Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Out of the Mouths of Babes ❯ Epilogue ( Epilogue )

Epilogue

 

Sam woke up at five-thirty in the morning after they'd finished the Wendigo hunt with the abrupt realization that he hadn't checked his e-mail since he'd gone with Dean from Stanford to find their dad.

 

It shouldn't have been that important. For over a week now, things had been distant, shuttered, and he hadn't really cared about much of anything except his anger. And even now, it didn't bother him all that much that his friends had probably been trying to get hold of him for a couple of days and worrying about where he was.

 

But he was still Sam Winchester, however altered, and Sam Winchester didn't let his friends worry about him if he could do something about it.

 

Dean was still sprawled out in the other bed, sound asleep, and he didn't react when Sam crawled out of bed and pulled out his laptop. The motel had wireless access, which was one of the very few requirements the Winchesters wouldn't bend on when looking for rooms, and in a couple of minutes Sam was scrolling through a list of 173 e-mails.

 

Mostly, it was just junk. Spam, online offers, upgrades—Sam deleted 152 without opening them, and then started reading them in earnest.

 

Of the twenty-one e-mails left, the first fourteen had been sent in the last two days alone—since he'd left Stanford. They were pretty typical—where was he, was he okay, when was he coming back. He sent what information he could and then, just for the heck of it, started opening the remaining seven. Obviously there was no use replying to them now, but he wanted to see what they'd said, anyway.

 

The snippets of normalcy contained in those e-mails were enough to bring a lump to his throat. There were questions about a poli-sci class that was, coincidentally, coming up tomorrow. There were people wondering if he could help them with a bit of last-minute cramming and an e-mail from Rebecca that told him on no uncertain terms that the Halloween party was coming up and he would be there. And last on the list, there was even one request for an Art History tutor that most definitely would have been hidden from…

 

Sam felt his whole body freeze for a second. Then he was logging off and slapping his computer closed and throwing himself back as if the table were covered in poisonous spiders and leaping to his feet. Dean didn't even stir, so apparently he'd done this all quietly. He couldn't have sworn to that, though, since he really had no idea what he was doing at the moment.

 

He still wasn't remotely with it as he strode across the room and pulled open the door, stepping out into the gray pre-dawn light outside. He closed the door behind him and kept moving, unsure where he was going but sure that he couldn't be here.

 

He moved straight past the car and kept walking. He lost track of time and distance as he walked, but by the time he stopped the sun was rising, the birds were wide awake, and he was standing on the side of the road alone.

 

It was as good a place as any, and Sam collapsed on the dew-soaked ground, covered his face with his hands, and shook with his sobs.

 

It was an odd thing to have broken him, that one e-mail that wasn't even from Jess, who didn't believe in e-mail because she felt they were too cold and impersonal. That shouldn't have been the one thing to pull the tears out of him—Jess deserved more than that.

 

And yet…as Sam sat there on the grass and rocked back and forth with spine-snapping sobs, he couldn't make himself believe anymore that he'd done yet another thing wrong. He'd gotten Jess killed, but never for a moment had he intentionally disrespected her. Her, or her memory.

 

Sam cried until the tears just wouldn't come anymore, until there was nothing left in his body to make any more. Then he just breathed, the ragged gasps threaded through with…relief. Relief, and cleanliness.

 

Ryuji had been right. He'd felt wrong. He still felt a little…off…but he didn't feel completely, totally altered anymore. It hadn't lasted forever.

 

Sam slowly pushed himself up with shaking hands and looked around through red-rimmed, but dry, eyes. The sun was fully risen, the road still deserted, and he was probably at least a mile from the motel, with no idea of how long he'd been gone.

 

Dean would be awake by now. Awake and worried.

 

Sam brushed his hair out of his eyes and over his face and turned back the way he'd come.

 

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Author's Note: Well, that's all, folks! I gotta say, I kind of liked the ending. I hope you did, too.

 

And now, I owe a certain someone a thank you. I want to thank my friend Mandy for asking me to write this story. I wasn't sure about it at first—Ryuji wasn't my character, and I wasn't sure I could really do much with him. But the truth is, it's been a long time since I've had this much fun. I always love to write, but with this story I felt like I was getting something back that I was missing for a while.

 

So, yeah, Mandy. Thanks. Maybe we can bring Ryuji back to our little sandbox sometime, eh?

 

Until then, though—review, guys!