Alright, so I know, I'm horrible and have been taking forever but I have been dealing with some stuff and just got the urge to write this little ficlet. So I hope you guys like it and please review?

Characters belong to CW

Timeline: Just after Season 6

Music: Someone Like You (Cover by Nick Pitera and Adele's version), Back To December (Cover by Jake Coco)

Sam knew he shouldn't have come back to New York, but he'd had this inexplicable need just to see Sarah one last time. It had only been a few weeks since his wall had collapsed at Castiel's hand, Dean was tip toeing around him and Bobby was more prone to sarcastic pity than what he actually needed. Neither of them could understand he just wanted to move on. So, he remembered, remembered all the horrible, nitty gritty, and soul shaking things he'd done and seen. He just wanted things to be like they used too, he needed to believe things could get better despite the horror.

They were looking into a hunt not far from where they'd first met Sarah Blake, and so he'd decided to check on her, as much for her as for himself. He needed to see her, needed to know she was safe, to know she was happy, and to know she was moving on in life blissfully living life without worries or regrets. More than anything he truly needed to see her for himself. He could practically hear her voice in his head, telling him that yes, he'd done bad things, but he wasn't a bad person. Hear her asking him what he was going to do from here, asking how he'd turn the bad into good. More than anything he could remember her belief in him, her voice reminding him that shutting out pain would shut out everything else, he knew exactly what she'd say and do in light of the recent situation. She would be as believing and supportive as she'd been that first date, trusting without an ounce of doubt that he was capable of good no matter the amount of bad. She'd laugh and smile like nothing could be any clearer to her than the simple fact he wasn't as cursed as he believed, and for those few moments it might actually be believable.

Sam was sitting in the local park, arms braced on his knees, as he thought all of this through, trying to decide the best course of action. Short of going to her office he wasn't sure where to see her without being seen himself. And it was almost serendipitous that as he looked up to stand he saw her. It was like the first time all over again, dressed in a smart black skirt and button up blouse she looked every inch the New York business woman, and just as beautiful as she'd been eight years ago. And for those few seconds he felt like everything was right again, maybe it was remembering how firmly she believed in him, knowing she'd beat him with a rolled up newspaper if she ever heard him pitying himself, or perhaps it was seeing how her serene smile lit up her whole face. He was reminded for just a moment that what Dean and he were doing was for a purpose, to give people a chance to live their happy ever after and never know that things went bump in the night. Instinctually he knew to stay sitting on his bench, he'd picked it after all for its location behind a row of greenery and trees, shielding him from most eyes. He knew that should he move she'd likely spot him, and just like the last time he'd checked on her, he didn't want her seeing. It was better for her that way.

"Sam!" For one heart stopping moment Sam froze completely, she was turned in his direction, and when he heard that he was sure she'd seen him. But just as quickly the feeling receded as he watched her drop her briefcase on the ground, bending down on her panty hose clad knees opening her arms wide with a dazzling smile. All in a matter of seconds and just in time to catch the little girl with black hair that ran straight at her, with enough force that she nearly tackled them both. He could hear the laughter of them both as clear as day, and he couldn't tear his eyes away even as Sarah stood up gracefully still clutching the little girl to her tightly. "Ready to go home, baby girl?"

"What about Daddy?"

"He'll be home when you wake up in the morning. Remember?" Sam could see the little girl bob her head twice before she wiggled out of Sarah's arms, he tensed for a second half wondering if the child was trying to make a run for it, before he realized a second figure had come up to the pair. "Bye Pop-Pop!"

Sam couldn't help it, he almost had to grin. Sarah's father looked about as at home in the park as he and Dean had been at the estate sale that first night. When he gave the little girl a hug, a bit awkwardly in Sam's opinion, he said something to Sarah which she responded too with a tired sounding sigh before he walked away without a second glance. Sam was shaking his head in partial wonder, he wanted to shake the old man, he didn't see how lucky he was and how he was throwing it away with his distance with his daughter. He saw, much to his surprise that Sarah rebounded quickly and he bet her daughter hadn't even noticed the haggard look Sarah held for a split second. Instead he watched as she picked the little girl up in one arm grabbing her briefcase with the other hand, a wide smile lighting her face as she teased and laughed with her daughter leaving the park altogether.

Sarah was inclined to believe her high heels were permanently attached to her feet at this point. And she had a sneaking suspicion she was walking like an injured pigeon, which really was a lovely mental image. Unfortunately since getting home from the park there'd been no time for her to change out of her work clothes or slip off her shoes. Between getting Samantha's dinner cooked, eating with her, getting her cleaned up and playing whatever game her imaginative daughter came up with until passing out, all in between conference calls and annoyances from her own father; it was a miracle she was still standing up right. Leaning against the kitchen counter of the now quiet and dark house, Sarah gave a tired sigh slipping off her high heels flexing sore toes as she let her thoughts wander a little. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she just felt like someone was watching her, she'd felt it all afternoon but had ignored it. But now in a silent mostly dark house in the middle of the night, she couldn't help feeling exposed again. And for one brief moment a shudder rippled through her at the possible nightmarish things hiding in the shadows just past her back porch, or as she knew, in her own home. The unsettling feeling, not to mention flashbacks to the things she'd seen and tried to now restrict to only her nightmares, were so intense that she was reaching for the pure silver knife she kept tucked in one of the drawers just in case.

She jumped like a frightened cat when her cell phone went off piercing the still silence of the house. Spying herself in the reflecting glass of her patio doors she had to give a shaky little laugh at her overactive imagination, dropping the knife as she hurried over to grab her phone off the coffee table. "Hello?"

"Ah, Sarah good, glad you're still up. Listen…" Daniel Blake's voice droned on, picking up as if he hadn't started these very instructions over four hours ago in the park. Sarah obligingly listened, and ignored her father's work requests as only a child working for their family could. Even as she booted up her laptop she was rolling her eyes and glancing at the clock on the mantel with a begrudging sigh. It didn't look like she was getting sleep anytime soon. After finally getting her father off the phone, an ear aching thirty minutes later, Sarah gave a little groan putting her head in her hands before buckling down and getting to work. The next blur filled hours were filled with charts, numbers, prices, origin tracking, retail counting, bartering with families, and pleading on her part to get certain pieces in or off the company floor. Her job was never really done, no matter how many hours she put in at the office, luckily she happened to like the business of wheeling and dealing and learning all about the pieces she was in need of.

It was close to two in the morning before the front door lock clicked open and a tall figure shuffled inside with a vain attempt to quiet jingling keys and the sounds of things being put away. Jeremy winced slightly trying to be quiet and not wake his wife or his daughter with his entrance. Carefully he set down a briefcase of paperwork to be done, hanging up his jacket on a coat peg on the wall and quietly slipping his police badge and gun into one of the three house lockboxes. He toed off his shoes before making his way into the house frowning as he saw one of the lights in the living room on. He couldn't help sighing as he saw Sarah, still dressed like she was sitting in her work office in a black dress, earrings and all, but with her hair slightly rumpled and her high heels missing; sprawled on the couch, a file folder on her chest a hand over it fast asleep in the middle of her work. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or call up her father and give him a piece of his mind for working Sarah so hard. Shaking his head he walked around the couch closing her laptop and putting her papers in a pile, easing the folder from her hands and setting it aside, before carefully picking her up, cradling her to his chest.

"Mmm. Jeremy?" Sarah's voice was sleep filled and half mumbled as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck wrapping her arms loosely around his neck in an instinctive gesture.

"No, Julius Cesar come to whisk you away to Rome." He chuckled hitting the lights as he carried her out of the room, pressing a kiss to her rumpled hair heading to the stairs.

"Ah well, let's tell Brutus hello, yeah?"

"We're not on speaking terms." He smiled hearing her sleepy laugh, a low sound noise that sent shivers down his spine in pleasure. Shaking his head some at her, he started up the stairs with her in his arms like she didn't weigh a thing, "Let's go to bed, beautiful."

Sam couldn't put a name to what he was feeling. He'd been crouched amongst the bushes and flowers of a garden that obviously saw a lot of attention, for most of the night. He'd kept telling himself he was going to leave, stop watching like some peeping Tom hoping for something he couldn't have for himself. But he hadn't been able too, he'd just kept watching, like seeing Sarah with her Daughter was the most fascinating thing he'd ever witnessed. And if he were honest with himself, he might say it really was. She was so animated and lively, and moved like a whirlwind, never quit sitting still long enough for anyone to get a peg on her for any expanse of time. Then there'd been watching her work. He didn't know why but watching her work had been almost as enthralling as watching her with her little girl, she put everything into her work, and she was damned good at it. He could tell, just by her expressions alone when something went to her liking or when she was losing a potential bid. He'd been just about to leave when the police car had come, for a split second he wondered if he'd been spotted somehow, but then relaxed as he noticed the lights weren't on, and further when he saw the man had a key into the house.

Here came the real dilemma. Because watching this other man walking into her house, seeing the look of unfettered and unabashed love on his face when he gingerly took care of her things before lifting her into his arms, it was like Sam's heart was being torn in two. On the one hand he wanted to kill the man for touching her, for laughing with her, for being so close to her and having his private little jokes with her as he carried her off. But on the other hand, the side of him that was tormented and in excruciating pain, he was happy. He was unhappy that he felt so happy. Because as sadistic as it was to his own mental state, as much as he wanted to hurt this man who got to take care of her when she fell asleep while working, who could hold her and make her smile even in her sleep just because he was there, he was exponentially happy that she had someone. So, even though he knew he needed to leave, that it was past time for him to leave, he just couldn't. He was stuck sitting with a heart full of emotions he couldn't immediately identify. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to be hurt, he wanted to be happy for her, he wanted to not lose her, but all at the same time he was happy he'd let her go enough to be free and find something he could never be: there for her.

The house had been quiet, the lights off for a good half hour before Sam was able to move and make his way from the yard, but on his way he paused spying something odd in the window, walking closer unable to help it he spied a propped up package wrapped in brown packing paper, unassuming and completely ordinary with an envelope taped on its front. What stopped him was the elegant script flowing across the envelope face that read "Romeo". He didn't question it this time, instead he carefully opened the window, finding that it slid open easily enough, something he wasn't expressly happy over, picking up the package he sat back on the grass once more carefully opening the envelope and reading the words so carefully written by hand in the same elegant and flowing script.

"Romeo, Romeo

Where for art though, Romeo?

I should be mad at you. Some nights I start to go to sleep and just curse your name and everything you are for never coming back to me. For just leaving on a lie, because even though I knew it was a lie, it still stung. But know this, as often as I want to go to sleep mad at you, I can't. I know now, why you did it, and I know that thinking you could be anything but a self sacrificing hero would be asking too much. And I know you're reading this now and thinking that isn't you at all. But even if you never remember a thing I say, or my face or anything about me, remember this: I will always believe in you, and always believe in the good man you are. I want you to know I'm not mad at you, a little cross sometimes, but never mad. I want to thank you, thank you for steering my life onto the path I lead now. I need you to know that I loved you, my Romeo, as silly as it seems I truly did. And I always will. You will always be my Romeo, and you will always be my first love that I never could have. We are our own Shakespearean tragedy, never meant to be. I want to ask you a favor, promise you will never forget me? Never forget that no matter how dark your days become you will always have someone who believes in you until the bitter end? That no matter where your path goes, you are my hero. The world may never know what you and your brother do, but I always will, and my daughter, will always know that the world is a little safer because of people like you and your brother. So I want you to keep this as a gift, and only ask that someday it make its way back to my daughter, that way I will know what's happened to you. So please, promise you won't forget me? Because I will never forget you.

Yours always, Juliet."

Sam cleared his throat slightly as he refolded the letter, tucking it into his pocket before opening the package on his lap. Once the paper was removed he sat speechless for a few minutes simply staring, sitting in his hands was a first edition, leather bound, hand printed, Romeo and Juliet. Spying a card sticking out from behind the cover he eased it out and had to clap a hand over his mouth to not outright laugh. She'd written down a recipe card, for Mini-Quiche. He didn't know if Dean would remember and appreciate the reference, but he knew what it meant. That she cared about them both. Just like he knew what she meant by giving the book back to her daughter someday, returning it meant only one thing, he was no longer alive. He didn't know how, but he did know he would honor this one last request, and so carefully rewrapped the book, getting up he hastily scribbled something a bit of scrap from the wrappings, slipping it in the house before easing the window closed. This time when he walked away, he did so with both a heavy and peaceful heart. She may not know it, but she'd both salved his heart and given him the boost he needed to face what was coming. He may have set her free, but he doubted he'd ever be free of her or her influence. And he was content and happy with that, because he knew she would be happy for the rest of her life, and he only hoped it was a long and peacefully normal and boring.

Sarah was not a coffee drinker, but Jeremy was. And just because she didn't drink it, didn't mean the smell wasn't soothing. And so, she got up early, blurry eyed and half awake to set the pot and start getting breakfast ready for everyone. She was still yawning as she shuffled into the kitchen, and started pouring the coffee grounds into the machine for her husband; she clicked the coffee pot on and frowned as she spied a scrap of paper on the counter where there was usually a wrapped book. A wrapped book that everyone knew not to touch under any circumstance. Frowning, almost afraid to see what it was she unfolded the paper carefully, her eyes watering a little at the message written on it.

"Never- Romeo. P.S. Lock your windows, PLEASE."

Sarah wiped at her eyes as she gave a small little laugh, immediately reaching out to flip closed the lock on the window, smiling as she felt arms wrap around her waist. "Sarah? Is everything ok?"

Jeremy frowned a little seeing his wife's eyes watering as she tucked something into her pocket, he noted the mysterious package on the counter was suddenly not there and he had to wonder if someone had, stupidly, broken into their house and stolen it. That might account for her tears.

"Everything is perfect." He was confused for a moment before seeing her wide smile as she kissed his cheek, shaking his head at her sudden emotional turn about.

Sarah knew she couldn't explain her emotions to her husband, but she did know that for the first time in nearly eight years, she could breathe easy and feel happy. Because the simple message Sam had left meant everything to her. It was his promise fulfilled, and a new one made. He'd come back to check on her one last time, and promised in his own way, to never forget her. And for her, that meant everything was right with the world again, and she could focus on being happy with her family, and wait for the day when this last promise would be fulfilled. Hopefully, not for many years.