The Key To Forever.
Dean still had the horsemen's rings in his jacket pocket as he slid into the driver's seat of the Impala. Cas and Bobby had gone off, but Dean sat in the Impala and looked at the steering wheel.
Shock was still washing away, leaving the empty hole of nothingness. He had covered it up so well with Sam. His laugh, his smile, his eyes, his everything. But now that Sam wasn't here, what did Dean have?
Memories? Sam's research? Sam's laptop? Sam's clothes? None of those things compared.
Dean sat there and slowly turned his head to the passenger seat.
Sammy.
Flashes of memories pour through Dean's mind.
Sam sleeping there, Sam reading my torchlight, Sam singing off-key, Sam leaning over to kiss Dean.
Tears sprung into Dean's eyes. This isn't happening, he thought to himself, but a quiet voice in his mind told him otherwise. No, it said, you know what happened Dean.
He breathed hard, trying to keep it together. He scrubbed a hand across his face and when he opened his eyes, he noticed a piece of paper sticking out from the glove compartment.
He reached across and opened the compartment, and a letter dropped out.
Dean picked it up and turned it over. A smile white envelope, with two words on it: For Dean.
In Sam's handwriting.
Dean flipped it over and opened the letter and a key dropped onto his lap. He looked at it and it had a small sticker saying, 'trunk'.
He put it aside and unfolded the letter. It wasn't long, but as soon as Dean saw the handwriting, his heart broke more.
Dean,
There is so much I want to tell you right now. I'm sitting here, asking myself what I would tell you if I ever had to write this letter, and you know what, there's only one thing I can think of: I hate you.
I hate your perfect face. I hate your leather jacket. I hate your eyes; your smile; your hair. I hate your laugh and how you wink at me, I hate the way you sing in the shower and in the car. I hate your hands, I hate your body. I hate everything you are right now.
You know why?
Cause I don't get to have that anymore. After today, I don't get to have you anymore. I would give up all the happiness in the world, I would give up the fight and let the world burn to have you again. That's all I want.
But I have to let you go.
I don't want to, I really don't. but I have to.
But Dean, I wan- no, I need you to do some things for me okay. I need you to do these things for me.
Dean flipped over the paper to the next page, and he found a list of things there. The first thing he read made him smile despite himself.
Dean, I swear if you don't do each and every one of these things, I WILL come back and kick your ass.
Keep in touch with Bobby. – I know you and him had a falling out, but he's the closest thing you have to family Dean.
Don't you DARE throw my books out. (Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Ah, Sammy…")
Go back to Lisa. (He stared at this. What…? But he read on anyway).
Stop eating so many cheeseburgers, Dean, you're going to kill yourself.
Live.
Dean, that last one. Live Dean, please. Once I'm gone, you take as much time as you need. You do what you have to do, but for me, do me this one thing in my memory. Live. Not for me, not for the sake of living, but live for you.
Live for the times we had together, live for the times coming after this.
I love you, Dea, always. Even though I'm not there to say it to you, chick-flick moment or not, you remember that I love you.
Always and forever,
Sam.
He couldn't do it anymore. Tears were flowing freely and he threw the letter aside.
Dean put his head against the wheel of the car and he sobbed. He called out for Sam, he cursed every cuss he knew, but nothing helped.
Finally, the sobs died down to an occasional sniff and Dean wiped a hand over his face.
He glanced over at the letter laying there, looking so innocent, but Dean regarded it as a poisonous snake. Then he saw the glint of the key.
He took it and turned it over in his fingers a few times before getting out of the car and going over to the trunk.
He opened it and found a small metal box there with a lock he guessed fit the key.
There was a label on the box. BURN THESE. Don't open it until you have a fire going.
Dean was confused for a minute, but he looked up and around for some wood. Soon there was a fire crackling and Dean was sitting next to it, looking at the box on his lap.
It was about the size of a shoe box, but Dean felt the invisible weight. He knew that he wasn't going to like what he found.
The clicked the box open and when he saw what was inside, his breath caught in his throat.
"Awh, Sam… no…"
Inside the box, there was an assortment of pictures they had taken, notes they had left each other, receipts from their favorite restaurants and right at the bottom, the amulet Sam gave him. The amulet that Dean had thrown away.
His breath came out stuttered as his quivering fingers sifted through the things.
Slowly, he lifted the first photo, both of them in a motel room in Tennessee. He remembered that night. Sam had just bought the Polaroid camera, and this was their first picture; the both of them, locked lips and the smiling through the kiss.
Dean's heart ached worse than ever.
How could he burn these. These are their memories together. This is all the proof that Sam and him had something together. This is the proof that Sam… had been alive at all.
Then he noticed another piece of paper. He didn't recognize it, but he opened it and he smiled at what he read.
Dean. You promised me you would do these things. Don't be a jerk.
"Bitch," he whispered and shook his head, eyebrows creased.
"Okay, Sammy. I will"
Dean drove off in the Impala later, wiping his eyes, making his way to Bobby's house.
Back in the graveyard, the box was empty, the ground littered with ashes.
