Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
single_man_tear) wrote2024-10-13 12:34 pm
single_man_tear) wrote2024-10-13 12:34 pm
Entry tags:
Journal Entry: Dear Sam
Dear Bitch,
It's been a while since I last wrote to you, but the longer I stay here, the less I feel like putting pen to paper. You don't need the play-by-play of the day-to-day grind.
Doesn't mean I miss you any less, though.
Last week was a bit of a trip. Turns out there's one weekend a year where anyone and everyone can roll through this place. Bobby showed up. (The real Bobby, not the one from that Apocalypse world.) I gave him the grand tour, introduced him to the Astrophysicist (and yeah, it shocked the hell outta him. Pretty sure he's still shocked.). I knew things had changed for me since I got here, but it took Bobby pointing it out for me to see how far I've come. Funny how you never notice the progress until someone else measures the distance for you.
Not that the whole weekend was sunshine and pie. The kid next door? Turns out she's some kinda sylph or elemental. I don't know the exact details. It’s all Fey-law mumbo jumbo from a different reality. All I know is she's a good kid. Her so-called "guardian" showed up and punished her for running away, trying to live her own life instead of staying trapped in her messed-up situation. The bastard poisoned her with nails under her skin. She’s better now. Bobby and I put our heads together and came up with an antidote that helps detox the bronze that was in her system. I'll make a note of that in my other journal.
Seeing her curled up in pain on the bathroom floor hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized why I like her—she reminds me of you, Sammy. That kid who ran away from this crazy life so you could have something normal, something real.
And then there’s me, the guy who dragged you back into the mess, kicking and screaming.
I hope to hell she doesn’t have to go back to her nightmare. And I’m sorry I yanked you back into ours.
Anyway, having Bobby around made me realize this isn’t just a pit stop for hunting trips anymore. Maybe it’s time I got something more than a room at the boarding house. So, I bought a house. Needs a little work, but that’s nothing I can’t handle. And yesterday, while I was hanging a door and juggling calls from hunters, I got a call.
From you.
Damn it, Sammy. Took everything I had not to just break down and spill who I was. To call you "Bitch" and hear that laugh of yours, then wait for you to hit me back with "Jerk." I heard my nephew tearing it up in the background while you and Eileen tried to wrangle him. I thought I knew what missing my family felt like when Bobby showed up, but hearing your voice? It hit me like a sucker punch. It just shows how much I miss having you around.
The Impala doesn’t see as much action these days. I guess I need to come to terms with other folks riding shotgun for a while. They won’t ever fill your shoes (not just ‘cause you're a freakishly tall giant with those big-ass hands and feet), but I gotta face the fact you’re not going to just roll up and live in the next room. And honestly? That’s probably for the best. You get to live that apple pie life, and me? Well, I think I’ve finally found my place: being the guy in the chair, watching everyone else's backs.
I used to think my story would end in a blaze of glory. Bleeding out or staring down the barrel of a gun. But now? Maybe I can hope for a little more.
Hell, might even take up knitting.
-Dean
It's been a while since I last wrote to you, but the longer I stay here, the less I feel like putting pen to paper. You don't need the play-by-play of the day-to-day grind.
Doesn't mean I miss you any less, though.
Last week was a bit of a trip. Turns out there's one weekend a year where anyone and everyone can roll through this place. Bobby showed up. (The real Bobby, not the one from that Apocalypse world.) I gave him the grand tour, introduced him to the Astrophysicist (and yeah, it shocked the hell outta him. Pretty sure he's still shocked.). I knew things had changed for me since I got here, but it took Bobby pointing it out for me to see how far I've come. Funny how you never notice the progress until someone else measures the distance for you.
Not that the whole weekend was sunshine and pie. The kid next door? Turns out she's some kinda sylph or elemental. I don't know the exact details. It’s all Fey-law mumbo jumbo from a different reality. All I know is she's a good kid. Her so-called "guardian" showed up and punished her for running away, trying to live her own life instead of staying trapped in her messed-up situation. The bastard poisoned her with nails under her skin. She’s better now. Bobby and I put our heads together and came up with an antidote that helps detox the bronze that was in her system. I'll make a note of that in my other journal.
Seeing her curled up in pain on the bathroom floor hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized why I like her—she reminds me of you, Sammy. That kid who ran away from this crazy life so you could have something normal, something real.
And then there’s me, the guy who dragged you back into the mess, kicking and screaming.
I hope to hell she doesn’t have to go back to her nightmare. And I’m sorry I yanked you back into ours.
Anyway, having Bobby around made me realize this isn’t just a pit stop for hunting trips anymore. Maybe it’s time I got something more than a room at the boarding house. So, I bought a house. Needs a little work, but that’s nothing I can’t handle. And yesterday, while I was hanging a door and juggling calls from hunters, I got a call.
From you.
Damn it, Sammy. Took everything I had not to just break down and spill who I was. To call you "Bitch" and hear that laugh of yours, then wait for you to hit me back with "Jerk." I heard my nephew tearing it up in the background while you and Eileen tried to wrangle him. I thought I knew what missing my family felt like when Bobby showed up, but hearing your voice? It hit me like a sucker punch. It just shows how much I miss having you around.
The Impala doesn’t see as much action these days. I guess I need to come to terms with other folks riding shotgun for a while. They won’t ever fill your shoes (not just ‘cause you're a freakishly tall giant with those big-ass hands and feet), but I gotta face the fact you’re not going to just roll up and live in the next room. And honestly? That’s probably for the best. You get to live that apple pie life, and me? Well, I think I’ve finally found my place: being the guy in the chair, watching everyone else's backs.
I used to think my story would end in a blaze of glory. Bleeding out or staring down the barrel of a gun. But now? Maybe I can hope for a little more.
Hell, might even take up knitting.
-Dean