Journal of John Winchester (Supernatural)

November 19

I'm going to try to write this down just as it happened, no matter how unbelievable. Because if I can't believe it myself- if I can't rationally write down what I saw-how is anyone else ever going to believe it? Jacob showed up looking for the boys. I talked him into coming with me to a cemetery where I thought there might be some answers, and I got him killed. The hellhound-that's what Fletcher calls it-came out of a crypt and it tore holes in him like I haven't seen in a human being since Vietnam. Then H was there. I don't know who he is, but he saved my life like I couldn't save Jacob's. But he wouldn't let me take Jacob to a hospital. He said Jacob was dying, and that whatever we were looking for, it was keeping him alive to prolong his suffering. I didn't want to believe him, but he'd been right about what happened up until then . . . There was nothing we could do, H said, and God help me I went along with him, and I stood there and watched while my car rolled into a quarry with Jacob dying inside. And all H said was, "Guess you got a new car." That coldblooded bastard. I may learn from him, but I'll never like him, and I'll never trust him. He started talking about demons. Hellhounds, demons . . . I let Jacob die. Could I have saved him? Maybe not, maybe H was right. But I didn't even try. What am I becoming? I always tried to conduct myself so that if the boys asked me why I did something, I wouldn't have to lie to them. But what am I going to say if they ever ask me about their uncle Jake.