It was a strange feeling packing up with nowhere to go. Sam didn't have a destination in mind, he just planned on driving.
As he tossed a pair of socks into his duffle bag he saw a familiar dark shirt sticking out. It wasn't his. It wasn't unusual for them to get clothes mixed up. What with living out of their bags and trading off laundry duty.
Sam tugged the shirt out of the bag and rubbed the fabric in his hands. Just a cotton undershirt his brother would've worn under a flannel or slept in. He sat on the bed and pressed it to his face and breathed in leather and aftershave and all the ardent loves and failings of his life. After a while he wiped his face and tossed the shirt in the corner. It wouldn't fit him. And it wouldn't be the last time he'd left something behind.

***

Pure speculation as if Dean really died when his year was up. Not going to happen, just for funsies and angst for it's own angsty sake.

My first time to really use and play with a Wacom tablet. I think I started out too tenative and then just got sloppy. Oh well, comments and critique are luff.

Supernatural is Kripke's, I just like messing with it.