Help Me, Help You.

The Truth

A couple weeks after we clarified that Dad had probably died, I went sniffing. Just for something, anything that would explain Dad's disappearances. A phone message maybe? Was he cheating on Mom? No, he wouldn't do that. I couldn't think of that any longer. It would ruin my plans to find a chick to help take care of Sam. (And me too, please.)

I was fifteen by now, Sam about eight or nine. For months I would crawl on my hands and knees, pawing through the attic and basement's dusty shelves, nooks, crannies, and such. No luck. But then..

"Hey Dean, look at this book! What does this mean?" I stumbled over to my little brother and snatched the book out of his fingers. It was a journal of some sort, papers crammed in like messy files on a Friday afternoon. I looked for the seal, unbound it, and peered inside. "Wow" Sam whispered, astonished. I slid my fingers against the first few pages trying to grab the inside cover. Sure enough..Printed in the left-hand corner with heavily faded ink:

John Winchester.

Dad.

What did it mean? There were crazy symbols scattered on,I'm pretty sure,all of the coffee-stained pages. "Thanks Sammy." I patted his shoulder and headed back upstairs. "Where ya' going D-" ugh.. "Stay where I can see you for a little while." I interrupted. "BUT DEAN!" Sam looked at me with his puppy eyes. "YOU-" calm down, this is Sammy..."You aren't going anywhere 'till I find out what this book's about K?" He stormed off and sat against my bedroom wall. Yeah, I'll make sure nothing is going to happen to Sam.

I spent hours reading that book. I only stopped to check on Sammy, who had went to his room across the hall and had his head against the pillow. My head darted toward the window. Crap. I could see thousands of tiny white dots illuminating the darkly blanketed sky. Oh, and a helicopter. I tucked the book under my bed and pulled my comforter over my head. I couldn't sleep. Was my dad crazy? What I read was not something I've heard him talk about. It made me weary just to hear the wind run against the glass of the window.

The next morning, well around one o'clock, Sam "woke" me up. "Dean, what was in the book? You seem frazzled." Huh.. Sam was always too smart. Hell, he still is! I sat up in my bed as I gestured him to hop on. "I'm not crazy, okay?" He looked concerned. "In that book, Dad tells us how to kill things. But not like deer, or even fish." "Then what?" He cocked his head. "It shows us how to kill monsters."

Sam had a grin on his face. "What like vampires and werewolves?oooh, scary!" He stuck out his arms like Frankenstein. "Good one, Dean!" I felt my face grow red. "I'm SERIOUS Sam! I knew when mom died, Dad tried to avoid telling us at all costs! It says so right in there! A 'yellow eyed demon' or somethin'. Would I joke about this? This killed Mom. And maybe Dad!! I wouldn't lie about this Sam! I'm afraid it will try and get you too Sammy! I, couldn't live with myself if I let you die! I know it's insane, more than that. But trust me okay. Please."

Worst decision of my life, deciding to go hunt things. It's hurt me and Sam more times than I can count. Because there's a lot, not 'cause I can't count very high. We have cheated our way through death, several times, but we've made too many close calls.