The Not Knowing
K Hanna Korossy
"We're not leaving yet, are we?" Sam asked, hand on doorknob.
Dean was rolling up a pair of jeans and didn't even glance at him. "Soon as we're packed, why?"
"I thought I saw a post office down the street. I need some stamps."
That earned him a briefly curious look. "Stamps?"
Sam's mouth quirked. "Yeah. You know, little squares of paper, they go on letters…"
Dean made a face at him, but all he said was, "Hold on a minute." He dug into his bag, pulled out his journal, and tossed it onto the end of the bed near Sam. "There're a couple of stamps in the back."
Sam stepped away from the door, knowing his face probably reflected his surprise. "You have stamps? Who do you write?" Yeah, okay, that didn't come out exactly as he'd planned.
But Dean didn't seem to take it badly, shrugging as he resumed packing. "People."
Intrigued now, Sam stood, hands on his hips, and gave his brother a smile. "When's the last time you even mailed a letter?"
Dean gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "This morning, officer. Are we done with the third degree now?"
Sam hesitated, watching the stiff motions. "You know, Lucas is okay, Dean," he said softly.
The t-shirt was wedged into the duffel with far more force than necessary and Dean rolled his eyes at him. "Oh, for God's sake, Sam—"
Sam quickly put his hands up in surrender; for once, he hadn't been picking a fight. Dean's face, so stark in the moments after he'd surfaced with the unbreathing boy, until CPR had finally started Lucas sputtering again, had left a deep impression in Sam's memory. There was a level of connection with the kid he hadn't expected from his brother. Sam was glad he'd gotten at least that glimpse, and it wasn't something he would ever make light of.
He reached for Dean's journal, stopped by his brother's voice. "Who are you writing?"
Sam's expression twisted. "I'm just sending a few postcards to friends—you know, from my road trip with my brother."
"Oh." Dean paused a moment, then seemed to shake himself out of something. "I don't have postcard stamps, just regular. Don't take forever at the post office."
"All right." Sam handed him back the journal, watched the black book disappear into Dean's bag. "So…who did you send a letter to this morning?"
Dean didn't answer for a moment. Took out and rerolled a pair of jeans. Gave him a sideways glance. Sam started to pay close attention. Good thing, because Dean's answer was barely a mutter. "Peter's mom."
"What?" Sam asked automatically, even though he'd heard just fine. "Peter Sweeney?"
"Yeah." Dean glanced up at him brusquely. "You gonna go, or are you mailing your Wisconsin postcards from halfway across the country?" A humorless smile. "Confuse your college friends."
Sam was like a dog with a bone and he knew it, but everything had been Jessica those last few weeks, and he was relieved for the distraction. "Why?"
"Because I'm leaving without you if you don't hurry it up." Dean zipped his duffel shut.
"No, I mean, why write Mrs. Sweeney?"
The duffel thunked down to the ground, the sound as severe as the sudden emotion in Dean's eyes. "Because she deserves to know, Sam. Because it was 'worse than dying', not knowing what happened to her kid, and maybe we can't bring him back but at least we can give her that. It's part of the job."
Sam blinked. Remembering abruptly the blank post office-issue postcards stuck in the back of their dad's journal. It didn't really surprise him Dean would opt for something a little more private and personal like a letter. Not exactly just part of the job. "Oh," he said quietly.
"Yeah, oh. So, are you gonna go, or do you want to know what I wrote, too?"
Actually, he did, but Dean was glaring at him. Sam shook his head. "I can mail the cards later."
"Fine," Dean said, and grabbed the weapons bag and his own. "Postcards," he said disdainfully as he passed Sam on his way to the door.
Sam gave him a small smile. "You wanna hear what I wrote about you?"
"No." Dean stalked out, all huffy show. Making up for the moment of openness.
Sam laughed at that, catching Dean's tilt of the head at the sound. But he kept going, and Sam gave the empty room a last look before he grabbed his own bag and followed his brother out.
The End