Journal of A Man of Letters

Art and Text by Petite-Madame
An BIG thank you to (in alphabetical order) Becc-j, Maichan and Quickreaver for the English beta.
JOURNAL OF A MAN OF LETTERS -MASTER POST

Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #71

I woke up, unconscious on the floor, my head still spinning from the blow Dean gave me, right to my jaw. I was an idiot. He fooled me, but if there’s someone responsible for this whole mess, it’s me: I shouldn’t have let my guard down because Dean and I had “a moment” earlier, but you can’t blame me for wanting to believe, yes, believe that for a couple of seconds, my brother was back. I guess I’m far too sentimental, and as I’ve written so many times in this journal, family is my weak spot and will always be.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal - Entry #70

Cas and Gadreel left on their own this morning to carry out their reckless attack against Metatron. They call it a flawless strategy, I call it a suicide mission. I’m conscious I’m the kind of man who tends to often see the glass as half-empty but how would you define a plan that involved breaking into Heaven, then into Metatron’s personal office guarded by a whole garrison of angels and finally destroying the angel tablet without anybody noticing?

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Sam Winchester’s Journal - Entry #69


Dean is now locked up in our demon room.

After trashing half of the place and banging against the door for at least twenty minutes, he finally calmed down and tried to bargain his way out by saying that Cas has lost all his army and that we couldn’t take Metatron all by ourselves. He was inescapable. I wish I could say he was not making any sense but unfortunately, he was right: Dean was our only chance in this fight and he was fucking aware of it, as Cas and I were pretty irrelevant here. Seriously, what could we do?  Take the First Blade and go to Heaven to ice Metatron on our own? Without the Mark this thing was as useless as a toothpick.

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Sam Winchesters’ Journal - Entry #68

We reached the bunker after a car trip where almost no words were exchanged. I’m used to it by now. It’s not as if Dean had been particularly chatty in the last couple of months anyway. And Castiel…well poor Cas remained silent in the back seat and stared clumsily at us from time to time from the corner of his eye, certainly wishing he could have flown to the bunker instead of being trapped in the Impala with us for five hours.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal Entry #67


Cas and I cleared out the warehouse, leaving Metatron and his silly riddles behind. It was a dead end anyway, like all the leads we explored thus far. So once again, the Scribe of God had the upper hand on us.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal - Entry #66

“There will be killing till the score is paid.”
Homer, The Odyssey

Sam Winchester’s Journal - Entry #65

Even in the life of a hunter whose basic occupation is to chop vampires’ heads off or fight against villains as diverse as the Scribe of God or the King of Hell, you have days, particular days, where absolutely nothing happens: the phone doesn’t ring once and local newspapers are only filled with random info about kids going on school trips or the heartbreaking story of Mrs. Sullivan, 98, who tragically passed away after choking on a peanut. Even the bad guys, like Crowley, are M.I.A, probably on vacation somewhere between Cannes and Monte-Carlo.

Today, however, wasn’t one of those days. I can even say it was rich in surprises and action.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #64

I’m not used to driving something other than the Impala, let alone with Castiel riding shotgun.

After what happened at “Angels HQ”, Cas and I hit the road on our own to track Sean Flynn, the vessel of the angel responsible for the attack at the diner. Dean stayed back in Missouri and the Impala with him, leaving us with Cas’ “Pimpmobile” as my brother (rightly) calls it. This golden abomination is the epitome of bad taste, or maybe what is considered as “good taste” is somehow different in Heaven after all.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #63

I woke up with a start, gun in my hand, Dean in front of me holding his iPhone, loud music screaming in my ears. If I needed one more confirmation that my brother had lost his mind, this was a pretty good one: knowing my reflexes, I could have shot him right in the head but some divine intervention made me stop maybe half a second before pulling the trigger.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #62

I should be at a bar with Dean, celebrating, patting my brother on the shoulder and enjoying every minute of our victory over an enemy we’ve been hunting for more than a year now and who was responsible for the death of a member of our family. Unfortunately, there was none of that tonight, just a bitter taste of confusion and the unshakable feeling that the worst is yet to come. There will be no one to cheer happily “We made it Dean!!” or “I told ya, Sam” as our laughs were replaced by an awkward conversation in the car where we spent more time dealing with family and trust issues than rejoicing or thinking about a bright future.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #61


Some cases are just another day at the office, while others, change your vision of the job forever.

While investigating a double murder in Chicago, Dean and I discovered something pretty big, and by “big” I mean Men of Letters kind of big. The town is run by five powerful mob monster families like in the good ol’ days of the Untouchables. I know, I know, it sounds like the scenario of a bad B-movie, but I’m not even joking. And I’m not drunk either, I swear. The Windy City is basically Monster Town.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #60

A sore lip, an eye she won’t be able to open properly for at least a week, a knee sprain, a nose half-broken…Call it a tradition, but every time we say goodbye to our rare friends, we almost never leave them in the same state they greeted us when we arrived in town and, unfortunately for her, Sheriff Mills was no exception.

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Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #59

Some things are not meant to happen.

Today, I thought I’d finally take my revenge on Gadreel, that I’d get a chance to make him pay, blow after blow, for what he’s done, but now I’ll have to wait. The son of a bitch suddenly became a valuable bargaining chip in a deal set by Metatron himself and unfortunately, it was an offer we couldn’t refuse: Gadreel’s life against Castiel’s. I wasn’t keen on letting the angel go but between revenge and friendship, the choice was quickly made.

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