In a way,

it was never

real.

- Persona, 1966

He got the letter three days ago.

'Meet me at our tree.'

His hands shook, heart picking up pace in his chest because he knew that handwriting, he knew the perfume that lingered against rhe parchment.

It was her.

'Don't tell Dean.'

His stomach had dropped like a ton of bricks fell on him, hesitating but ultimately giving in to her wishes. It would be for the best anyway, didn't need to reopen old wounds.

He was just recovering.

So Sam told Dean he was going for groceries at the health food store and just like Sam predicted, Dean rolled his eyes and said he would pass. A theee hour drive alone was maddening to Sam, he was so used to driving with his loud, obnoxious older brother.

But he was also nervous.

He was jumped and his foot twitched on the gas peddle, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel like his life depended on it.

It was a Japanese maple that had no business on the side of a road in Kansas.

He pulled up to a rusted gate, pocketing his keys and locking the car door behind him. Wind was strong today and it was a force as he approached the figure with long, ink-black hair that sat on a crumbling bench beneath the maple. He stopped a few feet behind her, watching her hair carry with the wind, scars peeking over her right shoulder exposed by her thin straps.

She was obviously taller than when he had last seen her; that all seemed like a distant dream until he got that letter.

Her head turned slightly to the left. "You can sit sown Sam, I don't bite." Anymore.

He cleared his throat and walked around to the front of her. "If I sit on that, it'll finally crumble."

She chuckled, turning those eyes up to him. The sight made him queasy, the unnatural coloring of gray and red. "You probably right. . ." she trailed off.

They say in that silence for a long time, until the wind roared around them, shaking loose leaves from above their heads. They twirled down to the dead grass around their feet, deep crimson.

"Are you coming home?" Sam broke the silence.

Her entire body stiffened and she closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Sam," she murmured, fucking her hair behind her ear; she looked back up to him, but he couldn't make eye contact. "How is he, Sam?"

That drew up a heavy sigh from him. "He's better, seems integrated with the spell."

She nodded. "Good, good. . .it would break if he saw me, most likely. Its strong. . .but not that strong. It would be too much for him."

Sam nodded this time, shaking his head abruptly. He shouldn't have come, he couldn't handle the memories himself but it would be worse for Dean considering their involvement with each other. Someone had to make sure Dean didn't see her anyway, what if they both had undergone the spell and accidently crosses paths one day?

Sam knew she wouldn't allow that anyway, it was a miracle she was already this close.

"That's all you came here for?" Sam arched an eyebrow at her. "You swore you wouldn't come back to Kansas."

She shook her head and stood; God, her hair was so long now. "I just. . .I had to know, Sam. I had to. . .make sure he was okay." She bowed her head. "Its lonely out here, doing all of this. . ." her shoulders trembled for a moment.

And then her head snapped up, and she was smiling that sweet, sad smile he knew so well.

It was like his breath was snatched away.

Sam didn't love her, no she was as good as family to him, but she had brought so many good moments to their lives that he couldn't just forget how much she meant to him. To them, to him and Dean, even to Charlie and Castiel.

"Come home, Andy."

She immediately shook her head. "I'm sorry Sam." She reached her arms up, her toes dangling off the ground by inches as she hugged him around the neck. "I can't." She kissed his cheek and dropped down. "Goodbye, Sam," she murmured, turning her back to him and beginning to walk away. "Take care of Dean for me."

Sam watched her leave, a small girl wandering off into the unknown. "Always."