Here's part two! I hope you enjoy it. I loved the reviews, they were so sweet.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but I do own a very creative imagination.

Sam Winchester sat on his bed, his hands balled at his sides, staring down at the envelope.

Dean was dead. His big brother was dead. It was so typical Dean to think about Sam first, himself second. Somehow he knew that this was Dean last letter, the one he'd arranged to send to Sam after he died. Tying up the loose ends.

Sam closed his eyes and breathed heavily. He opened the letter, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the oh-so-familiar writing. That writing, which had appeared on ever report card and trip letter, on every Christmas card and scrawled message. His heart ached when he saw it.

Dear Sammy,

First of all, I'm sorry. If you're reading this it means I'm dead, and if I'm dead it means you're hurting, so I'm sorry. You know I'm not much of a writer, but I'm laid up in hospital after a nasty werewolf attack with a broken leg, so I thought I'd write to you.

There's a retired hunter in California who owes me a favour, so I'm going to pass these to him to give to you when I die. And if his heart stops beating before mine, you'll never read this at all.

You know in that song by Kansas, Carry On My Wayward Son? Listen to that. It'll save me writing a massive soppy letter straight out of a chick flick about how you shouldn't just give up and all that.

This is what I want you to do. Go to school. Do lawyery stuff. Find a girl (or guy) that makes you happy. Get a house with a white picket fence. Get a dog. Call the dog Colin. Don't forget the salt lines. Do all the stuff that makes you happy, and enjoy yourself. You always were the smart one, so go and be great.

I'm not asking you to forget me. Cause if it was the other way around there was no way in hell I would forget you. What I am asking is for you to give me five minutes every day. Listen to a Led Zep song, take a drive in the Impala, drink some whisky, do something that reminds you of me. I want a good five minutes when you think about us growing up, when we took a trip round to Bobby's, think about the talks we had and the talks we maybe should have had. I want you to remember me for those full five minutes, no distractions. But the rest of the time is all yours, and I want you to make the most out of every second.

The Impala should be at Bobby's, and when you can afford it you can go and pick it up. It's yours. Take good care of it, and if you install an iPod dock I'll come back and haunt you.

There's a pretty nurse on my ward called Cathy, and she's coming my way, so I'll make this short.

At a risk of it sounding really cheesy, I love you Sammy. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and don't you forget it. I'm proud of you, Samantha, for standing up for yourself and doing what you want. I guess I'm sorry for not understanding about Stanford, but I can't protect you there. You, dad and the car are the only things I have in this world, and the thought of losing you made me react badly. I'm sorry, and if I could go back and change it I would.

When you took your first steps, and when you said your first word, I was there for you. And I was so proud of you. But now it seems like when you walk up the aisle and bring home your new baby for the first time, I won't be there in person. But I will be there, watching over you, looking out for my little brother, even if he is 70 feet tall.

Dean Winchester

Sam didn't realise he was crying until little wet patches started to appear on the letter. He moved it out of the way and dried his tears.

His brother was gone. And he ached for him. He kept expecting to look up and find his pain in the ass big brother standing in front of him, ready to make fun of him for crying like a girl. Sam didn't care. He just wanted his brother back.

He picked up the third letter, wondering briefly what Jess's letter said. Scrawled on the front in too familiar messy handwriting were the words To Sammy's kid/s, from Uncle Dean.

More tears started to stream down his face. His kids would never get to meet their uncle. His friends would never be able to meet his brother, Jess wouldn't. So much for his ridiculous idea that one day Dean would turn up out of the blue, meeting his friends and sleeping in the spare room of their apartment.

Suddenly Dean's voice appeared in his head, as clear as if Dean was right beside him. Your five minutes are up, Sammy. Dean's last wish had been for Sammy to move on, live his life. Well, his last wish was probably that he would survive, but this came at a close second.

He stood up, some feeling returning and pushing out the darkness that had swallowed him whole. He pushed open the door, after placing the letters carefully in a draw.

"Jess?" His voice cracked when she appeared, looking gorgeous despite her red, swollen eyes. Her light blue eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

"Sam." She flew towards him, and he pulled her into his arms, collapsing on the sofa. She buried her head into his chest and cried, and he let himself cry with her. It hurt so much, but it was better than being an empty shell.

Even from beyond the grave, Dean had somehow managed to fix his little brother once again.