Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #24
“You seriously think that?! Because none of it, NONE of it is true.
I know we’ve had our disagreements. Hell, I know I’ve said some junk that sent you back on your heels. But Sammy, come on. I killed Benny to save you. I’m willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don’t you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you.
It has never been like that, ever. I need you to see that!”
Our enemies told us once Dean and I were each other’s greatest weakness, that family meant everything to us, to both of us. I guess I forgot how true that was until I heard those words coming out of my brother’s mouth. But after all the crap I did these past few months, it wasn’t surprising I needed a reminder.
I don’t even know what to say, to be honest. I expected a punch to the face, not Dean’s heartfelt words. And Dean’s genuine confession was more than anything I could have hoped for.
I wish we had this discussion earlier, like any other family, around a beer, at home, or even during Thanksgiving in the grand tradition of “holiday family drama”. But we aren’t the Cunninghams, are we? The Winchesters always have to reach a point of no return before we even attempt a normal conversation. It was already the case when Dad was here, and when we started this road trip together ten years ago. I guess that old habits die hard and that we still aren’t ready to let go of our decades-old “real men don’t talk” education, in spite of all the promises we’ve made to each other.
I don’t know if things would‘ve been different if I had heard these words before, if I had known Dean trusted me. Stubborn as I am, I would’ve taken the Trials anyway and been more than eager to prove that I was worthy of my brother’s trust. I guess there would’ve been less anger, less rage, though, just a quiet yet determined path until death, the Gates of Hell, and the final redemption.
But it’s too late to speculate anyway, the energy of the three Trials are gathering in my whole body, consuming me, making me feel as if the whole world, past and present, is resonating inside me. It’s strong, terrifying, beautiful, and I don’t know what anymore. The only thing I’m sure of is that there’s no turning back and that nothing can stop this force.
It’s here, and I’m gonna die Dean. I’m gonna die.
And then I heard these words, these three little words coming out of your mouth:
“Let it go.”
It’s like when we were kids. You’re hugging me, comforting me as if I fell from a bike and had scratches on my knees. Let it go? Just like that? As if it was nothing but a small graze. We are talking about closing the Gates of Hell, containing a strength given to men by God himself, ending it ALL. I’m on the edge of a cliff and you are quietly asking me to let go? Dean, this is not Indiana Jones or one of those stupid 80s movies that you enjoy so much. I’m not gonna float magically into the air and the Holy Grail won’t be here to save me.
I’ve whined over and over again, asking you to trust me so maybe I should try to do the same thing with you, too, as crazy as it sounds. A leap of faith. Who knows, maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I just have to admit that there’s another way.
This is it. I’m letting go.
I just hope you’ll be there to catch me.