A Peek Inside Sam's Juornal
by Minx
May 2, 2006
Marshall, Indiana - The Howard Hughes Motor Lodge
Smart ass, Dean - gets me this stupid journal for my birthday. Because even geek-boy hunters need some place to keep their thoughts, Sammy. Well, I figure I can at least use this thing to write stuff down I’d like to talk about, but won’t because there’s no one to really talk to other than Dean. And Dean hates the whole talking about feelings thing – “emo chick crap”, he calls it. Right, Dean. Whatever. Never mind how maudlin you get after a six-pack of Coors and some tequila shots.
So, this morning after I get out of the shower, Dean gives me this bizarre little gift and then grabs me and starts smacking my ass, counting! WTF! Birthday spanking, he called it. I thought he’d outgrown doing that to me by now. Guess not. All I can say is get your licks in now big brother, because this is so NOT happening next year. Nope. Not going around with bruises on my ass again at my age. Jerk.
Yeah, that’s right. A little hard for a birthday spanking, there, Dean. No lie – it seriously stung and I’m 23 for fuck sake. You can’t tell me he didn’t put a little anger behind those swings. I think he was getting back at me for all the crap he thinks I’ve pulled or said the past seven months we’ve been back on the road together.
Looking back on the whole ugly disagreement we had in Oklahoma over the way Dad raised us, and then the big blow up we had back in Indiana and then me taking off like I did, leaving Dean to almost be sacrificed to some pagan god? Not some of my better moments, I’ll admit. Guess I still let my temper control my actions sometimes. Add to that the fact that, back at that insane asylum, I shot Dean full on in the chest with rock salt after I shredded him verbally and the way I teased him so bad about his fear of flying, and yeah, I suppose I’d be kind of harboring some potentially bitter feelings too if I was him. But shit, he didn’t have to hit me so hard! Seriously, has he been taking lessons from Dad or what?
So, I get a glorified notebook and my ass beaten for my birthday. And this, after I got Dean a freaking Deep Purple tape for HIS birthday to replace the one I ‘accidentally’ stepped on. He really shouldn’t have kept playing that damn thing over and over on that trip to Iowa. I warned him. He’s so getting the Barry Manilow boxed set for Christmas this year.
I was actually kind of hoping for an iPod, like Dean didn’t know that after I left him how many not-so-subtle hints for the past three weeks? It would have been nice to have, so I could fill it with music I liked for a change...you know, music that doesn’t sound like it’s the stuff they play in head shops? I don’t want to sound like I totally hate Dean’s choice of music. I mean, hate’s a pretty strong word. I do actually like some of the stuff he listens to (for example, Bad Company isn’t so bad – no pun intended there).
It’s funny. I can remember when I was little and all those impossibly long road trips Dad used to drag us on. Dean and I would be in the back seat of the Impala and I can remember Dad turning on the radio to help us fall asleep. And of course, it was Metallica or Judas Priest or one of those head banger groups. Rock and Metal were basically my lullabies growing up, and honestly? They really did comfort me back then. I think Dean felt the same way. I’m just not sure when I outgrew them. Just seemed like one day, I realized it wasn’t my style. I guess that’s when I started understanding too that I was somewhat the ‘odd man out’ in our little fucked up family dynamic. Yeah, understatement there...
October 10 , 2006
New Castle, WY - The Boyd Motel
Okay, this has got to be one of the fugliest motel rooms I’ve ever slept in, and believe me, that’s saying A LOT. First off, I’d seriously like to know what sort of crack-head thought burnt orange and black looked good together anywhere other than at a Halloween party. Oh, and let’s not forget the wild west theme either. Buffalo heads and Indian arrows, anyone? Can I please puke now?
And, second, the place is in the middle of freaking NOWHERE. Yes, I fully understand that Wyoming isn’t exactly known for its metropolitan flair, but Jesus, there are real live buffalo grazing across the street. I shit you not. I know we have to be careful now that Dean’s wanted for murder and all, but how in the hell does he manage to pick the most out of the way, godforsaken, bug-infested, rundown shit-holes for us to stay at? What’s wrong with a Holiday Inn or Ho-Jo’s every once in awhile? I’m beginning to think he’s doing it on purpose, just to piss me off. Because I won’t let up about Dad.
It hurts so bad sometimes, but Dean won’t talk about it. About Dad’s death. He just shoots me that glare and tells me not to get all chick on him. What does he want? That was a scary trip back at that cabin with dad possessed. To see your dad, who you love, and know it’s not really him. To hear hateful, hurtful words coming out of his mouth in his voice and try to convince yourself that it’s someone else talking. Really messes with your head, you know?
It’s like the YED looked right into my soul and saw everything. And what did he mean that he has plans for me and all the children like me? What plans? What other children? Dad said he had no clue, but I’m not sure I believe that, and when I keep asking Dean, he gets all pissed off, threatens to punch me and then totally shuts down on me. I wish he would just hit me and get some of that pent up anger out. Maybe he’d be more willing to talk then. God, is this how I’m going to feel all the time now? I don’t know if I can stand it.
I just can’t believe Dad is, you know, gone. I mean, what am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to deal with that and knowing that he may have given his life to save Dean? And knowing that it’s my fault...yeah, that’s right. I’m not going to kid myself about that. I’ll never forget Dad yelling at me to shoot him, and the disappointed look he gave me when I couldn’t do it. Or the stupid argument we had back at the hospital right before he died. I can’t seem to save the people I care about no matter what I do. Not Mom, not Jess, not Dad...not even myself.
Okay, this sucks too much to think about right now. And besides, Dean should be back soon with the morning java and donuts and I don’t plan to write in this journal while he’s around to snoop. The guy doesn’t know how not to stick his nose into my life. Later.
January 12, 2007 The Blue Rose Motel - Lafayette, Indiana
Well, I’ve pretty much signed my death warrant running off and leaving Dean back in Illinois. He’s going to kill me if he finds me. Who am I kidding? He’ll find me. He always does. Even when I was thirteen and tried to run away that one time. It was Dean, not Dad, who found me first and holy hell, that had to be one of the worst spankings I ever got from both him and Dad!
Dean says he doesn’t know what got into me because yeah, I was always butting heads with dad, but nothing as bad as that and never terrible enough that I actually tried to run away.You know what’s sad? I don’t even remember what specifically Dad and I were fighting about anymore. I just remember sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal and all I could think at that moment, was how much I hated Dad for one reason or another.
Anyway, Dad got a lead on a hunt, and he took Dean and left me home by myself that weekend. Big mistake if he thought that would be punishment for me. Time alone in our family was rare and priceless. I was looking forward to them being gone. Besides, I had plans.
They took dad’s truck and left the Impala, so of course, I decided to try to take the car and run away. Probably a good thing I didn’t really pay attention on how to hotwire a car back then, but I did manage to yank quite a bit of the wiring out of the Impala’s dash trying. I ended up hoofing it as far as downtown and then figured screw it because I couldn’t get anyone to give me a ride. Can you believe it? It was like fate was so not on my side that day (or maybe it was).
I found some guys from Dean’s senior class who sort of knew who I was, and they let me hang with them the rest of the day and even got me buzzed on beer and pot. I had taken the emergency cash fund from the sugar jar in the kitchen before I left, so I had, I don’t know, around $200 or so and of course, they let me pay for the beer, pizza, and weed. Yeah, let me. I was SO naïve. They’re lucky I didn’t rat them out because Dean would have killed them. Literally.
Dad and Dean came home early and found the smart ass note I’d left for them. Don’t remember it exactly but I think I stated I was heading for Minnesota to go live with Pastor Jim, and they could go screw themselves, etc. I guess I had a bit of a mouth on me back then, go figure.
So, Dean jumped in the Impala, saw the messed up wiring, shit a brick, and made plans to kill me. Dad took his truck and they both went searching for me. My shitty luck actually that Dean found me first because for once, I think he was more pissed off at me than Dad was. I was sitting on a bench at the bus station, wasted, with my duffel bag of clothes and my stupid backpack of school books. Christ, I ran away and I took my school stuff with me. Maybe Dean’s right. Maybe I am a geek.
I remember the look on Dean’s face when he came up to me. I’ll never forget it. He didn’t say a word. Just grabbed me off the bench from behind by my t-shirt, almost ripping it in half. I could have died. Here I am, cussing and wrestling with Dean, trying to get away from him, and Dean’s pawing at me like some crazed pedophile or something. I remember he almost punched out the cop the station attendant called until he was able to explain that I was his kid brother and he was worried because I’d gone missing from home.
We drove home in total silence with Dean shooting me death glares all the way. Not that Dean’s a super wordy dude to begin with, but my vanishing act and subsequent lack of cooperation in coming home just left him utterly speechless. Dad wasn’t back yet, so Dean just lit into me in the living room, reading me the riot act big time. I started giggling and Dean noticed how red my eyes were and he must have figured out I was high because that was it. The next thing I know, Dean’s sitting on the arm of the couch and tossing me over his knee and yanking my jeans down and whaling the crap out of me. And for the record? Being slightly high does NOT dull the pain of getting smacked repeatedly on your bare ass by your pissed off brother. Still hurt like a motherfucker.
It’s funny, but I can see so much of Dad in Dean. I have Dad’s stubbornness that’s for sure. Dean says I get hold of something and I’m like a bull terrier about letting go. But then, Dean’s got Dad’s temper. He won’t admit it, but he goes off like a grenade sometimes when he’s got his shorts in a knot about something. Just explodes suddenly out of nowhere.
And Dad? That guy had a hell of a temper. But it wasn’t violent per se, at least not towards us. But, he didn’t take any crap off us either –not even a little bit. He’d get that dark look in his eye and then his jaw would just go rigid and his voice would get low and you knew not to push it further. Well, usually knew. I guess I pretty much always pushed it. Yeah, not so smart looking back on it. I guess my constant questioning of everything really got on his nerves a lot.
Dad pretty much hit the roof when he got back, especially when Dean told him he’d spanked me for being high and drinking. Thanks, Dean. Thanks a lot. Dad gave me ‘the look’ he was so good at doing and then asked me in that real quiet low voice what the hell I thought I was doing. Boy, was that a ‘Dean’ moment for me right there, because I was still pissed at Dad from earlier and I actually told him “bite me”. STUPID!
Dad grabbed my arm so hard it left bruises and hauled me to his room and threw me on the bed while he unbuckled his belt. God, I was so scared, but part of me was also still angry and fueled by the pot and beer, and I mouthed off to him again. Guess Dean’s right. I don’t know when to shut up, even when it’d save my life, or ass in this case. I got the worst butt whipping of my life that night. HOLY CRAP - I was screaming bloody murder so loud, I’m sure our neighbors down the block heard me. I mean I literally had black and blue welts on my butt for a week from that fucking belt.
I HATED that thing. Even now, just hearing the sound of a belt sliding out of the loops on a pair of pants can make me shudder. And of course, don’t you know that Dean’s got the maneuver down to an art, and does it sometimes just for a laugh. Just to tease me and see if I’ll turn around all deer in the headlights with my hands going to cover my butt, just like I used to do when I was a kid. Did I mention that my brother is a jerk sometimes?
I remember lying on my bed afterwards just sobbing. It wasn’t just that my ass hurt like hell, it was that I felt like Dad hated me and that Dean hated me and that no one cared about me or what I wanted. And that was the one time Dad didn’t console me after punishing me. Just spanked the hell out of me and then dragged me to my room and told me not to come out until he said. I hated the whole world right then. I so did. It wasn’t until after Dad died and Dean and I were still at Bobby’s, that Dean told me how Dad had spent the rest of that night holed up in his room with a bottle of Jack, crying over hitting me so hard because he was so scared of what could have happened to me. Funny how guilt and regret go hand-in-hand with 20-20 hindsight. Dad, I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.
Dean came into the room and just sat down on the bed next to me, not saying a word. He just reached out and started petting my head. That was something for him. Gotta remember, this is the guy who HATES showing emotion other than anger, smugness or joy. No emo for Dean. I ended up practically crawling into his lap and sobbing as he rocked me until I just about fell asleep from exhaustion. No words but lots of understood meaning there. He was my surrogate parent at times as well as my big tough brother. Not an easy role to fill, but the guy’s never complained and he’s always there for me. God I love him so, even when he drives me up the wall.
January 21, 2007
Pierpont Hotel - Cornwall, Connecticut
It’s dark and it’s late and I’m alone again, waiting for Dean to get back. I hate it. I so totally hate sitting around with my thumbs up my ass, stuck in another crappy motel room doing all the research on a case while he’s out screwing around. I hate the sitting and just waiting. Too many things go through my head when I’m alone these days. What if he gets hurt? What if he doesn’t come back? What do I do then? What happens if I start to go dark side and he’s not here to stop me? He probably doesn’t even realize that another person’s died in this creepy ass hotel. FUCK. I need a drink.
January 22, 2007 Pierpont Hotel - Cornwall, Connecticut
So, just for future reference? Patron and Jaeger do NOT mix well together AT ALL. GOD. I thought I was going to die when I got up this morning. Oh no wait – I did die. Dean woke me up by kicking the side of the fucking bed until I moaned at him to stop and then he yanked the covers off me and shoved me onto the floor. He’s lucky I didn’t fucking puke on his lousy boots.
Apparently, ‘Mr. Perfect” wasn’t too amused by my getting trashed last night. I find that rather ironic, considering the number of times I’ve had to put up with him stumbling back into our motel rooms, drunker than shit. What a hypocrite! And so what, if he’s never been wasted during a job? It’s not like I was doing us any good on this one anyway. Couldn’t keep anyone from dying, could I? But, I guess I said some stuff while under the influence that upset Dean pretty bad, because he really let me have it with both barrels this time. And, needling me while I puked up my guts in the bathroom wasn’t enough. Oh no.
One thing led to another and our tempers being what they are, he up and tells me I’m grounded. I still don’t believe he did that. Grounded? Of course I just started laughing and that just pissed him off even more. I’m like, dude, grounded from where exactly?? The hotel room? The backseat of your shitty car? I really thought he was going to punch me on that one. I mean I insulted his “baby”. So, he up and drags me by my ankles, for christ’s sake, from the bathroom floor where I was bowing to the porcelain god, and throws me down onto the bed and proceeds to beat my ass, telling me I better straighten out or else!
Man, what is with him? Ever since dad’s been gone, Dean’s gotten it into his fat head lately that he’s just going to take over as disciplinarian. Dude’s got another thing coming (to quote his precious Judas Priest, if I may). Okay, for starters, he’s not Dad, as I’ve told him a gazillion times over. He may freaking like to think he is because, God knows, Dean can get pretty bossy at times, and yeah, he helped raised me. But still, he isn’t my father and he seriously needs to stop acting like he is. I mean sure, he’s threatened to kick my ass many times over but he’s not laid a hand on me before this since I was like 15 and now all of a sudden, I’m fair game again?
He used to be so weird about what he’d punish me for and what he’d let go. Disrespect and insubordination were the big ones for getting my butt busted usually. But, I remember once I full on bit him on the wrist – left major teeth marks and everything - and the dude didn’t even take a swing at me or try to bite me back. I was only four, so maybe that had something to do with it. Who knows? But, he didn’t even tell dad on me or try to get back at me or anything. I punched him in the nuts once too when I was 9 or 10, and although he looked like he wanted to pop me, he didn’t. So why, all of a sudden, does Mr. Bossy Boots decide it’s his duty to reinstate corporal punishment in the Winchester household? What the fuck? Gotta end it here. I hear the key in the door which means Dean’s back with the burgers. Man, I didn’t realize how starved I was until just now.
July 12, 2007
Cedar Rapids, Iowa - Skylit Motel
I keep thinking about what Dean told me Dad said to him. About maybe having to kill me. I really hope it doesn’t come to that, because I have a really bad feeling that if it does? I’ll have to somehow find the strength to do it myself, because I just don’t think Dean can. Not now. Not after he’s gone and traded his fucking soul for me. That was the crappiest bargain he could have ever made. Idiot.
Speaking of Dean, he and I have really been butting heads lately. It’s the whole overprotective older brother thing going on and his total lack of giving a shit about him only having a year to live. He thinks he has to mother hen me to death while I’m supposed to just ignore his orgy of sex, food and rock ‘n roll. If he wants me to stand down, then he needs to back the fuck off sometimes too. What’s next? Will he be cutting my food for me and feeding it to me?
And I’ve about had it with being left or dropped off at the nearest motel while Dean’s out screwing everything with tits and a nice smile that walks past him. Jeez, I should buy stock in Trojan – God knows Dean must be making them millions. And you know what? I’m sick of him trying to pawn off his ‘rejects’ on me too. What the hell? Like I couldn’t get my own girl for the night if I wanted to? Okay, so I haven’t exactly had the best track record with dates, true, but I’m just not the love ‘em and leave ‘em type like Dean is. It’s like he thinks he’s doing me a favor trying to hook me up with some of these bar twinkies. Am I always going to be the “baby” in his eyes? The little brother he has to protect and take care of? Screw that! I got Jessica without his help just fine. Besides, I don’t have time for a relationship right now. I have to find a way to get Dean out of that stupid ass deal.
And Dean tries I guess, and it’s the thought that counts, right? Besides, he’s my big brother – I can cut him a break. I mean, seriously, I’ve been doing that for awhile now, haven’t I? But I swear, if he uses “the deal” and his year of life left one more time as an excuse for why we have to spend extra money on a room that has cable with porn channels, or why we need to drive cross-country so he can bang some random chick one last time...
November 20, 2007
Sioux Falls, South Dakota – Bobby’s House
Sitting here at Bobby’s watching the sky turn gray. We’re here for the next week or so according to Dean because the car’s acting funny. So, that means we’ll be doing Turkey Day here, which is totally cool. No Swanson frozen shitty turkey dinners this year in a crappy motel room. Real turkey bird with all the fixings and Bobby getting drunk and telling us stories about Dad until we laugh so hard, we bust a rib. He said Ellen might even show up too. I like her. The lady’s got class in my book. And I don’t care what Dean says, I still think she and Dad had a ‘thing’ going at one time.
Dean’s goofing outside right now, working on the Impala, and I think Bobby is down in his study working on something. And get this, I’m still not allowed in there when he’s ‘busy’. Bobby tends to get a little tetchy when he’s interrupted researching and has told me more than once that if he has to get up because of me, he’s gonna warm my britches for me. Dude, I’m an adult. Seriously. But, that’s how Bobby put it – like I’m still ten years old or something. Sadly, I’m still intimidated enough to take him to heart on that.
Mainly, because he’s the only one Dad ever let spank us, besides himself. And “Uncle” Bobby didn’t pull any punches just because you were little or were John Winchester’s kid. For not having any kids of his own, the man was a pro spanker too. Fuck.
He kept this big, ugly wooden spoon hanging up on the wall behind the door in the kitchen, and even drew a freaking frown-y face on it in magic marker. That was the “spanking spoon”, and Dean and I have both made its acquaintance many times while growing up. Not a fun experience at all. Painful as hell! Scary thing about all that? Bobby still has that freaking spoon hanging up in the kitchen! So hell yeah, when he says not to bug him while he’s busy? No problem. I’ll let myself bleed out from a gaping chest wound before I interrupt the man.
Pastor Jim’s preferred method of punishment used to be making us memorize bible verses and/or polish the silver in the rectory. The memorizing wasn’t too bad since Dad made us do that for certain spells and incantations anyway. And the silver was no biggie because again, Dad had us cleaning all the weapons at a pretty early age. The main deterrent for us to behave while at Pastor Jim’s was that we knew if he had to punish us for misbehaving, then Dad would hear about it and then the REAL punishment would be handed down by Dad when he came to pick us up.
I used to tell Dad that it wasn’t fair because we were getting punished twice for the same thing. Ha, of course Dad never saw it that way. He told us that if Pastor Jim had to punish us, then he was going to spank us for disobeying his order not to disobey Pastor Jim. Sounds like a lot of bullshit to me. Yeah, whatever – we still got our asses handed to us.
It’s kind of funny looking back now because I really don’t know why I even argued with Dad about it. It’s not like it ever got me out of getting spanked. Dad wasn’t the type to change his mind on stuff and never put up with us disobeying any of his orders. Yeah, the good old days...uh huh...right.
Yeah, it’s funny, but Dean has a selective memory when it comes to dad and our growing up sometimes. He can’t or doesn’t remember stuff that I do. Dean thinks dad was fair and all and that’s total bullshit. I know he did the best he could with what he had. But let’s just say, the man was not one for putting up with our shit in any way, shape or form. He didn’t have the time to.
I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if circumstances had been different. What if Mom hadn’t died? What if there’d been no YED? What if Dad hadn’t decided to go after it? What if Dad hadn’t died? What if I hadn’t, for that matter? What if Dean’d just let it go and let me die and didn’t sell his soul? Jesus, too many “ifs” here to think about. But seriously...what if?
I can’t help but think about it. Especially now after that whole big deal with Dean finally (thank God) admitting he’s scared shitless of this stupid ass deal for his soul. Christ, I had to walk out of the room for a minute because I was just about ready to break down and cry. And yeah, Winchesters aren’t supposed to cry, but fuck that – he’s my brother.
It hurt. It hurt to see the look on Dean’s face. So lost and scared and desperate. My big bro. My hero. I’ve looked up to Dean all my life. Hell, I still do. Why he thought he could lie to me, I don’t know. Or maybe he was just lying to himself. Either way, all that shit is past now. And letting me work on the Impala? Holy shit! That was a day I never thought I’d see. Almost choked up at that too. It just reminded me too much of Dad when we were little, showing Dean how to work on the car. And Dean, you fucker, why do you keep bringing up the fact that you’re gonna be gone in like eight months if we can’t figure out how to break this fucking deal?
I am NOT letting Dean go. Not gonna happen. Nope.
I know I already tried with the crossroads demon and that didn’t go so well. Okay, understatement I guess, ‘cause I shot the smart-ass bitch. Yeah, wow, Dean was just a tad bit pissed about that. Although it sort of ticked me off that he was angrier that I had disobeyed one of his ‘orders’ than the actual fact that I’d wasted her. What’s up with that?
And who the fuck keeps count of our ammo anyway, for chrissakes? Does he seriously count the number of freaking bullets we have left in all our guns? Jesus fucking Christ, Dean! And he says I’m anal! I mean, I never even thought about that when I took the Colt. Never even came to my mind that he’d know I’d used that hand cannon. So much for me being stealthy...
And then being a total jerk about it and yanking me out of the car like that. How humiliating. Jeez, I’m 25 and get my butt paddled raw on the side of the friggin’ road by my brother. Asshat. I guess I sort of forgot about how bad Dean’s temper can get. Won’t make that mistake again.
In retrospect, telling him to go fuck himself was definitely NOT one of my better retorts either, but in all honesty, I NEVER expected him to retaliate by actually beating my ass like that. I mean, he’s threatened it before, sure, but it was more like a threat thing and not anything I thought he’d actually do. Yeah, definitely my bad there.
It fucking hurt too! That son of a bitch has one hard hand. Must have inherited that from Dad because Dad’s spankings hurt like a bitch too and those were usually on the bare. I would have killed Dean if he’d tried to do that though, especially in the middle of the road where anyone could just drive on by. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Because it wasn’t humiliating enough to get spanked at 25 years of age by your big brother. No, let’s add the possibility of having an audience too just for fun. Sometimes he can be such a jerk.
Ha, and yet, here I am trying to save his sorry, sarcastic ass. Why? Easy. Because I love him. He’s my brother. He and Dad were my whole entire existence growing up and always will be and I’m not ready to give up the little I have in this world. He’s always been there for me. Always. He’s my safety net and my best friend.
I am not letting hell take him. I’d kill for him or even die for him if I had to. And I’m thinking that’s what I’ll have to do. At least, that’s what Ruby seems to keep hinting at. And to be honest, I’m kind of scared.
But going on without Dean? That’s just not an option, no matter what Dean thinks. He says I’m strong and I’ll be fine. He’s wrong. I’m only strong because he makes me that way. Without him? Yeah...so not happening.
Anyway, gotta stop here. Dean’s hollering for me, so I better go find out what the metal head wants, before he stomps in here, all mad and crabby that I didn’t come when called. Again, what am I? Ten? Heh. I guess I always will be his ‘kid’ brother. And you know what? That’s sorta, kinda okay with me, because he’s one hell of a big brother and always will be to me.
THE END
Marshall, Indiana - The Howard Hughes Motor Lodge
Smart ass, Dean - gets me this stupid journal for my birthday. Because even geek-boy hunters need some place to keep their thoughts, Sammy. Well, I figure I can at least use this thing to write stuff down I’d like to talk about, but won’t because there’s no one to really talk to other than Dean. And Dean hates the whole talking about feelings thing – “emo chick crap”, he calls it. Right, Dean. Whatever. Never mind how maudlin you get after a six-pack of Coors and some tequila shots.
So, this morning after I get out of the shower, Dean gives me this bizarre little gift and then grabs me and starts smacking my ass, counting! WTF! Birthday spanking, he called it. I thought he’d outgrown doing that to me by now. Guess not. All I can say is get your licks in now big brother, because this is so NOT happening next year. Nope. Not going around with bruises on my ass again at my age. Jerk.
Yeah, that’s right. A little hard for a birthday spanking, there, Dean. No lie – it seriously stung and I’m 23 for fuck sake. You can’t tell me he didn’t put a little anger behind those swings. I think he was getting back at me for all the crap he thinks I’ve pulled or said the past seven months we’ve been back on the road together.
Looking back on the whole ugly disagreement we had in Oklahoma over the way Dad raised us, and then the big blow up we had back in Indiana and then me taking off like I did, leaving Dean to almost be sacrificed to some pagan god? Not some of my better moments, I’ll admit. Guess I still let my temper control my actions sometimes. Add to that the fact that, back at that insane asylum, I shot Dean full on in the chest with rock salt after I shredded him verbally and the way I teased him so bad about his fear of flying, and yeah, I suppose I’d be kind of harboring some potentially bitter feelings too if I was him. But shit, he didn’t have to hit me so hard! Seriously, has he been taking lessons from Dad or what?
So, I get a glorified notebook and my ass beaten for my birthday. And this, after I got Dean a freaking Deep Purple tape for HIS birthday to replace the one I ‘accidentally’ stepped on. He really shouldn’t have kept playing that damn thing over and over on that trip to Iowa. I warned him. He’s so getting the Barry Manilow boxed set for Christmas this year.
I was actually kind of hoping for an iPod, like Dean didn’t know that after I left him how many not-so-subtle hints for the past three weeks? It would have been nice to have, so I could fill it with music I liked for a change...you know, music that doesn’t sound like it’s the stuff they play in head shops? I don’t want to sound like I totally hate Dean’s choice of music. I mean, hate’s a pretty strong word. I do actually like some of the stuff he listens to (for example, Bad Company isn’t so bad – no pun intended there).
It’s funny. I can remember when I was little and all those impossibly long road trips Dad used to drag us on. Dean and I would be in the back seat of the Impala and I can remember Dad turning on the radio to help us fall asleep. And of course, it was Metallica or Judas Priest or one of those head banger groups. Rock and Metal were basically my lullabies growing up, and honestly? They really did comfort me back then. I think Dean felt the same way. I’m just not sure when I outgrew them. Just seemed like one day, I realized it wasn’t my style. I guess that’s when I started understanding too that I was somewhat the ‘odd man out’ in our little fucked up family dynamic. Yeah, understatement there...
October 10 , 2006
New Castle, WY - The Boyd Motel
Okay, this has got to be one of the fugliest motel rooms I’ve ever slept in, and believe me, that’s saying A LOT. First off, I’d seriously like to know what sort of crack-head thought burnt orange and black looked good together anywhere other than at a Halloween party. Oh, and let’s not forget the wild west theme either. Buffalo heads and Indian arrows, anyone? Can I please puke now?
And, second, the place is in the middle of freaking NOWHERE. Yes, I fully understand that Wyoming isn’t exactly known for its metropolitan flair, but Jesus, there are real live buffalo grazing across the street. I shit you not. I know we have to be careful now that Dean’s wanted for murder and all, but how in the hell does he manage to pick the most out of the way, godforsaken, bug-infested, rundown shit-holes for us to stay at? What’s wrong with a Holiday Inn or Ho-Jo’s every once in awhile? I’m beginning to think he’s doing it on purpose, just to piss me off. Because I won’t let up about Dad.
It hurts so bad sometimes, but Dean won’t talk about it. About Dad’s death. He just shoots me that glare and tells me not to get all chick on him. What does he want? That was a scary trip back at that cabin with dad possessed. To see your dad, who you love, and know it’s not really him. To hear hateful, hurtful words coming out of his mouth in his voice and try to convince yourself that it’s someone else talking. Really messes with your head, you know?
It’s like the YED looked right into my soul and saw everything. And what did he mean that he has plans for me and all the children like me? What plans? What other children? Dad said he had no clue, but I’m not sure I believe that, and when I keep asking Dean, he gets all pissed off, threatens to punch me and then totally shuts down on me. I wish he would just hit me and get some of that pent up anger out. Maybe he’d be more willing to talk then. God, is this how I’m going to feel all the time now? I don’t know if I can stand it.
I just can’t believe Dad is, you know, gone. I mean, what am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to deal with that and knowing that he may have given his life to save Dean? And knowing that it’s my fault...yeah, that’s right. I’m not going to kid myself about that. I’ll never forget Dad yelling at me to shoot him, and the disappointed look he gave me when I couldn’t do it. Or the stupid argument we had back at the hospital right before he died. I can’t seem to save the people I care about no matter what I do. Not Mom, not Jess, not Dad...not even myself.
Okay, this sucks too much to think about right now. And besides, Dean should be back soon with the morning java and donuts and I don’t plan to write in this journal while he’s around to snoop. The guy doesn’t know how not to stick his nose into my life. Later.
January 12, 2007 The Blue Rose Motel - Lafayette, Indiana
Well, I’ve pretty much signed my death warrant running off and leaving Dean back in Illinois. He’s going to kill me if he finds me. Who am I kidding? He’ll find me. He always does. Even when I was thirteen and tried to run away that one time. It was Dean, not Dad, who found me first and holy hell, that had to be one of the worst spankings I ever got from both him and Dad!
Dean says he doesn’t know what got into me because yeah, I was always butting heads with dad, but nothing as bad as that and never terrible enough that I actually tried to run away.You know what’s sad? I don’t even remember what specifically Dad and I were fighting about anymore. I just remember sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal and all I could think at that moment, was how much I hated Dad for one reason or another.
Anyway, Dad got a lead on a hunt, and he took Dean and left me home by myself that weekend. Big mistake if he thought that would be punishment for me. Time alone in our family was rare and priceless. I was looking forward to them being gone. Besides, I had plans.
They took dad’s truck and left the Impala, so of course, I decided to try to take the car and run away. Probably a good thing I didn’t really pay attention on how to hotwire a car back then, but I did manage to yank quite a bit of the wiring out of the Impala’s dash trying. I ended up hoofing it as far as downtown and then figured screw it because I couldn’t get anyone to give me a ride. Can you believe it? It was like fate was so not on my side that day (or maybe it was).
I found some guys from Dean’s senior class who sort of knew who I was, and they let me hang with them the rest of the day and even got me buzzed on beer and pot. I had taken the emergency cash fund from the sugar jar in the kitchen before I left, so I had, I don’t know, around $200 or so and of course, they let me pay for the beer, pizza, and weed. Yeah, let me. I was SO naïve. They’re lucky I didn’t rat them out because Dean would have killed them. Literally.
Dad and Dean came home early and found the smart ass note I’d left for them. Don’t remember it exactly but I think I stated I was heading for Minnesota to go live with Pastor Jim, and they could go screw themselves, etc. I guess I had a bit of a mouth on me back then, go figure.
So, Dean jumped in the Impala, saw the messed up wiring, shit a brick, and made plans to kill me. Dad took his truck and they both went searching for me. My shitty luck actually that Dean found me first because for once, I think he was more pissed off at me than Dad was. I was sitting on a bench at the bus station, wasted, with my duffel bag of clothes and my stupid backpack of school books. Christ, I ran away and I took my school stuff with me. Maybe Dean’s right. Maybe I am a geek.
I remember the look on Dean’s face when he came up to me. I’ll never forget it. He didn’t say a word. Just grabbed me off the bench from behind by my t-shirt, almost ripping it in half. I could have died. Here I am, cussing and wrestling with Dean, trying to get away from him, and Dean’s pawing at me like some crazed pedophile or something. I remember he almost punched out the cop the station attendant called until he was able to explain that I was his kid brother and he was worried because I’d gone missing from home.
We drove home in total silence with Dean shooting me death glares all the way. Not that Dean’s a super wordy dude to begin with, but my vanishing act and subsequent lack of cooperation in coming home just left him utterly speechless. Dad wasn’t back yet, so Dean just lit into me in the living room, reading me the riot act big time. I started giggling and Dean noticed how red my eyes were and he must have figured out I was high because that was it. The next thing I know, Dean’s sitting on the arm of the couch and tossing me over his knee and yanking my jeans down and whaling the crap out of me. And for the record? Being slightly high does NOT dull the pain of getting smacked repeatedly on your bare ass by your pissed off brother. Still hurt like a motherfucker.
It’s funny, but I can see so much of Dad in Dean. I have Dad’s stubbornness that’s for sure. Dean says I get hold of something and I’m like a bull terrier about letting go. But then, Dean’s got Dad’s temper. He won’t admit it, but he goes off like a grenade sometimes when he’s got his shorts in a knot about something. Just explodes suddenly out of nowhere.
And Dad? That guy had a hell of a temper. But it wasn’t violent per se, at least not towards us. But, he didn’t take any crap off us either –not even a little bit. He’d get that dark look in his eye and then his jaw would just go rigid and his voice would get low and you knew not to push it further. Well, usually knew. I guess I pretty much always pushed it. Yeah, not so smart looking back on it. I guess my constant questioning of everything really got on his nerves a lot.
Dad pretty much hit the roof when he got back, especially when Dean told him he’d spanked me for being high and drinking. Thanks, Dean. Thanks a lot. Dad gave me ‘the look’ he was so good at doing and then asked me in that real quiet low voice what the hell I thought I was doing. Boy, was that a ‘Dean’ moment for me right there, because I was still pissed at Dad from earlier and I actually told him “bite me”. STUPID!
Dad grabbed my arm so hard it left bruises and hauled me to his room and threw me on the bed while he unbuckled his belt. God, I was so scared, but part of me was also still angry and fueled by the pot and beer, and I mouthed off to him again. Guess Dean’s right. I don’t know when to shut up, even when it’d save my life, or ass in this case. I got the worst butt whipping of my life that night. HOLY CRAP - I was screaming bloody murder so loud, I’m sure our neighbors down the block heard me. I mean I literally had black and blue welts on my butt for a week from that fucking belt.
I HATED that thing. Even now, just hearing the sound of a belt sliding out of the loops on a pair of pants can make me shudder. And of course, don’t you know that Dean’s got the maneuver down to an art, and does it sometimes just for a laugh. Just to tease me and see if I’ll turn around all deer in the headlights with my hands going to cover my butt, just like I used to do when I was a kid. Did I mention that my brother is a jerk sometimes?
I remember lying on my bed afterwards just sobbing. It wasn’t just that my ass hurt like hell, it was that I felt like Dad hated me and that Dean hated me and that no one cared about me or what I wanted. And that was the one time Dad didn’t console me after punishing me. Just spanked the hell out of me and then dragged me to my room and told me not to come out until he said. I hated the whole world right then. I so did. It wasn’t until after Dad died and Dean and I were still at Bobby’s, that Dean told me how Dad had spent the rest of that night holed up in his room with a bottle of Jack, crying over hitting me so hard because he was so scared of what could have happened to me. Funny how guilt and regret go hand-in-hand with 20-20 hindsight. Dad, I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.
Dean came into the room and just sat down on the bed next to me, not saying a word. He just reached out and started petting my head. That was something for him. Gotta remember, this is the guy who HATES showing emotion other than anger, smugness or joy. No emo for Dean. I ended up practically crawling into his lap and sobbing as he rocked me until I just about fell asleep from exhaustion. No words but lots of understood meaning there. He was my surrogate parent at times as well as my big tough brother. Not an easy role to fill, but the guy’s never complained and he’s always there for me. God I love him so, even when he drives me up the wall.
January 21, 2007
Pierpont Hotel - Cornwall, Connecticut
It’s dark and it’s late and I’m alone again, waiting for Dean to get back. I hate it. I so totally hate sitting around with my thumbs up my ass, stuck in another crappy motel room doing all the research on a case while he’s out screwing around. I hate the sitting and just waiting. Too many things go through my head when I’m alone these days. What if he gets hurt? What if he doesn’t come back? What do I do then? What happens if I start to go dark side and he’s not here to stop me? He probably doesn’t even realize that another person’s died in this creepy ass hotel. FUCK. I need a drink.
January 22, 2007 Pierpont Hotel - Cornwall, Connecticut
So, just for future reference? Patron and Jaeger do NOT mix well together AT ALL. GOD. I thought I was going to die when I got up this morning. Oh no wait – I did die. Dean woke me up by kicking the side of the fucking bed until I moaned at him to stop and then he yanked the covers off me and shoved me onto the floor. He’s lucky I didn’t fucking puke on his lousy boots.
Apparently, ‘Mr. Perfect” wasn’t too amused by my getting trashed last night. I find that rather ironic, considering the number of times I’ve had to put up with him stumbling back into our motel rooms, drunker than shit. What a hypocrite! And so what, if he’s never been wasted during a job? It’s not like I was doing us any good on this one anyway. Couldn’t keep anyone from dying, could I? But, I guess I said some stuff while under the influence that upset Dean pretty bad, because he really let me have it with both barrels this time. And, needling me while I puked up my guts in the bathroom wasn’t enough. Oh no.
One thing led to another and our tempers being what they are, he up and tells me I’m grounded. I still don’t believe he did that. Grounded? Of course I just started laughing and that just pissed him off even more. I’m like, dude, grounded from where exactly?? The hotel room? The backseat of your shitty car? I really thought he was going to punch me on that one. I mean I insulted his “baby”. So, he up and drags me by my ankles, for christ’s sake, from the bathroom floor where I was bowing to the porcelain god, and throws me down onto the bed and proceeds to beat my ass, telling me I better straighten out or else!
Man, what is with him? Ever since dad’s been gone, Dean’s gotten it into his fat head lately that he’s just going to take over as disciplinarian. Dude’s got another thing coming (to quote his precious Judas Priest, if I may). Okay, for starters, he’s not Dad, as I’ve told him a gazillion times over. He may freaking like to think he is because, God knows, Dean can get pretty bossy at times, and yeah, he helped raised me. But still, he isn’t my father and he seriously needs to stop acting like he is. I mean sure, he’s threatened to kick my ass many times over but he’s not laid a hand on me before this since I was like 15 and now all of a sudden, I’m fair game again?
He used to be so weird about what he’d punish me for and what he’d let go. Disrespect and insubordination were the big ones for getting my butt busted usually. But, I remember once I full on bit him on the wrist – left major teeth marks and everything - and the dude didn’t even take a swing at me or try to bite me back. I was only four, so maybe that had something to do with it. Who knows? But, he didn’t even tell dad on me or try to get back at me or anything. I punched him in the nuts once too when I was 9 or 10, and although he looked like he wanted to pop me, he didn’t. So why, all of a sudden, does Mr. Bossy Boots decide it’s his duty to reinstate corporal punishment in the Winchester household? What the fuck? Gotta end it here. I hear the key in the door which means Dean’s back with the burgers. Man, I didn’t realize how starved I was until just now.
July 12, 2007
Cedar Rapids, Iowa - Skylit Motel
I keep thinking about what Dean told me Dad said to him. About maybe having to kill me. I really hope it doesn’t come to that, because I have a really bad feeling that if it does? I’ll have to somehow find the strength to do it myself, because I just don’t think Dean can. Not now. Not after he’s gone and traded his fucking soul for me. That was the crappiest bargain he could have ever made. Idiot.
Speaking of Dean, he and I have really been butting heads lately. It’s the whole overprotective older brother thing going on and his total lack of giving a shit about him only having a year to live. He thinks he has to mother hen me to death while I’m supposed to just ignore his orgy of sex, food and rock ‘n roll. If he wants me to stand down, then he needs to back the fuck off sometimes too. What’s next? Will he be cutting my food for me and feeding it to me?
And I’ve about had it with being left or dropped off at the nearest motel while Dean’s out screwing everything with tits and a nice smile that walks past him. Jeez, I should buy stock in Trojan – God knows Dean must be making them millions. And you know what? I’m sick of him trying to pawn off his ‘rejects’ on me too. What the hell? Like I couldn’t get my own girl for the night if I wanted to? Okay, so I haven’t exactly had the best track record with dates, true, but I’m just not the love ‘em and leave ‘em type like Dean is. It’s like he thinks he’s doing me a favor trying to hook me up with some of these bar twinkies. Am I always going to be the “baby” in his eyes? The little brother he has to protect and take care of? Screw that! I got Jessica without his help just fine. Besides, I don’t have time for a relationship right now. I have to find a way to get Dean out of that stupid ass deal.
And Dean tries I guess, and it’s the thought that counts, right? Besides, he’s my big brother – I can cut him a break. I mean, seriously, I’ve been doing that for awhile now, haven’t I? But I swear, if he uses “the deal” and his year of life left one more time as an excuse for why we have to spend extra money on a room that has cable with porn channels, or why we need to drive cross-country so he can bang some random chick one last time...
November 20, 2007
Sioux Falls, South Dakota – Bobby’s House
Sitting here at Bobby’s watching the sky turn gray. We’re here for the next week or so according to Dean because the car’s acting funny. So, that means we’ll be doing Turkey Day here, which is totally cool. No Swanson frozen shitty turkey dinners this year in a crappy motel room. Real turkey bird with all the fixings and Bobby getting drunk and telling us stories about Dad until we laugh so hard, we bust a rib. He said Ellen might even show up too. I like her. The lady’s got class in my book. And I don’t care what Dean says, I still think she and Dad had a ‘thing’ going at one time.
Dean’s goofing outside right now, working on the Impala, and I think Bobby is down in his study working on something. And get this, I’m still not allowed in there when he’s ‘busy’. Bobby tends to get a little tetchy when he’s interrupted researching and has told me more than once that if he has to get up because of me, he’s gonna warm my britches for me. Dude, I’m an adult. Seriously. But, that’s how Bobby put it – like I’m still ten years old or something. Sadly, I’m still intimidated enough to take him to heart on that.
Mainly, because he’s the only one Dad ever let spank us, besides himself. And “Uncle” Bobby didn’t pull any punches just because you were little or were John Winchester’s kid. For not having any kids of his own, the man was a pro spanker too. Fuck.
He kept this big, ugly wooden spoon hanging up on the wall behind the door in the kitchen, and even drew a freaking frown-y face on it in magic marker. That was the “spanking spoon”, and Dean and I have both made its acquaintance many times while growing up. Not a fun experience at all. Painful as hell! Scary thing about all that? Bobby still has that freaking spoon hanging up in the kitchen! So hell yeah, when he says not to bug him while he’s busy? No problem. I’ll let myself bleed out from a gaping chest wound before I interrupt the man.
Pastor Jim’s preferred method of punishment used to be making us memorize bible verses and/or polish the silver in the rectory. The memorizing wasn’t too bad since Dad made us do that for certain spells and incantations anyway. And the silver was no biggie because again, Dad had us cleaning all the weapons at a pretty early age. The main deterrent for us to behave while at Pastor Jim’s was that we knew if he had to punish us for misbehaving, then Dad would hear about it and then the REAL punishment would be handed down by Dad when he came to pick us up.
I used to tell Dad that it wasn’t fair because we were getting punished twice for the same thing. Ha, of course Dad never saw it that way. He told us that if Pastor Jim had to punish us, then he was going to spank us for disobeying his order not to disobey Pastor Jim. Sounds like a lot of bullshit to me. Yeah, whatever – we still got our asses handed to us.
It’s kind of funny looking back now because I really don’t know why I even argued with Dad about it. It’s not like it ever got me out of getting spanked. Dad wasn’t the type to change his mind on stuff and never put up with us disobeying any of his orders. Yeah, the good old days...uh huh...right.
Yeah, it’s funny, but Dean has a selective memory when it comes to dad and our growing up sometimes. He can’t or doesn’t remember stuff that I do. Dean thinks dad was fair and all and that’s total bullshit. I know he did the best he could with what he had. But let’s just say, the man was not one for putting up with our shit in any way, shape or form. He didn’t have the time to.
I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if circumstances had been different. What if Mom hadn’t died? What if there’d been no YED? What if Dad hadn’t decided to go after it? What if Dad hadn’t died? What if I hadn’t, for that matter? What if Dean’d just let it go and let me die and didn’t sell his soul? Jesus, too many “ifs” here to think about. But seriously...what if?
I can’t help but think about it. Especially now after that whole big deal with Dean finally (thank God) admitting he’s scared shitless of this stupid ass deal for his soul. Christ, I had to walk out of the room for a minute because I was just about ready to break down and cry. And yeah, Winchesters aren’t supposed to cry, but fuck that – he’s my brother.
It hurt. It hurt to see the look on Dean’s face. So lost and scared and desperate. My big bro. My hero. I’ve looked up to Dean all my life. Hell, I still do. Why he thought he could lie to me, I don’t know. Or maybe he was just lying to himself. Either way, all that shit is past now. And letting me work on the Impala? Holy shit! That was a day I never thought I’d see. Almost choked up at that too. It just reminded me too much of Dad when we were little, showing Dean how to work on the car. And Dean, you fucker, why do you keep bringing up the fact that you’re gonna be gone in like eight months if we can’t figure out how to break this fucking deal?
I am NOT letting Dean go. Not gonna happen. Nope.
I know I already tried with the crossroads demon and that didn’t go so well. Okay, understatement I guess, ‘cause I shot the smart-ass bitch. Yeah, wow, Dean was just a tad bit pissed about that. Although it sort of ticked me off that he was angrier that I had disobeyed one of his ‘orders’ than the actual fact that I’d wasted her. What’s up with that?
And who the fuck keeps count of our ammo anyway, for chrissakes? Does he seriously count the number of freaking bullets we have left in all our guns? Jesus fucking Christ, Dean! And he says I’m anal! I mean, I never even thought about that when I took the Colt. Never even came to my mind that he’d know I’d used that hand cannon. So much for me being stealthy...
And then being a total jerk about it and yanking me out of the car like that. How humiliating. Jeez, I’m 25 and get my butt paddled raw on the side of the friggin’ road by my brother. Asshat. I guess I sort of forgot about how bad Dean’s temper can get. Won’t make that mistake again.
In retrospect, telling him to go fuck himself was definitely NOT one of my better retorts either, but in all honesty, I NEVER expected him to retaliate by actually beating my ass like that. I mean, he’s threatened it before, sure, but it was more like a threat thing and not anything I thought he’d actually do. Yeah, definitely my bad there.
It fucking hurt too! That son of a bitch has one hard hand. Must have inherited that from Dad because Dad’s spankings hurt like a bitch too and those were usually on the bare. I would have killed Dean if he’d tried to do that though, especially in the middle of the road where anyone could just drive on by. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Because it wasn’t humiliating enough to get spanked at 25 years of age by your big brother. No, let’s add the possibility of having an audience too just for fun. Sometimes he can be such a jerk.
Ha, and yet, here I am trying to save his sorry, sarcastic ass. Why? Easy. Because I love him. He’s my brother. He and Dad were my whole entire existence growing up and always will be and I’m not ready to give up the little I have in this world. He’s always been there for me. Always. He’s my safety net and my best friend.
I am not letting hell take him. I’d kill for him or even die for him if I had to. And I’m thinking that’s what I’ll have to do. At least, that’s what Ruby seems to keep hinting at. And to be honest, I’m kind of scared.
But going on without Dean? That’s just not an option, no matter what Dean thinks. He says I’m strong and I’ll be fine. He’s wrong. I’m only strong because he makes me that way. Without him? Yeah...so not happening.
Anyway, gotta stop here. Dean’s hollering for me, so I better go find out what the metal head wants, before he stomps in here, all mad and crabby that I didn’t come when called. Again, what am I? Ten? Heh. I guess I always will be his ‘kid’ brother. And you know what? That’s sorta, kinda okay with me, because he’s one hell of a big brother and always will be to me.
THE END