talking about the hospital again, about the doc telling him it was useless, that Sam kept arresting, that his body was trying to shut down because his brain didn't work any more. And he cried. Not this all-out sobbing like Jo does when she's down in the dumps. He just sat there with that damned bottle in his hands while tears just cruised down his face and it was all I could to keep from reaching out for him. He doesn't whimper and whine, doesn't moan over this hand that fate has dealt him. He just goes through the motions while everybody else around him can see that he's falling apart little by little.

He said that Sam smiled before he died. Just very briefly, right before he arrested the last time, his lids just opened and he smiled vaguely and then he was gone. That made me think of what Bobby told me. 'Sam died, you know. Just ... slipped away. And I think Dean died too. His body just hasn't caught up to that fact yet.' That was what he said, word for word. And I think Bobby's right. I think Dean's dead inside. He still hurts, he's still up and moving, but I have the feeling it won't last long.


October 2007

Dean's still here. He's like a permanent fixture now and I think he's doing a little better. I think it helps that he has someone to come back to and I've tried to make it clear to him that I like having him around. Jo's been by once, but she didn't stay long and she was awkward around Dean, didn't know what to say. Bobby's been by a few times too and Dean talks a lot when he's here.

I'm beginning to hope he'll get through this. Other hunters come and go, but nobody bothers him. I heard that guy, Alden was his name, is dead. Some of his buddies found him with a hole in his head. One of them said it looked like an execution and I have my suspicions about who might be behind it. He doesn't strike me as being a cold-blooded killer, but this is his little brother's killer we're talking about.


We had a scare last night. A frigging demon turned up on our doorstep, started mind-controlling people into hurting themselves. Dean broke the guy's neck. I saw hatred in his eyes when he did it, cold, calculating hatred, and I can't say I blame him. But it was scary to see him like that.

We burned the body out back afterwards, made sure all the remains were buried deep before we called it a day. I must admit that I was actually glad Dean was here, 'cause I sure wouldn't have known how to handle that situation.


I got a call from a friend this morning, saying something about an infection in Texas that was spreading rapidly. Sounds like a virus, he said. The authorities don't know what to make of it. Of course they don't. It's demonic, Dean says. He and Sam came across it somewhere, can't remember the name of the town now, but he kept saying it was like with Croatoan where everybody just vanished into thin air after going totally nuts.

I'm glad I'm not in Texas right now. They've sicced the national guard on the crazies. Reminds me of that brit movie about that rage virus. They're killing people left and right, they said on the news. Several crazies had to be shot on sight.


Dean mentioned Texas last night. At first I thought he was gonna go down there and try to help out. But he didn't say anything about that. Just that it was a hell of a world we're living in. I can only agree.

I think something's going on with him. For a bit there he seemed to be getting better. But he's in a funk right now, spends a lot of evenings just hanging out in the back of the bar, drinking. Considering his appeal to the opposite sex, he's low key. I haven't seen him hit on a single girl since he got here. And he's barely eating any more.

He wants to go out hunting, he said last night. There's something in the area that's killing folks and he wants to find it and kill it. I'm worried. He doesn't sleep much, doesn't eat much and drinks way too much. He's not up to it, really. But I'm not his mother. I can't make him stay. I've stated my opinion and that's all I can do.


Dean left this evening. He's going after the critter, whatever it is. I've got a bad feeling about this. I called Bobby, told him about it, but he said not to worry, Dean can look out for himself. But Bobby hasn't seen him in a while. He doesn't know how poorly he's hanging in there.

I'm gonna give him a few hours. Then I'm gonna call. If he doesn't pick up, I'll call again a little later.


It's been three days now and I haven't heard a word from Dean. My stomach is in knots. I'm a worrywart. I know that. But what can I do about it? That kid's been through hell and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. I just ... I don't know. He reminds me of his daddy. So full of pain. It's like meeting John all over again.


I called Bobby this morning, but he hasn't heard anything. I can tell he's worried too. He said he knew where Dean was heading and suggested we meet out there in a couple of hours. I've agreed to it, but I'm terrified of what we'll find. I don't think I can handle it if he's ...


October 31, 2007

I don't know where to begin. I haven't got a clue, really. It's eating me alive, this. Why the hell am I keeping a record of all the shit that happens in my life? I'm sitting here, staring at this damned journal, thinking of all the heartfelt crap I could write down and all I wanna do is bawl my eyes out. I went out with Bobby last night to look for Dean. It was well past midnight before we found him. He had found the critter that's been killing people and he put a lot of holes in it. But not before it got him too.

It's a sight I'll never forget. It will haunt me till the day I die. He was just sitting there, leaning against a tree, his gun still in his hand, his chest ripped open. I don't know how long he sat there before he died, but I guess he didn't want to be saved, 'cause his phone was in his lap. And he had a smile on his lips. It was creepy like hell, but Bobby said he was at peace now and I gotta hold onto that.

I called Jo to let her know and she cried. I told her to come home, but she said she couldn't, she was in the middle of a hunt with some guys she knows well. She said she was going to slay some monsters in Dean's name to remember him by.

This has been ... hell, I don't even know how to put this in words. Life goes on, they say. Well, it doesn't for the Winchesters, does it? They're all gone now, dead and buried. Well ... dead and burned anyway. I wanted to bring Dean back here, to give him a decent burial, but Bobby didn't think it was a good idea. Something bad had killed him and Bobby said he didn't want to have to fight a critter wearing Dean's face. So we piled together a funeral pyre right there and burned his corpse. I kept a few of his things, like that weird necklace of his and his ring.

If there's a God out there, he better damned well take care of those two boys. 'Cause heaven knows they've had their share of suffering in life. I only hope they're reunited, where ever they've gone.

Hell has truly come to Earth this time around. All we can do now is hope and pray and kick some evil ass when it comes our way. I've decided to shut down the bar. It was a half-assed attempt at restoring the Roadhouse anyway and I can't go on alone any more. Bobby offered me a place to stay and I'm gonna take him up on it.

The End