Author's Note: An angsty story based on a monologue I wrote which was in part based on the Avenger's story 'Dear Natasha' by remembering-budapest and partly on Sam and Jess.
Sam picked up the letter, hands shaking as he read his scrawling writing.
Dear Jess,
You look really nice today, did you do something new with you hair? Anyways, I was wondering if you might want to go out with me Tuesday? If you want to, that is.
Let me know,
Sam
The paper crumbled in his hands.
Dear Jess,
I had a really nice time. Did you have a nice time? I hope you did. I hate to bother you, tell me if I am.
You look really nice today.
See you soon?
Sam
He picked up another.
Dear Jess,
Want to come to the dance with me?
Yes?
Sam
His eyes lost focus.
Dear Jess,
I had a great time. You're eyes, they were like, uh, damn. I'm not poetic, I guess. But I had fun. I won't send this, so I can say whatever I want. So, Jess, I love you.
Right, bye,
Sam
His legs gave way.
Dear Jess,
I know you want to meet my family, just, not yet? Please. It's...hard.
Miss you,
Sam
As he read more and more of the hastily scribbled notes he felt himself fall deeper and deeper into the abyss of her absence.
Dear future Mrs. Winchester,
How are you today? I should be getting home early from work; I'll see you then?
Love,
Sam
Tears blurred the ink.
Dear Jess,
Dean and I are just finishing up here; I'll be home soon.
Love,
Sam
And that was the last of them.
Sam fell to the ground. He remained there for countless hours. The tears dripped down his face in the same way her blood had on that fateful night. The emptiness threatened to consume him. He could feel it deep inside of him, lurking, waiting for a chance to devour him completely and leave him a shaking, miserable shell.
Finally, red-eyed and resolute, he dragged himself to the desk. Slumped there, he worked up the willpower required to put pen to paper.
Slouched so, he reflected on his time with Jess. Every happy moment, every argument, everything was there before him, waiting to stab him with its cruel beauty. Crouched in the recesses of his memory, it waited with the same crooked smile, the same heartbreaking face that he had grown to love: the face that would never smile again.
And he wrote. He wrote and he wrote and he wrote. He wrote until the words were meaningless sentences, pushed together in his sadness without thought.
Dear Jess,
I met you on January 23rd 2002. It was raining. You had on the most atrocious orange boots. I remember that. I remember it like I remember the way you scrunched your nose in concentration. The way you took everything and made it yours. I remember the day I proposed and your face lit up like Christmas had come early. Jess, you looked so beautiful on that day. You always made me feel so whole, so complete. I guess that's why I'm this way now. It's like you gave me everything worth having and then took it away in an instant. Like everything that ever mattered to me disappeared. Jess; thank you for giving me that, even if I couldn't keep it. Thank you.
The tears were done now, spent. All that remained was the emptiness, a simultaneously hot and cold feeling hole in the pit of his stomach threatening to rip him in half. Hands shaking, he continued writing.
There's so much I miss about you, your teasing, your tears. Dear Jess, I remember you. Dear Jess, I loved you.
Dear Jess-
And just like that, it was over. As Sam stared down at his scrawling writing, he realized that she was well and truly gone. That he couldn't bring her back. And just like that, the hole inside of him lessened and he found that he could bear its burden of suffering. He could go on living, even if Jess could not.
Dear Jess, goodbye.