Ahh this has probably already been done a few times but oh well. I feel like doing it too.

All rights belong to Supernatural,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Here's hoping I don't screw this up.

Dear Cas,

I don't even know how to start this. I've spent the last twenty minutes staring at a blank sheet of paper thinking how stupid it would be to write down "Hi! How are you? Things over here are good."

That's not me, that's not you.

Sam told me to write to you, saying it would "help both of us" whatever that means. I think he's fed up with me sitting around the house doing nothing, or leaving for long periods of time and not telling him where I've gone. I'm the big brother and yet he's the one taking care of me. I hate that I'm putting him through this, I hate that I can't do anything about it, I hate that every time I think of you I'm back to square one and any progress I've made is gone. I'm even starting to hate that I even met you in the first place.

It surprises me that I can still remember the day we met, I wasn't exactly in the best state of mind. Rent was due and I had to go home and tell Sammy that I just hadn't made enough that day to cover it. He had told me so many times before that if I wasn't making enough money, he would drop out of college and work full time to make up the difference, but I never wanted to have to do that to him. So there I was, feeling pretty sorry for myself and thinking the only cure-all for this situation was a bottle of rum. But I couldn't afford that either, so a cheap cup of coffee would have to suffice.

And there you were, in your navy blue uniform, looking out of place at a cafe more frequented by people like 's what first drew me to you, how oblivious you were to all that stares of the people around you. You were some rich cop on the wrong side of the tracks, but you were also the kind of guy who would buy coffee off the black market if someone told you it was good there.

To this day I don't know why you spared me a second glance. I was wearing my old leather jacket, a pair of jeans still covered in engine oil from work, and I hadn't even remembered to shave that morning. That's what happens when you work a night and day shift back to back. But for some reason you looked at me and didn't look away, and before I knew it we were huddled around an old milk crate with a dirty cloth on top (their version of a table), drinking coffee (you bought it), and talking as if we knew each other for years. I remember we talked about everything, from your work to mine, all about your big family and then I told you about Sam. At some point my financial troubles came up and you offered more than once to give me rent money, but I refused. Dad always told me never to accept handouts, it made a person look weak.

We must've been talking for hours when your cell phone rang, interrupting a story you were telling me about your sister. You had told me earlier you were on call and I was surprised we had even gotten in as long of a conversation as we had. You shook my hand goodbye and ran off to your car really fast, something I didn't understand until I looked down and saw the wad of folded up bills in my hand. You didn't know it then, but you truly saved my life that day. You had given me enough to pay rent and then some. Sammy didnt need to leave school, we had ourselves something other than a gas station meal for dinner that night, and I vowed to myself that I would find you and thank you for what you had done. It's amazing how such a small gesture had such a big impact on my life.

I think I'm gonna end this letter here, my hand is sore, it's getting dark out, and thinking back on all this is bringing my headache back. I'll to write to you as much as I can but Cas,

I didn't think it would be so hard writing to a ghost.

Yours always,

Dean.