He was supposed to fight it. His dad orders were clear : find it, fight it, kill it.
But it was easier when it was only “it” and not a “he” or a “Dean”.
The moment the ghost lays his eyes on him, Sam was gone.
Monsters, ghosts, they’re supposed to be scary, to be mean.
Not to read book or make jokes and surely, not to kiss.
He was supposed to kill him, but he couldn’t, because for the first time in his life, Sam felt whole.
Being with Dean was like coming home after a long day out, watching your favorite movie even if you already saw it a billion times.
It’s exciting, familiar, good.
They spent their days in the library, talking, laughing, kissing and cuddling. Sometimes everything at the same time.
He didn’t cared that Dean was dead for years now, shouted right in the head here, between the books.
It’s kind of ironic, to die between books, between stories about freedoms, about love, when you never get to know any of these things.
“You should burn my bones” Dean said, caressing Sam’s hair
“I don’t want to kill you” He whispered, the words feeling dirty in his mouth.
“I’m already dead, Sammy. One more time won’t do a difference”
“Yes” He kissed Sam’s head “I’m happy because you’re here. But you need to go. This isn’t your world”
“Maybe… Maybe it is, Dean, because I never felt so free and happy than right now”
No one never understood why a sixteen years old boy killed himself in the library, at the very same spot where another one died.
They didn’t understood why the father of the child, after crying for days, went to the library and smiled, as if he was able to see his son, as if he knew that his son was happy, wherever he was.
But some of them swore that sometimes, they were able to see two teenagers boys, hands in hands, lips on lips, standing in the love section.
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