Chapter 2
"We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there."
― Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon
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December 8th, 2020
Dear Dean:
I found myself here, writing to you again. Honestly, I thought it would be a one-time thing.
Turns out, it kinda helps me get through the day. After many days of making breakfast alone in the empty bunker, and Miracle eating most of the real bacon I cook for no one to eat it, I finally decided to do something with my life. I have to be strong. I still need to make you feel proud of me.
I don't know if you can see me or hear my thoughts, but I am still waiting for your call. Sometimes, I force myself to think that you're on a road trip on your own, having fun with some blonde haired twins. You always forgot to call me back when you were having fun, even when we were teenagers. I was worried sick about you, because if thirteen year old me were on my own, I don't know what I would have done.
Thirty-seven year old me doesn't know what to do without you either. I guess some things never change.
Today, I reunited the courage to enter into your room. It's messy, but it's just like you left it before going to what would be our last hunt together. I still have not gone out, even though I've seen articles on internet that are familiar to our kind of thing. Our job.
Saving people, hunting things. The family business.
The life we had to accept since we were kids.
I never appreciated enough the effort you put to protect me from the truth. About dad, and all the monsters that were out there. I was so mad at you and dad for keeping this secret from me, that I never understood why you did it.
You wanted me to have a real life. You were willing to be unhappy and follow orders, as long as I was the one that was safe and seeing the light at the end of this ugly tunnel. It's pointless to mention this now, but thank you. Really, thank you.
Miracle sniffed your bed sheets and the dirty clothes you left on the floor of your room. I picked them up and washed them.
Call me a girl if you want to, but I made your bed and threw away the empty beer bottles that were on the night table. I can't leave these things here, because all I can think about is that you will come back here. Maybe I'm cleaning it to imagine how would you react if I entered inside your "Fort".
You'd be pissed, and I would have laughed at your mad face. I'm actually smiling at that idea of that happening again. When was the last time I actually smiled? It feels out of place.
I need to let you go. I need to learn how to do it, but I don't think I'm passing that class any time soon.
I'm also wearing your wrist watch now. The one you wore since you picked me up from Stanford. I remember telling you to buy a new one, but you always said that it was special to you. You never told me why it was special, but one day, I finally found out the reason why you liked it so much.
When I was in Stanford, you took a half-time gig for a couple weeks before you left town, and it was the first time you got a real job. I bet most of the money you were paid was spent in bullets and stuff for the car. Baby always had a very expensive taste, I guess.
Bobby told me you saw it in a store when you were heading to the motel one afternoon, and fell in love with it. A black wrist watch that you had to get. Now I'm the one wearing it. The minutes and hours keep passing for me, but for you, time has stopped forever.
Little Miracle is sad. He misses you, and sometimes, does not feel hungry. I don't feel too hungry either.
I don't feel this place like a home anymore. It's a prison made of concrete with a sealed door, and all I wanna do is run away from it.
Don't ask me why, but I packed your now dry and clean clothes inside an old duffel of yours. Except one hoodie I'm wearing right now. The one you always wore when we were in between hunts. You always said that it felt like being wrapped in hugs. I think it still has your scent.
Man, I'm going crazy. I need some fresh air, but I can't go.
If I cross this door, I don't think I will want to come back to it. I can't leave that table behind. The one with your initials carved on it, all alone. It's our legacy. It's part of our story. All that's left of the team we once were, along with Cass, mom and Jack.
Anyway, enough with this pathetic chick-flick moment.
Hope you are happy. I prayed to Jack, and he told me you were in heaven.
Jack told me things are different up there. I don't know what that means, but I know that whatever he did, he is making the right choices. He's a Winchester.
It's too late, and I'm kinda drunk. Miracle sleeps in my room now. He likes to cuddle me every morning and licks my face to cheer me up. I really love this dog.
Goodnight, Jerk.
Sammy
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys. This fic was inspired by my own personal grief. I lost my dad three months ago due to covid-19. Watching the series finale really hit close to home to me. I also "Allowed" my dad to go, but I couldn't hold him one last time. He was my hero, my biggest support, and now he's gone too. When I write about Sam wanting to leave, I talk for the both of us. I wanna run away from this house, but I can't.
If you're enjoying this fic, please leave a review. It'd make my day. Love you, guys. See ya soon.
