Nothing in here before this is worth wasting time and energy on anymore. Daddy issues drop way down on your priority list when the whole human race is about to be turned into brain-dead livestock.
Tomorrow's our one-time only shot at making sure the world still has the freedom to sweat the small stuff. We screw this up, and all anybody will have to worry about ever again is when they've got their date with a meat-grinder.
I'm leaving this journal where you can find it pretty easy if you have to go through my stuff. Not that I've got a death-wish or premonition or anything. Just saying. Just in case.
Sam, you can get rid of all my crap. You can even get rid of the car. But keep Mom's diary if you can. If I manage to pull another Get Out of Dead Free card somehow, that's my only possession that really matters to me anymore.
So now I'm done, except for this. There's one more thing I have to say. The most important thing of all.
I love you, Sam. More than anyone or anything. I should have said it a long time ago, and I should have said it a lot, especially when you were a little kid-- but I'm saying it to you now, and back-dating it twenty-nine years, too.
I love you and it doesn't make one damn speck of difference if we had different fathers or hell, even different mothers. We're brothers, hundred-percent. From always to amen.
If you're reading this, and you aren't Sam, then what the hell's your problem, dude? Get the fuck out of my---
Sam closed the journal and cut off Dean's words. He picked up his mother's delicate silver charm bracelet, rubbed the pentagram between his fingertips. Tears rose in his eyes but he didn't seem to notice.