Ruby came. Ruby stopped the drinking. Ruby showed him how to be strong. Ruby changed him. He had left the journal in his bag after she showed up and changed things. Sam didn't need the constant comfort of his big brother's words anymore. He had Ruby, and she was going to help him get his revenge, then he would die, either by his own hand, or by something else's. He didn't really care, as long as he was dead. Sam wanted to be with his brother, he knew he wouldn't get to go to heaven, especially after what he had been doing with Ruby, so if nothing else he could at least be close to Dean in the afterlife, and they could, perhaps, become demons together.

He had day dreams of getting tortured next to his brother, and Dean asking what he was doing down there, and he never gave Dean an adequate reason, but they would be side by side again, and this time, nothing was going to take the other away. They would be the most powerful demon force in all of the universe. Sure, he knew the daydream was horrible, and defied everything that made Sam, Sam, but he was fairly certain that he had destroyed himself when he took that first sip of demon blood, when he felt the first surgings of demonic power running through his veins.

Ruby had just left Sam to his own devices, mere minutes ago, and he was already indulging himself in his fantasies. He was going to take the bottle of Jack that was in his duffel and consume it while she wasn't around. He would sneak it, get so drunk that he wouldn't feel the pain, wouldn't hear the power that now thrummed in his ears almost constantly, wouldn't commit suicide before he could complete his mission.

He pulled the bottle out of the duffel and the journal, along with some other things spilled out of the bag. He looked at it. Held the bottle in one hand and starred at the journal. How long had it been since he had read the words? Weeks? Yes, definitely weeks, since he had read the words, heard his brother's voice. He licked his lips and before he could think twice he swiped the book and like a wounded and scared animal, took his bottle and book into a corner and sat down to indulge and lick his wounds.

He took a swig of liquid courage and leafed to the first unread page.

Today I accused Sammy of changing, and he told me that I was right, which was not exactly the answer that I had been anticipating, and he told me that he's changed to be more like me. That really blew my mind. I mean, really, am I that much of a dick? Am I really that heartless, cold, calculating? I never pictured myself as any of those. I'm not exactly the most sophisticated guy on the block, but I didn't think I was that bad. And seeing my qualities in Sammy's personality, sits with me wrong. My little brother is kind, loving, caring, the champion of mankind. He isn't anything like me and I never want him to be anything like me.

So, I guess I don't understand. I don't know why he thinks that being like me is a good thing, because if it was, God knows I wouldn't be going to hell in a few months, I would be rich beyond belief, and living in the best house, and I'd be married and have children. I wouldn't be stuck in this quicksand of evil, I wouldn't be so dependant on my brother that I would sell my soul for him. I would have let him die, I would have let him go to Heaven, if there is a heaven. My life would be so different. So different.

I'm just tired. Tired of the job, tired of this life, tired of this crap motel. I would love to spend my last days, with my brother, at Bobby's, working on cars, maybe meet a great girl and get to know her a little, but I don't want to be hunting. I don't want to deal with anymore demons, I don't want to watch my baby brother turn into something cold and decidedly not Sam. My brother should have the bleeding heart. That's who he is. That's who I always want him to be. God, I don't ask for much, I've never asked for anything, but please don't let my brother change when I die. Let him continue being the man he's always been, the man I raised and am proud of, the man I wish I could have been.

Sam reread the last paragraph several times and before he knew it he was crying again, he thought that he had forgotten how to cry, forgotten how to grieve. Dean would be so disappointed in him, and that alone destroyed a piece of him. He had become what Dean didn't want, and there was no going back.