Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #16
H-minus one
This is it.
We are at the meeting point and Crowley should make an overly dramatic King-of-Hell appearance at any minute now. I think his “stage entrances” have always been his favorite part of the little game he’s been playing with us over the years. This reminds me somehow of those has-been magicians who vanish and reappear suddenly at the back of the audience, then everyone pities them enough to cheer and applaud as if they never saw the trick on television one hundred times before. I’m sure Crowley would have made it big in Vegas, too bad for us he didn’t choose that career path.
According to Dean, our plan was absolutely flawless and there was nothing to worry about. It was like going fishing except that “the fish has a Scottish accent and wears $1500 tailor-made suits”. All we had to do was use the Tablet as a lure, act natural not to arouse Crowley’s suspicions, catch him with the handcuffs and…voilà!
“It’s big-game fishing, Sammy. Everything is in the wrist!”
Dean tries to act detached but I can guess how nervous he is just by the way the right corner of his mouth twitches slightly when he speaks and how he fiddles with the handcuffs. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t notice, of course, and he’s gonna pretend I’m buying his fake optimism and the promise we’ll all be home right on time for an afternoon beer.
I don’t have high hopes, to be quite honest. For the first time, I don’t only have visions of my own death but also the death of my brother. I couldn’t care less if these Trials were only about me but Dean… he doesn’t deserve any of this after everything he went through. I want to see him smile again, being happy and reckless like…like in the childhood memories that have kept haunting me for weeks now. If I don’t fail, maybe he’ll have all that again. The gates of Hell will be closed for good and he won’t have to deal with all this demon crap, not to mention I won’t be an unnecessary burden he’ll have to carry around everywhere he goes anymore.
And then, what?
In a perfect world, Dean would accept my death like any person who loses a member of their family; he’d grieve for me for a while then carry on with his life. He’d maybe hunt again for a couple of years before finally settling down in a small town far away from everything because this job cost him enough. His father. His brother. His friends. It’s more than anyone could stand.
But we don’t live in a perfect world.
I know Dean far too well. He’ll carry on hunting until his body gives or a fucking monster faster and smarter than the rest kills him on a hunt; and if it’s not a monster, a vampire, or a ghost it’ll be an angel gone rogue. The only question I can’t answer at the moment is whether my brother will try to bring me back from the dead or, like I wish to, finally let me rest in peace and turn my body into ashes. The first option would be the kind of completely silly thing a Winchester would do of course, but on the other hand, after the way I acted while he was in Purgatory, I wouldn’t blame Dean if he didn’t lift a finger and left me in whatever place I’m headed for.
I can’t care less about what’s going to happen to me. The only thing I wish for is Dean to be safe again but all I can see around me now are death omens that keep on reminding me what Fate has in store for both of us.
That was one of the most emotional transformation pictures of Dean that I have ever seen.