May, 2008

I forgot all about this stuff I wrote when I got zapped hunting that rawhead – found it just today - a few scraps of yellow legal paper stuffed in one pocket of my duffel. I thought I'd burned it a long time ago. I don't know why I wrote it. Sure as hell don't know why I kept it. Sammy keeps up on the journaling, not me.

A lot has happened since I wrote all that down. I guess it's obvious that I didn't die, but it wasn't because Sam found a miracle. I'm only alive because someone else took my place – twice. First it was a guy I didn't even know – Marshall Hall. It was his heart that gave out, not mine. Not going to go into the whole story – I don't have the time – but he was sacrificed by someone who thought they could play God. I was the one she chose to save, and there was a real sweet girl who got screwed on account of it. Marshall's life should have been hers, but it was given to me instead. Maybe I should include Layla in my body count. She's dead because I'm still breathing.

I told Sam there were no such thing as miracles. You don't get anything for free. He didn't believe it so much then, but after all we've been through since, he's starting to see it my way. He doesn't have much faith in anything anymore and I'm sorry for that.

Second time I cheated death it was because Dad made a deal with a demon. Not just any demon either, but the demon. Yeah, we found the son-of-a-bitch. It threw a semi at us and I drew the short straw again. Knocked my spirit clean out of my body, which was jacked up so bad I wasn't getting back into it. Dad went to Hell to get me back, and I killed the demon for him. You could say it was a good thing I was around, but truth is, it should have been Dad, not me. He should have been the one who killed that bastard. He could have also done a better job protecting Sam. I fucked that up too.

Hurts like nothin' else to have lost Dad. God, I miss him so much. At least he managed to escape the Pit.

Yeah, Hell is real, found that out for sure. Still not sure about what's upstairs. Nobody seems to want to escape from Heaven like they do from Hell. Maybe that's a sign it does exist – can't say I'd want to leave paradise to come muck around down here either.

I'm working on making it up to them – Dad, and everyone else who died so I could keep slogging through this shithole life. I'm gonna set it all straight. See, I lost Sammy too, and that wasn't supposed to happen. Sam used to have faith. He believed in miracles and prayer. He shouldn't have died there in the mud, in the rain, bleeding like a stuck pig in my arms. His God should have saved him - but he didn't.

I did.

I brought Sam back. I did the dealing this time. Can you see the trend? No miracles in sight. No God, no guardian angels, just bargains and sacrifices. Life comes with a price tag. Sam's life was expensive. He paid for it with his faith, and I gave up my soul.

In another twelve hours I'm going to die, and I'm going to go to Hell. Sam can't save me without making some sacrifice and I won't let him do that. We're not bargaining with demons anymore, especially not with Sammy's soul. It's been through enough already. We can't pay the price it's gonna take to get me back this time. Looks like death has finally caught up with me. Third time's a charm. Soul's being repo'ed.

I put it off far too long. Death's going to collect interest. I had two chances to go out quick and easy and didn't take 'em. I have a bad feeling I won't be so lucky this time. I don't think the end is going to be quick, or painless – definitely not painless. A lot of people off themselves before they let the hounds get them. That tells you something right there.

I know Sammy will be there until the end, whatever it might be, and even though I hate the idea of him having to go through that, I'm sure glad I won't be alone. Just hope he has enough sense to take off if things get dicey for him. I don't want Sam to get his ass killed too. I don't want to go to Hell for nothin'.

My faith in divine intervention is still beyond iffy but I'll admit lately I've been trying to convince myself there are such things as miracles. I need to hold on to something 'cause I know what Ruby says about Hell is true. I can't let myself forget. I've got to remember who I am, what we're fighting for, and why we're fighting for it, no matter what happens, and no matter how long it takes until I can get back.

Jim said God believes in me. Maybe that's the key to faith – just leaving it all up to fate, God, whatever. Maybe I don't have to believe as long as God does, and if he believes in me enough to get me outta Hell, I sure won't be complaining.

I probably should put a match to all this crap, but I won't. Maybe it'll mean something to you Sammy, I don't know. I'll stash it in a place where you'll find it eventually. Hopefully not until after I'm gone though because I know you'll give me that awful girly look that you get whenever I open up about stuff.

Pansy-ass.

Seriously though, Sammy...Sam. Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know...

"Know what?" Sam asked softly. "You never finished."

Dean looked up from where he had been sitting quietly by the hearth, basking in the warmth of the fire he'd built there. They'd set up in one of their father's old bolt-holes - a quiet cabin in northern Minnesota – in order to regroup after Dean's startling and mysterious resurrection. There was a lot they needed to go over, a lot of blanks that needed to be filled in, and it wasn't going to be easy for either of them.

The first thing Dean had gone about doing was to gather up some wood for the fire. He'd found that since coming back from Hell he always seemed to be cold. The first thing Sam had done was confess to finding Dean's hospital ramblings. Dean wondered, not for the first time, nor the last, why he had kept them.

He swirled the dregs of his beer around in the bottom of the bottle. "I don't remember," he said quietly, and polished off his drink in one quick shot.

Sam smiled slightly as he folded the papers into thirds and tucked them into the book in which he'd found them – only a few days before his brother's return. "Liar."

Dean shrugged. They both knew what he would have written had he the emotional fortitude to do so. It just wasn't in his nature to get so sentimental, even if it was just on paper and only hours before his death. Truth be told, in the end his feelings were just too big for him to put into words, and he had run out of time. Sam figured it out anyway, just like Dean knew he would. They were family after all, and you don't go to Hell for someone if you don't care shit about them.

"So," Sam continued. "Was it divine intervention?"

With a deep breath, Dean got up from his seat and went to fetch another beer. He didn't answer right away, but moved over to the window and stood there looking out into the darkness for quite some time. Sam let him be, and for that he was grateful.

He had no idea how he'd come back. He still bore the scars left behind when the Hell Hound killed him, and the less visible scars he'd received in Hell. Even now, when he closed his eyes, he could feel echoes of the agony he'd endured running rampant throughout his body. He'd probably have to deal with some measure of pain for the rest of his life – however long that might be this time.

"Maybe," he said finally, leaning his head against the window pane. The glass was cold. The night had taken on an unseasonable chill that radiated in through the window. Dean was forced to retreat back to the fire. "Sammy," he whispered, staring at the flickering flames. "I just don't know."

What he did know was that resurrection didn't come without a price, and he dreaded the day whatever it was that saved him, came to collect the debt.

Be it good or evil.