It's cool out now. The temperature over the past few weeks dropped, sending the trees into an early fall. Leaves crunch under Sam's feet as he walks carefully over the grass, picking his way through tombstones. Hands in his pockets, he stops, eyes scanning the name on the headstone. Date of birth, date of death. Your death. And though you have the tombstone and the casket and the full funeral, you're not really there. They gave you a hunter's funeral. Burned your bones. Nothing's in the casket but some ashes and dreams that never got fulfilled. Sam stands for a moment, silent, before clearing his throat and rubbing a hand across his face.
"Hey, beautiful. It's been a while." He stops, his jaw working to find words that he can't force himself to speak. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowers himself to the ground, brushing his fingertips across your name. "Dean's, uh. He's good. He wanted to come today, but he couldn't. You know him. He was never good at this kind of thing. And he blames himself a lot. He's the one that had to tell your mom." Silence again. As if he's waiting for you to answer him back. To assure him that you're not mad at either one of them. When he opens his mouth to speak again, his words are choked with tears.
"It's not the same without you. I wake up sometimes and reach over to grab my phone so I can see if you have any leads. And then I remember, and it's-" he stops, running a hand over his face to catch the tears. "Anyway. Garth says hello. He's chasing a wendigo in Indiana. Charlie's at Comic Con, but sends her best wishes. So it's just me this time." Sam stops for a moment, working to catch his breath, his eyes scanning the cemetery for any other signs of life. After a moment, he turns slowly to look at your headstone. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. Not Dean's. I was supposed to watch you more closely, and I didn't and you stepped right in the line of fire and…And now you're here. And I can't do anything about it…I can't save you from it either."
Sam sits in silence for several long minutes, working to push back the waves of grief washing over his bones. Losing Jessica hurt. Losing Bobby hurt. But losing you, on pure accident, on not being able to protect you. That's something Sam has never gotten over. Slowly, he turns to look at the headstone again, sighing softly. "I miss you. I wish you were here." And then leaning forward, he kisses the headstone gently and stands. Turning to walk back to the car, he stops suddenly and turns back to the headstone with a half-smile gracing his lips. "I almost forgot." Slipping his hand in his pocket, he pulls out five seashells. One for every year you've been gone. He had always promised they'd take a vacation and take you to the beach. Unfortunately, you never made it.
Placing the shells carefully across the top of your stone, Sam lets his hand rest on the top for a moment. "I'll be back next year, I promise. And I don't know if somewhere, if you are anywhere, if you can hear me. But if you can, I love you." Sam turns regretfully and makes his way back to his car, leaving you where you stood behind him, watching the entire scene unfold. As the wind swirls leaves around your feet before kicking them into the air, you whisper, hoping somehow, the wind will catch your words, carrying them to Sam's ears, "I love you too." And when he hesitates, for a fraction of a second, you almost believe he's going to turn back. And then, as quietly as he came, he's gone.