Book: The Diary Of John Winchester

I taught Dean everything he knew about cars, but my knowledge in this area over 1983. No modern twists - box machine, computerized dashboard and stuff. The machine should be machine - powerful engine, no electronics, gas and brake. All!

Life is to remember the dead and protect the living.

To do the right thing with their children does not always mean to act in accordance with their desires.

With faith in good locks easier to trust in God.

Yesterday Sammy woke up in the night. He said he was afraid some creature in the closet. I went to check. In the cupboard was empty, but I've seen too much to not believe him. So I handed Sammy the .45 and told that the next time you see something in the closet, he knows what to do. I don't think I ever honor award "father of the year", but since Sammy is sleeping without nightmares. Sometimes all you need is a gun under my pillow.

It would have been our thirteenth anniversary. Lace. Hmm, eleventh - steel, and 12-I and 13-I - silk and lace? It seems that everything should be the opposite, and steel needs to go after silk and lace. Or, perhaps one day you will need a steel to keep a marriage and when you overcome it, you can enjoy the silk and lace.

What father will put his nine-year son to have to kill to protect your brother? I have to be a father. My dad, who teaches that neither man nor monster that killed their mother, you will not leave alive... and for the families need to go to the end.

And Dean asked one of these murderous children's questions: "Daddy, is this the spirit will not continue to kill people?".
Not easy when you in the face and ask such questions. Not because he asked this question, and not because he was right, but because he's better than me knows what is right and what is not. After an hour we returned to the house of the Fuller, the night I tracked down and killed him. He wandered far from the camp of the boy scouts featured in the Park Bradbury Mountain. God knows what would have happened if not for Dean. I almost flew off the rails. My constant search for the culprit of the death of Mary almost erased the line between right and wrong for me. Because I almost killed the children. Hunter never gives in to the hunt and never run away from it. It won't happen again. Never. I will never betray the memory of Mary will not fail my boys.

I'm trying to solve the question whether it is possible to transfer children from one school to another every month, and what is the attitude of the school. Somewhere deep thought sharpens me, and what do the children themselves. But they're soldiers, and soldiers must be able to adapt to everything.

It was like an ordinary day, as if we were a normal family, and though we had a mom who just went to the store or to work, and died. But this illusion is short-lived, and I can't afford to believe it.

I wish I could look into her diary. Perhaps it would help me remember her. Perhaps the diary would reveal to me her secrets. I guess this is the meaning of record keeping. Cherish your stories, your life, when you're gone. To others is not forgotten.

So, tonight Dean got out of a roadside eatery in the same moment when I put the last bullet in the head of the shifter. The son asked me: why did you kill him, dad? What was I supposed to answer that? Because he is not a man but a monster like a man? My boy went outside and saw that I shot someone in the head, maybe I'm the monster like a man?