A Letter from Home

Disclaimer: Neither Dean nor Supernatural are in anyway mine (unfortunately) – see E. Kripke for ownership details.

Summary: Dean writes to Sam a while after receiving a reply to his letter. Previous chapter (postcard) is written at the same time and posted; this longer letter will remain unsent by Dean.

Rating: A few mild curses

Sam

I don't know why I'm writing this down as I have no intention of posting it to you and have written you a postcard instead. Like I say, all is fine here and I am working flat out to deal with the jobs that need sorting. You've only been gone six months and it feels like a life-time, a sick, twisted lifetime. It was all easier to put up with when you were here. I hate this life alone but sometimes I think it would break Dad if I left him and I just can't do that to him, not after everything we've been through. It's odd, because at other times, I don't think he'd care that much if I left.

You wouldn't believe how much work Dad is churning up. He seems to be hell-bent on finding way more work than the two of us could possibly imagine. He talks less and orders more – I miss you so much then Sam. I feel like I go for days without having a conversation with anyone. We sit in diners and his head is in some book or paper(I know where you got that from now!) and he doesn't speak from when the food is ordered to when he pays or tells me to. We go back to the motel and he either drinks himself to sleep or he stays awake incessantly researching. On a good night, he tells me to go and get a drink and play some pool, in other words to piss off out of his way and bring back some money. I wonder why I stay; I sometimes wonder whether he really wants me here anymore. I can't tell now how to … I don't know what he wants from me, Sam, and I just feel like somewhere along the line, I'm failing him.

I thought about it what you said, striking out on my own but what would I do, what skills do I have for anything other than this? I'm not like you, I've got no book smarts and if I go for a job, what answers am I going to give as to how I've spent the last, what is it 6 or7 years of my life since leaving school, who's going to want to employ a homeless, uneducated drifter like me. It sucks, so I guess it's better just to stick to what you know huh?

I can't come to join you, but thanks for the offer. Trust me when I tell you that isn't what you want. You don't realise it but you don't mean it or maybe you did when you wrote it but now… Sam, you know what normal is now, you have friends and a life, I envy you that but I'm so pleased and proud that you have it but I can't join you. It would taint it; it would bring this mess crashing back down on you. I wouldn't fit and you would be torn between that and me. Face it, your brother is a freak who isn't going to fit in in the real world.

Having said that, if my world sullies what you have there and you need help, call. I'll come and do the necessary (to hell with anything Dad might or might not say) and leave again happy for having done something for you.

You know when we were growing up, I think you kept me sane, all those cute things you used to come out with, they used to make me laugh, even more when you thought you were being serious. Thanks for being there for me, bro. It has always meant a lot to know that you were there. Do you remember all those questions you used to ask? You wouldn't believe how much time I spent poring over library books trying to work out how to answer the questions so you'd understand – you wouldn't believe how much useless crap I learnt just so I could answer your questions and by the time I'd worked out the answer, you had already moved on and wanted the answer to something completely unrelated and I'd have to start out all over again. Your mind was like a bluebottle with ADHD – flitting all over the place with only a moment's pause in any one place.

I know you don't believe Dad is sorry, but he is. He is alsoan ass and won't admit it to you but he is proud and sorry. How do I know?Well, we did this gig for this guy, Jerry Pansomething or the other. Poltergeist it was. Dad boasted the whole time about how his kid was bright and got a full ride into Stanford – talked about nothing else. The guy looked at me and asked if I'd finished studying now, Dad butted in and answered for me and said 'Dean's a good hunter, this is his sort of thing but he's not exactly the academic type, not like my youngest Sam.' He didn't mean anything by it but god can you imagine how much it hurt. In that moment, I almost hated you but it just made me feel sick, it isn't your fault my life is shit. I remember when I wanted something more than this, when I thought this could all be over but reality bites… this is my life, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health - it's like a fucking arranged marriage.

I'm going to close before I get anymore morose and go and post the postcard I've written to you. This I will not post but I just need to tell someone and hey, you always said my mouth runs away from me and bores you silly so I suppose that's where I've got used to letting you listen to my drivel. Keep well, Sammy. Live the life.

Dean

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it and now it would be great if you would review too. There will be more to follow (probably in pairs like the last two - a short and a longer one).