A/N: When I started writing this, I did not plan on it being as long as all the other chapters, but I don't regret it and neither will any of you. Enjoy…

BTW: This chapter is titled after The Art of Letting You Go by Tori Kelly.

Chapter 6: The Art of Letting Go

Thursday couldn't come soon enough. When Dean and I got back to the motel, Dad still hadn't gotten back yet, much to our relief. It was nearing one in the morning, and he wouldn't be too happy if he found out I had been out at that time of night. Lead or not. And I was not in the mood to fight with him again.

John Winchester is the most protective person one will ever meet when it comes to the safety of his children. The only person close to being as protective as my father was my eldest brother, but Dean's not a parent and hasn't experienced the same things as Dad. Hasn't seen all the things on hunts as Dad. He made damn sure that there would be things that his son wouldn't have to see unless absolutely necessary. And being the youngest and only minor left means that I get the blunt of the overprotectiveness from both men.

I know why they do it too. Ever since that night all of those months ago, even though U can hunt now, I know that they have gotten worse because of our missing piece. I know they mean well, but it pisses me off sometimes, the way they treat me. Sometimes I don't think they realize that I'm not that quiet, antisocial little girl I was before Sam left. I'm still quite at times, sure, but damn it I can handle myself. One would think after all the cases I've solved on my own and all the times I have saved both of them – once even on the last hunt we were on in Nevada – but they still look at me like I haven't done any of that.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm good enough. As good as him. I wonder if the fact that I'm not him means that my brother and father think less of me. I used to just believe that they resented me because I was a morbid reminder of the woman they both loved and adored with everything they had. Then he convinced me they were more worried about my safety and well-being than anything else. It was then that I saw it in their eyes when they thought I wasn't paying attention as their gazes rested on me for a little too long in a way that let me see the worry shining in their green eyes. I heard it in their hushed whispers when Sam and I were supposed to be sleeping. How Dad would tell Dean to do whatever it took to protect us. How nothing was more important that us and our safety.

Even after all of those clear signs that I had nothing to fear of my family's love for me, I still didn't feel as though they had fully accepted me in the way our family accepts one another.

Hunting is our way of life. Has been since Mom, continues to be even if Sam refuses to be a part of it, and probably will be a part of the lives of his kids, mine, Dean's, and that's just saying any of us get that far.

But still, some part of me, even if my family won't say it to my face, doesn't feel comfortable here anymore. Dad and I butt heads almost as bad as he and Sam used to, and while I'm helping out with hunting, I can tell that my father and eldest brother don't really need me all that much. Maybe in the beginning, just after Sam left, but now I'm not so sure. My attitude leaves much to be desired, my hunting habits are almost too consistent, but I should get the benefit of the doubt there because Dad did the same thing when Sam left.

And another thing, I think Dad and Dean can tell something is bothering me. And by something, I mean Sam. Ever since we got here, I've been snappy and irritable, especially towards them. I don't mean to be; I don't blame either of them for us being here. I'm the one who found this fucking hunt. This place just reminds me too much of him. Of us. What we could have been. I don't know why he forgot about me, just that he did. I think about it every day, no matter how hard I try.

And with all these unpleasant, unnecessary fucking thoughts in my mind, it's becoming more and more apparent to my eldest brother that something is bothering me.

"Ok, what's up?" he finally asks me when I come out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a red tank top that I plan to wear underneath my jean jacket that matches my jeans. I'm just about to leave to meet Jessica and the group and the pub before the study group when he stops me.

I know what he's talking about, but I'm not really in the mood to talk about it, especially not when I'm about to go somewhere I can forget about my fucked up life, just for a little while. So I play dumb.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" I ask, walking over to my duffle and tossing my previous outfit along with some of my toiletries inside. Still trying to be nonchalant about the conversation, I try to walk past Dean, who is sitting on our shared bed messing with one of the many guns we own; I don't look at him, so I can't really tell which one it is. Just as I get to the side of the bed with my shoes, I feel a hand grab my upper arm, stopping me from reaching my goal.

"(Y/N)," He says with a bit of persistence in his voice; I can tell he knows I'm being deliberately evasive.

"Let me go, Dean," I say, still not turning to face him. With every fiber of my being, I don't want to talk to him. Not now. Not about this. Not ever. Not if I can help it.

"I know something's bothering you, (Y/N). You've been acting stranger than usual since we got here."

I huff out a laugh. "Are you implying that I act strange on a regular basis?" Dean can't see the dark smirk that has made its way onto my face because my back is still turned, and I don't know if I want him to. He might chalk it up to my 'stranger than normal' behavior. I know I've been acting weird, I don't need to hear it from him too.

"Ever since Sam left, yes."

That has any humor, light or dark, drained out of me and the smirk is gone instantly.

"I know him leaving fucked with your head," You have no idea. "It's been hard for me too. But I'm scared that with how you've been acting lately, you're gonna end up doing something reckless."

I yank my arm out of Dean's grasp and turn to face him with a look of anger, that is nowhere near revealing how I actually feel, on my face.

"So now you don't trust my judgment or something? I'm a ticking fucking time bomb just waiting to blow up and take the world with me, is that it?" Something in me is telling me that I am going to regret what I am saying if I keep going, but I'm not done yet. "Really Dean? You know how I feel? Not the half of it! And you never will! Not you, especially not Dad. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he set you up to talk to me."

Dean looks down at his hands at my statement, a look of guilt that is ever so familiar, crossing his face.

I can't help but bark out a harsh laugh of disbelief. "No fucking way. He did, didn't he? He's so worried about his only daughter that he had his eldest son, Dean Winchester, soldier in fucking training, talk her back. What all did he want you to do Dean?"

I'm trying to hold back my anger as I come to a halt, having been pacing during my entire rant, waiting for a reply. But Dean doesn't say anything, still looking down at the gun he was cleaning in his hands.

"What. The fuck. Did. He. Say." I ask again, leaning into Dean's space, so he doesn't have a choice but to look at me.

"He said he wanted me to talk to you. Find out what was bothering you, even though I already know."

My eyes narrow dangerously as I ask, "And what exactly is bothering me, oh wise one?"

"Sam." I flinch at his name as though I hadn't heard Dean say it moments ago. Probably the fact that he hit the nail on the head is what's the most surprising to me. "Us being here, at the school Sammy," Shut up. "left us for, doing God knows what. It bothers me too (Y/N/N)," Shut up. "Knowing that at any moment, we could bump into him and see his perfect life unfolding before our eyes. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about him." He's on the verge of tears now. " I wonder how he's doing in school. How he is health wise. If he misses us. If he has a girlfriend."

"Shut the fuck up Dean!" I shout angrily, not wanting to hear any more. Theses are all questions that I have had too, and to hear them all out loud, from Dean, is too much. And I don't know if I can hold on for much longer if he keeps going.

I stand up, backing out of Dean's face and more to put on my shoes, something to make me feel less… numb.

I put on my combat boots slowly, one foot at a time, right? Once they're both on and laced up, I hear Dean speak again.

"He also said he doesn't think you should do this hunt. Feels your too emotional for this one."

Now I'm seething.

"Sit out the hunt that I found?" My voice rises steadily as I reach the end of my sentence. "I put in the work to locate the hunt and gather the majority of the information to coordinate it, and Dad wants me to sit is out just before I go and follow up on a lead that might solve us this thing? Fuck him!"

"(Y/N), Dad just wants what's best for you and to kill this son of a bitch so we can leave." Dean stands, his words sounding exasperated as though he is tired of this conversation already and it's pissing me off. "If this lead is that important, I'll handle it while you stay here and calm down." He places his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye as though he has solved the world's problems. Couldn't be farther.

I look up at him with a mix of anger, disbelief, and betrayal burning into his face just so he knows how much his words have affected me.

"Fuck you too Dean. Fuck you for siding with him like you always do. The perfect soldier for Daddy. Fuck you for not siding with your brother on his decision to have a normal life. Maybe if you had his back, he would've come back 'cause God knows he doesn't give a damn about me. Fuck Dad for pushing him away in the first place because he felt like a big enough freak literally everywhere else, what Dad did made him feel like a freak to his family too. And fuck you both for ruining both of lives irrevocably."

I don't say another word or wait for Dean to as I push past him, grabbing my jean jacket and heading to the motel door. But before I can so much as touch the doorknob, I feel Dean grab my arm again.

"(Y/N/N) wait, I didn't mea –"

Before he can finish his sentence, I punch him as hard as I can in the nose. I hear a sickening crunch under my knuckles and watch as he falls back onto the floor, a look of hurt crossing his face when he processes what just happened. I might've felt guilty ten minutes ago, but now I can't help but feel satisfaction swell up in my chest at the image before me.

"Don't call me that."

And with that, I walk out of the motel without another word and leaving my big brother confused and hurt sitting on the motel floor, nursing a broken nose.

I walk through the motel parking lot and up onto the sidewalk in the direction of the pub. I zip up my jacket and contemplate throwing the hood over my head, but decide against it in the end, instead just keeping my head down and allowing the wind to blow my (H/C) in any direction it pleases as it picks up.

I don't regret what I did or what I said. I didn't actually realize just how much I needed to get that off my chest until after I'd said it. I thought I didn't, but apparently, I was wrong. I do blame Dad and Deann for what happened, almost as much as I blame myself.

If it wasn't for them, Sam might still be here. If they had tried to make Sam feel more like a valuable member of this family, and not like the freak he believed himself to be, then maybe just maybe… he'd still be here. With me. With us. The Winchester family. It doesn't have that much a ring to it without all its members though.

Dean says he misses him. Thinks about him on a regular basis, but does he regret what happened on a daily basis? Does he reflect on what could have been? Does he contemplate going onto the campus and asking for his little brother just to know if he regrets leaving? I wonder that last one myself, daily.

Does he miss us – me –? Does he regret not coming back? Has he moved on? Is he happier? Is he better off here? Am I being selfish with these thoughts? These nagging questions?

I want him to be happy. I just thought he'd be happy with me. Guess I didn't really know him. Makes me almost as bad as Dad and Dean.

Speaking of…

I feel my phone vibrate briefly in my pocket, indicating that I have a new text message, I'm assuming from one of the aforementioned people. Either from Dean to make sure I'm okay or to curse me out, or from Dad because he came back from whatever lead he found and Dean told him what happened. Either way, I'm not in the mood. As a matter of fact, I'm almost at the pub.

There ae a bunch more people on the streets at night here, but it is a college town, so not entirely surprising. I walk up to the pub as a group of students are coming out, all in various stages of sobriety even though it's like 5:30 in the afternoon. One of the guys exiting holds the door open when he sees me walk up and I smile thankfully at him, and he smiles back before jogging to catch up with his friends.

Just then, my phone vibrates again twice, causing me to reflexively take it out. I see two texts from Dean – both of which I ignore – and one from Jessica. I smile at the text, feeling better some when images of Tuesday night flash briefly in my head, and I instantly open the message.

'Hey, girl. My BF surprised me and told me he was gonna come with me to the meeting tonight. Guess you'll get your interview after all. See you at the pub. ;)'

I smile at that. Finally, some good news.

I walk into the pub, and there are so many people here. I have to push my way to the bar so I can see the whole place. The bartender comes over to me and asks what I'm having.

"I'm actually looking for someone," I say, noticing it's the waitress who served Jessica and I Tuesday afternoon. "Do you remember me? I was in here two days ago with a blonde who goes here."

"Oh yeah. She came in here with her boyfriend a few minutes ago. At least I'm assuming that was her boyfriend with the goo-goo eyes they were giving each other. I saw you guys in here Tuesday night too. She's with the group at that table you all were at then."

I thank Lily and look towards the booth we were at and spot Jessica laughing at something someone – Brady no doubt – said.

I move away from the bar and towards the table, but stop dead in my tracks at who I see sitting next to Jessica.

"Sam," I whisper like a prayer. I haven't said his name since the day he left, and it feels so familiar on my tongue. I had forbidden myself from saying his name for so long because I didn't know what would happen if I said it. But now I can because he's right there. I want desperately to move, but my feet are practically glued to the floor.

What finally has me moving though is when San leans down and places a kiss on Jessica's thin lips, and not any kiss. He kisses her the way he used to kiss me; when he pulls away, he looks at her the same way too. More even.

That has me moving. But not towards the table so that I can tell him how broken and lost I have been these past 26 months without him, or to make him feel all the hurt and pain that I have endured after all this time.

No.

I'm moving as fast as I can towards the bar door, not caring who I bump into or what curses they throw at my back. I just keep moving to the bar door until I can feel the cool October air on my face. But I don't take the time to enjoy the feeling on my entirely overheated skin because then I'm running.

A/N: How was that? Too much? Not enough? I feel like I got carried away in some places, but I want to know what you guys think. I working on chapter 7, got it halfway done now because I was so passionate about this. You can tell I've been building up to it a little. Sorry Sammy was only there briefly, but he'll be back. Not for a few chapters though. Sorry.