Blake—
You're a bright kid; you've probably realized by now that I'm dead. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your birthday. But don't worry about it. It was about time for a change of scenery anyway. I left you a couple books; go ahead and read them when you get the time. I wish I could've said goodbye in person, but we both knew this would happen when you left the first time. You take care of yourself now, kitten. I don't want to hear about your untimely death when I see you at those pearly gates. I know you always had trouble with it, but try to live your life all the way through. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me.
Just find something that makes you happy—maybe find yourself someone to settle down with, even—and stick with it. You don't have to fight your wars alone. And you know what? Whenever you need me, I'm going to be right there next to you. You'll do great things, kid. I believe in you, and I bet there's someone else nearby who does, too. So don't be afraid to ask for help. Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself. Don't be afraid to speak out against the hatred you've fought all your life. We're here for you, and we're never giving up on you. All you have to do is keep on going. No matter what happens, just keep putting one foot in front of the other. And when even that's too much to bear, find a shoulder to lean on. I promise things will get better in time, just as long as you keep moving forward.
And don't worry about me. I'm going to set myself up a neat little bookstore, and when it's time for you to leave this life behind, I'll be there to welcome you with open arms. And you'll get there just in time for the grand opening. And it will be hung with beautiful lights, and all our friends will be there, and the shelves will be full of books. Take your time, though. It'll take a while to set up.
I can't wait to see what you'll accomplish. Take care, kiddo. I'm proud of you.
He's pretty sure he's been staring at the paper for over an hour now, but for some reason he can't bring himself to sign—just a little twirl of the pen at the bottom of the page, you've done this a million times—as though he's signing his own death sentence, even if he knows, intellectually, that they're not waiting for him to get his affairs in order. But he's done leaving things only half finished. So he sits, pen clutched in his hand, as the clock strikes the hour, before he finally surrenders the attempt and seals the letter. She'll know who it is anyway.
Knowing you're about to die, it turns out, is nowhere near as calming as they make it out to be, in the books. But at least you don't have to worry about what happens in between. A short walk to clear his head finds him sitting in a nearby park watching the moon's reflection in the water. He's still not sure what draws him here, and he's a bit worried he may never find out, but for now he's content to just sit there and watch the moon set in the reflection of the little pond. He knows he should get some sleep—he has work in the morning, after all—but it doesn't matter so much now, and besides, he's not really tired yet. Maybe he should apologize to Adam for failing to look after her, try to keep old promises one last time before he can't anymore.
But it's too late now. The sun will be rising soon, and he has to be there to open the bookstore for his morning customers. He sighs and trudges back to his home to prepare for the day, fully aware that it's likely his last.
Half the dorm is still fast asleep when she answers the door. Standing in the doorway is a rather unassuming man holding a hefty-looking box. "Special delivery for a, um…" the deliveryman squints at the writing on the package "… Blake Belladonna? Is he here?"
She allows herself a small chuckle at this. "I am she."
She laughs harder as the deliveryman fumbles the information. "Oh, um, I didn't mean, um—not like that, anyway. Uh, oh, right, um, can you sign here please?"
A quick squiggle of her name at the bottom of the sheet and he hands over the package. "Oh, and one last thing." Producing a sealed envelope, he elaborates, "The sender left explicit instructions that you are not to open the box until you have read this letter. So, um," he offers her the envelope, which she accepts. "And, uh, that's it! Have a nice day!" He's not yet out of sight when she closes the door.
The others have woken by the time she finishes the letter, and she blinks away unshed tears in an attempt to hide them from her teammates. She should have realized it wouldn't work.
Looking up, she finds herself face-to-face with a concerned pair of silver eyes. Her gaze continues up to the one asking if she's okay, before turning toward the affection and heartwarming concern radiating from her partner. He was right, she supposes. She does have people who care about her. Her team—her friends believe in her.
And she is home.