Bobby stepped into the room where the youngest and now only Winchester was sitting, and was saddened by what he saw. It had been almost two weeks since the hellhounds came, and, ever since then, Sam has spent almost all of his time in that room, just staring at the wall. Bobby knew what it was like to lose a loved one, but he didn't know what he could say to make the kid feel better. Even though losing his wife had hurt like hell, he wasn't as close to her as the Winchester boys were. He knew Sam felt all alone, both of his father figures gone, and he had no idea how to cheer him up. He did know however that he needed to try.

"Hey Sam, I'm going to the store do you want anything?" Sam just shook his head, eyes never leaving their spot on the wall. Bobby sat down on the bed next to Sam and tried to get through to him. "Sam, I'm worried about you. It's been almost two weeks and you've barely left this bed."

"Dean is gone! What am I supposed to do? Go around and pretend that nothing happened? Is that you want me to do?" Sam yelled, turning to face the older hunter.

Bobby was shocked by the usually kind Winchester's outburst, and didn't know what to say back. Apparently the shock was obvious because Sam instantly calmed down. "Look Bobby, I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do."

"Write a letter."

"Write a letter? Write a letter to who?"

"Dean."

"This is a joke, right?"

"No Sam. When people have trouble letting go of a lost loved one, they sometimes write letters to them, and then burn them, hoping that it'll reach them, wherever they are."

Sam sat there for a minute thinking, then said, "I don't know."

"What do you have to lose?"

"I guess." There was a pause for a minute while Sam thought, then he said, "Thanks Bobby. For everything."

"No problem kid. Hey, do you think you could do me a favor?"

"Sure, what is it?"

Bobby smiled and said, "Take a shower."

Sam smiled back and said, "Sure Bobby."

"Ok. Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

With that, Bobby turned to leave and Sam dug through his bag for some clean clothes. He eventually found some that didn't smell bad, and headed to the bathroom.

Sam hadn't realized how much he needed a shower until he actually got in. The warmth of the water rolling down his naked, abused body was such a welcoming feeling after what had happened two weeks ago, and he didn't want to get out. Once he was done, and guessed that the hot water was almost gone, he got out and looked for things he would need to write his letter. When he had everything he needed, he went and sat down at Bobby's table.

He really didn't know what to write, so, instead of thinking about what to write, he just wrote.

Dear Dean,

I feel kinda stupid writing to dead person, but Bobby told me that it'd be a good way to get things off my chest, so here goes.

I know you thought I was mad at you, and I guess at the time I kinda was, but in reality I was never mad at you, I was just worried. Okay, maybe I was a little mad at you, but mainly I was just scared. I didn't want to even think about a life without my big brother there. My big brother to watch my back, keep me safe, and even annoy the hell out of me. You were my hero, Dean, the one I always looked up to.

I understand why you did it, but did you ever stop to think about me? I mean, I know you were thinking about me, but did you ever stop to think about how I would feel? I know how you felt when you found out that Dad did it for you; did you really think that I'd feel any different? You, Dad, Jess, Mom, everyone I've ever really loved is dead. And now we can't even have a chick flick to discuss it.

Dude, every time I close my eyes, and sometimes even when I don't, all I can see is the look in your eyes while the hellhounds tore you apart. All I can hear is you screaming. All I can feel is the complete and utter hopelessness I felt as I saw you get ripped up right in front of my eyes, unable to do a thing. All I can smell is the sulfur coming from Lilith as she watches, pure joy in her eyes. All I can taste is the salt from the tears running into my mouth. And all I can hear is you screaming, the most fearful and helpless sound I've ever heard.

You were always there Dean, whenever Dad or I needed you. You did whatever was asked, and you never complained. I'm sorry that I asked so much of you, and I'm sorry I never appreciated you as much as I should have. Dad and I, we could get wrapped up in what we were hunting, but you were always there to help us through. You were the quiet one that acted as our voice of reasoning when we needed it, and I will never forget you. There aren't words strong enough to tell you how much I loved you, how much I respected you, but I'll give it my best try. Okay, this is getting to be too much of a chick flick, so I'll wrap it up. I know this is too little too late, but I just wanted you to know, I love you Dean.

Your little brother,

Sammy

When he was done writing, Sam put the pen down, folded up the paper, put it in an envelope, and headed outside. He walked about ten feet from the house, then grabbed the light out of his pocket and lit the letter on fire. He watched it burn, dropping it only when there was no where else for him to hold onto it. He was surprised, but he did feel better. He hadn't even cried while it was burning. He was about to turn around and head back in, but he heard a truck and knew it was Bobby.

"You're looking better," Bobby yelled from his truck.

"Yeah, smelling better too," Sam joked.

"It good to see you smiling again, kid," Bobby said, stepping out of the truck. "Hey, wanna make yourself useful and grab some stuff?"

"Sure thing Bobby," Sam said, heading over to the truck. He grabbed three bags while Bobby grabbed two bags and the mail, and they headed into the house in satisfied silence.

They went into the kitchen and put the groceries on the table. Sam started to put stuff in the fridge while Bobby looked through his mail. Sam looked at him, and saw a shocked expression on the older man's face. "What is it Bobby?" Sam asked.

"It's a letter. For you."

"For me? Who's it from?"

"Dean."

* * *

"What is it Bobby?" Sam asked.

"It's a letter. For you."

"For me? Who's it from?"

"Dean."

Sam froze as soon as the word left Bobby's lips. Dean wrote me a letter? But how? When? Sam was so wrapped up in his thoughts, it took him a minute to realize that Bobby was handing him the letter. He took it, not sure what to do. He wanted to read it, but, at the same time, he knew it would just make him upset again. After a couple minutes of internal arguing, he decided that he would read it now. He would have read it out loud, but he could find his voice, so he read it to himself.

Dear Sammy,

I really am sorry that I made the deal, I wish there had been some other way, but I want you to know that I would do it again. I know you've been mad at me, for not talking about it and not trying harder to find a way out, but I couldn't. If I did, you would have died, which is exactly what I wanted to prevent. I know it sounds selfish, but I couldn't live with you dead. Kneeling there in the mud, watching the life leave your eyes, was the worst thing I've ever witnessed, and I couldn't accept that it was true. I refused to believe that you were gone. It wasn't until later, sitting in that room, staring at your pale, lifeless body, that I thought of the crossroad demon. I'm sorry Sammy, but I couldn't live without you. After all, it was my job to protect you. You know, Dad never had to tell me to take care of you, I just knew. From the moment that Dad put you in my arms and told me to go, I knew that you were my responsibility. I know I was mad when we found out Dad gave his soul for me, but I didn't really understand until you died in my arms. You see, your as much my kid a I am Dad's. I've taken care of you since I was four years old, and I must say I did a damn good job. (Did I make you smile, Sammy)? You've probably been sitting there in Bobby's house, barely moving, not to mention stinking up the place. (It's okay to smile, you know I am). I want you to be happy Sammy. I want you to live the life you had at college. I want you to know that I was never mad at you for going to college. I wanted you to be happy, to do what you want. Not many people could get into such a great school with a full ride Sammy. I always knew you would be able to do great things Sammy, please don't let my death hold you back. Okay, well this has got to be one of the longest paragraphs ever, so I think I'll wrap it up. Just remember: be happy, live a good, long life, and take car of my car, or I will haunt your ass. So, make me proud, (well, prouder than I already am), and remember, you're never alone. I'll always be with you, as long as you're alive, I will be too. I love you, Sammy.

-Dean

P.S. Go look in the glove box.

By the time he was done reading, Sam was crying. He knew he would end up crying ever before he read it, but he was glad that he had. Sam handed the letter to Bobby and then ran out to the Impala. He looked in the glove box, and what he saw made him cry even more. There, among the scattered mess, were two pictures, one of Sam's first day of kindergarten and one of his high school graduation. Sam couldn't believe that Dean had actually kept them with him all that time. He was about to close it when he saw something glistening in the light. He figured it was just a random bullet or something, but curiosity got the best of him and he reached in to grab it.

What he found was a sticky note attached to a necklace. Dean's necklace. The sticky note read, "I love you, Bitch." He looked at the necklace and saw a single word engraved into the back; Bitch.

By this time Bobby was standing there with him, and both of the men stood there, thinking about what the future was going to be like without smartass, clever, loving Dean Winchester.