My friend who did a pre-read of this to just assure me it didn't totally suck said it made her cry. So you've been warned. Grab a tissue. But I promise it ends on a good note! :)

~Let Go~

Whumptober2021

All Trussed Up and Still Nowhere To Go

Prompt options: "You have to let go", Barbed wire, or bound.

Setting - Season 15, sometime after Sam had left the bunker for (apparently) the final time.

It wouldn't be suicide. Not really. It would just be...inevitable.

Dean couldn't yell at him for taking the easy way out.

For crying out loud, Sam was literally clinging to the side of a cliff.

He was trying to live.

The Vetala yanking his leg and dragging him ever closer to a swift death against the rocks hundreds of feet below wasn't helping anything, though.

Sam's fingers slipped in the loose earth at the edge of the cliff. With the Vetala below him, pulling on him with all its strength and fury, he couldn't get the leverage he needed. He kicked at the Vetala again but the movement only sent him slipping backwards.

Pulse pounding, his breaths were short and punching against his ribs as painfully as the rocks were. He didn't usually panic like this. Didn't usually freak out. Usually, he could keep perspective. Keep calm enough to focus on what needed to be done. Usually, he could see options, solutions.

Usually, when he looked up as he was about to fall over an edge, he saw his brother.

Now, though, he looked up and saw nothing but treetops and clouds. His eyes stung and the scenery blurred.

Dean was gone.

Dead and gone and never coming back and most of the time Sam kept the grief under tight control and he could function. But right now he missed his brother so much it was like a cannonball had blasted right through his gut.

Sam missed Dean's smirk and his stupid sense of humor. Missed him driving the Impala and looking so happy. Missed his cooking. Missed playing pool with him after a long day on the road. Missed watching stupid movies in the dead of night because one or both of them couldn't sleep. Missed talking to him. Missed... everything.

Sam couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't pull himself up and Dean wasn't coming to save him because Dean was dead.

"You have to let go."

The words - harsh, from below - broke into his spiraling thoughts.

"You have to let go," the Vetala repeated.

It was a taunt. Rationally, Sam somehow knew the Vetala just wanted to take him with it when it fell. If the creature fell, there was no saving it, but the loss of the dragging weight might just give Sam the chance he needed to pull himself up. Rationally, it should have made him want to fight that much harder.

Irrationally, he wondered if this was a sign. If this was...permission? If this was the moment he'd been waiting for ever since his brother had taken his last breath.

Don't leave me, he'd flat out begged. I can't do this alone.

Hanging off the edge of a cliff, those words had never been truer. He couldn't do it alone. He needed his brother like he needed the very air he breathed. How was he supposed to do anything without Dean?

I'm not leaving you. I'm gonna be with you…

"I'm right here. Don't let go."

Sam looked up again - at the place where his brother was supposed to be but never would be again - and saw a man reaching down toward him.

"Hang on," the man said, hands wrapping around Sam's wrists. "Don't let go."

"You have to let go!" The Vetala shrieked, jerking hard on Sam's legs.

"Don't do it, son," the man said, his grip tightening and his eyes all too knowing. "Don't let go."

Every day you're out there and you're living and you're fighting...You always keep fighting, Dean's words echoed in his brain. You hear me? I'll be there every step.

The man's face blurred, but Sam blinked back the tears and nodded.

"Alright, that's good. Let's get you back up here on solid ground."

It became something of a twisted game of tug of war, but the Vetala's frantic yanking was its undoing and it lost the game. Once the dead weight was released, Sam was able to inch his way upward, aided by the strength of the man above. A moment later, the man was dragging him away from the cliff's edge and easing him to sit against a tree.

"It's ok, son. You're safe now."

A hand squeezed his shoulder and Sam's fingers cramped where they were still gripping the man's wrist. He couldn't let go.

You have to let me go, Sammy.

Sam shook his head. I can't. I can't. I can't.

"You can let go now. You're safe," the man repeated, patting his shoulder again.

Let go, let go, let go. How could he let go?

How could he let go of the hand he'd been holding since he'd learned to walk? The one that had made sure he'd safely crossed streets - even as an adult. The one that had sewn up countless wounds. Put bandaids on his knees when he'd been five and handed him ice packs when he'd been fifteen. The hand that had guided his hands as he'd learned how to drive, how to shoot, how to fix the Impala.

How was he supposed to live without his reason for living?

"It doesn't get...easier," the man's voice was gentle. "But somehow...you find a way."

"What?" Sam's voice was hoarse, his face wet with tears.

"Living without the one you love. You were talkin' aloud." The man's face was etched with grief, yet he smiled with something akin to hope. "You find a way and then you think about making them proud. Making them happy. And then things start to change. You can think about them without your heart breaking. You can remember the good times, laugh about things again. You can get up in the morning and not feel like you're missing your soul."

Sam's throat tightened. He released his grip on the man's wrist and pressed his hands to his face. He couldn't hold back the tears.

"It's ok. My wife's been gone almost a decade and I still cry sometimes," the man said, his hand resting on Sam's shoulder. "I'm guessing your loss is a little more recent, am I right?"

Sam nodded. How long had it been? He couldn't remember. The words were painful as he said, "It was my brother. I...I lost my brother."

"I'm sorry."

Silence fell between them for a few moments. Long enough for Sam to regain some control. He wiped his face with his sleeve, too tired to be embarrassed by his breakdown.

"That thing that was trying to take you down," the man said slowly, "wasn't... human. Was it?"

Sam laughed a little and it felt good. "No, it wasn't human."

"Alright then."

"That's it? No questions?"

"Keep to myself mostly. No need to go pokin' my nose where it don't belong. Keeps my life simple." The man grinned as he pushed himself to his feet. Extending a hand, he pulled Sam up from the ground. "You got somewhere to stay?"

"Motel. Back in town."

"Gonna stay outta trouble? Away from cliffs?"

"At least for tonight." Sam smiled.

"Okie dokie."

I like him, Dean's voice echoed in Sam's mind, he says okie dokie.

"Oh, and son?" The man turned back to him. "Maybe look for some other ways to deal with your grief beyond pickin' fights with monsters."

"That's kind of been the story of my life," Sam said with a smile.

"Might be time for a change. I took up journaling," the man shrugged. "Made me feel closer to my wife, remembering our time together. Gave me somethin' to focus on."

Sam nodded, his throat tightening again with emotion as he thought of Dad's journal, safe in the Impala.

"Thanks," he said, extending a hand. "For everything."

"Anytime." The man shook his hand. "Take care of yourself."

"I will." Sam smiled.

He walked back to the Impala; fresh waves of grief sweeping over him at the sight of his brother's car. Didn't matter that it was - technically - his now. It would always be Dean's car. He opened the trunk and dug out Dad's journal. The worn leather was another physical manifestation of grief too, but so much older.

After getting into the driver's seat, Sam set the journal next to him, one hand resting on it, the other on the steering wheel. He stared at the road ahead, thoughts locked in the past. So much of his life had been spent inside this car, watching the world go by. He'd always been on the dark fringes of that world, never able to become a part of it although he'd tried a few times.

But now it was just him. The only Winchester left. There was no quest to avenge anyone. No deals to be made. No villains to fight.

Grief said there was nothing left.

Hope said there was everything ahead.

Tissue? :)

Thank you for reading!

Well, it appears the last time I posted a story was waaaaay back in January. Back when I had high hopes of posting at least monthly. hahahah. yeah that didn't happen, did it? Lol. It's been a very busy crazy year for me. I bought my first house (yay!) which was just...wow. Never expected to buy a house so it's been a wild ride. So lots of stuff keeping me busy with that and has limited my writing time. Work has been a NIGHTMARE lol so that also limits my writing time and also sucks my brain dry of inspiration most of the time.

I don't honestly know if I'll be posting another fic this month. I'd really hoped and wanted to do Whumptober again like last year, but... I just can't. So i'm posting this as a one shot with the "possible" hope of some more whumpy delights to follow.

This might be my last post for awhile in general honestly. I've been working a LOT on my novel and right now I'm pretty stoked about it and making some serious headway so I can't let up on that. I'm not giving up fanfic and I'm sure I'll keep writing...but it may be a long time before i'm back. or I could get fantastically inspired and find some time and post a dozen fics in the next few months lol. I really can't predict.

But I want you all to know, I'm still here. I'm still reading and loving fanfiction. I'm still reading all the lovely notes you leave me and appreciating each and every kudos! They mean a lot.

So thank you very very much!

~noxbait