I can't let go.
Sam clung stubbornly to the hand he'd reached out to shake--the hand of John Winchester, circa 1978.
In the coming years, this hand would cut his umbilical cord, fill his bottles, dry his tears, show him how to hunt--teaching him the proper way to hold a pistol and decapitate a vampire.
This hand would deliver a punch to his surprised face when Sam proudly announced his scholarship and plans to become a lawyer. This hand would one day summon a yellow-eyed demon, making a fatal deal.
Tears welled.
I can't let go. Not again.