Pillow Book

(Written on the back of a new box of candles, slipped into Sam's bag.)





Candlelight colours
Your face gold, flickering bright.
Shining and shadows.

I try to focus,
But can't look away until
The ritual is done

And you blow out the
Candles, leave us in the dark.
I can still see you.

(On the back of a scribbled map of the town they are in, showing motel, diner, main street and haunted house.)





"Mapping my moles?" you murmur,
Your voice low. When I look up,
Your eyes are dark, and you're smiling.

Don't need a map. I know them all
By heart, can find them in the dark;
Fingers and lips, grazing one to the next.

Just like I know your heartbeat, and
The size of your shoes, the size of
Your smile as my mouth finds the next mole.

I shake my head, don't try to explain
Why I don't like maps and manuals
For the important things. Not for you.

I know the way, I won't get lost,
And it's not like I want others to follow.
So no, not mapping, Sam. Knowing.

Because that's the problem with maps.
Some things are too important to risk them
Falling into someone else's hands.

(On the back of a whiskey label painstakingly peeled off the bottle.)





Some days I hate this
Fucking job. Want to sleep and
Never wake up. Christ.

You pass the aspirin
And the whiskey. Sit close, legs
Brushing against mine.

For once you don't try
To make me talk - just hold out
Your hand for a drink.

We pass the bottle
Back and forth. Eventually
I lie down, still dressed.

You press close behind
Me, warm and real; whisper your
First word in hours: "Dean."

(On the back of an empty packet of bandages.)





Can't seem to stand. Legs
Won't hold me. Eyes slipping shut.
"I've got you," you say.

(Scrawled on a discarded coffee lid.)





Pillow crease across
Your cheek. Bed hair sticking up
All over. I laugh.

A loud yawn. I pass
Across your froofy coffee.
You inhale and smile.

Here and here

(Written on a leaflet explaining the library's opening hours and facilities, and tucked in with Sam's laundry.)




Before
I was clinging tightly to Mom's hand;
We picked out some stories together
For her to read to me before bed.
Chose something easy I could read you,
With my mouth pressed close against her bump,
While she stroked my hair and smiled at me.
At the desk, they let me stamp the books,
And I carried them home.


After
Dad was researching, seeking answers.
No books for me now. My words were lost.
You gurgled in my lap, clutching my
Fingers, while I held on tight to you.
Heavy books, no pictures, except ones
That scared me. Title unreadable.
D is for Dean, Mom used to tell me.
But it wasn't my name.


Toddler
At the desk, they let you stamp the books.
You giggled, and smiled at me so wide.
I read to you before bed, but I
Couldn't do it the way that she could -
Couldn't remember the story's end.
You dozed off, curled up close against me.
I snapped off the light and tried my best
To remember it all.


Child
I sent you to the children's section
And checked over my notes - hastily
Scribbled, shaking just like Dad's voice had.
Fumbled through heavy books; difficult
Words, deciphered with dictionaries.
Race against time. You checked out your books
While I ran outside to the pay phone.
Five rings. Ten. No answer.


Pre-teen
You read all the time, disappearing
Into a world I couldn't follow
Except when I read to you at night.
Knew you would soon be too old for that.
After school, tried to do my homework,
Words twisting and blurring as I read.
Librarian asked about my bruise.
Didn't go back again.


Teenager
You liked the research best, liked helping
Though we wouldn't let you near the hunt.
Helping without guns and ugliness,
Glowing when you found the vital link.
You all but lived at the library.
Came to pick you up early one day,
Found you looking through college leaflets.
Backed up, waited outside.


Gone
Out of practice; I had to relearn.
Thought how you would have liked my laptop,
Given it some girly name. Drove through
The night. Found you in the library;
Circles under your eyes. Longed to make
You rest and eat. Slipped away unseen.
Always hated me interrupting
When you were studying.


Back
Made the laptop your own; I didn't
Mind giving it up. Buried yourself
In books, but kept talking to me. Then
Pulled me behind the stacks and kissed me
Senseless, until I stopped complaining.
Never gonna love them like you do.
But I can put up with libraries
If you're there too, Sammy.


Here

(Written on the back of an old photograph, showing Sam toddling along, clutching Dean's hand for support.)





You walked from Dad's arms
To mine. "Sammy," I said, voice
Rusty. Baby steps.

(Sent by text.)





Hate splitting up. Hate
Watching my own back, not yours.
Be careful, Sammy.

(Before a tricky hunt where they went in unarmed and undercover. Tucked into the pocket of Sam's disguise.)




You're biting your lip.
Nervous. Pull you close and bite
It myself. You smile.

Here

(Written on notepaper from the same motel.)




Daylight shines through thin
Curtains. Collapse on the bed.
Pressed close to fit. Sleep.



Here

(Found on a piece of paper tucked under his cheek when Sam woke up the next morning, a blanket over his shoulders. The ink stained his cheek; he could read fragments of backward words in the bathroom mirror.)





You stress too much, Sam -
Homework back then, research now.
Push yourself too hard.

Working through the night.
Passed out, head on the table.
Think I'll let you rest.

Straight As then. No need
To stress now. I trust you to
Find a way, Sam. Sleep.

(On the back of a flattened, empty box of shells.)





Firefight. Race against
Time. You're steady at my back.
Breathe deep. Reload. Go.

(After a bad case involving children disappearing, Sam drove all day while Dean 'slept'. They stopped for lunch at a diner. Sam found this scribbled on a napkin and tucked into his pocket when they finally checked into a motel late that night.)





Dark shades hide my eyes.
Not really from you. I'm glad
That you still see me.

(Jotted on the back of a fuel receipt.)





You're driving my girl,
Wind ruffling your hair. Smiling.
I close my eyes, rest.

Here

(Sam found this tucked under his pillow the evening of the day after it all went down.)




We stopped near daybreak, overlooking the valley.
You jumped up on the hood, settled down beside me,
Your shoulder solid against mine, warm in the dawn chill.

The sun rose in front of us, almost unexpected.
But appropriate somehow - one shadow less.
We let the silence speak for us, watched the world change.

Mid-morning you moved. Thought you'd want to go,
My desperation gone, transferred to you.
It beats in the blood, and I haven't forgotten.

But you just slid lower, stretched out your legs,
And dozed off in the sunshine, hood warm beneath us.
Breathing easy, sleeping easy - can't take it for granted.

I watched you sleep, while the sun climbed higher,
Faint humming behind us, cars on the distant road.
Thought about all we'd lost - and all we hadn't.

You stirred when I shifted, didn't wake all the way,
Just tugged me closer, breath warm on my skin,
Arm slung over my waist. We slept a spell.

(Sam found this jotted on a scrap of paper that had been tucked into his pocket while he slept.)





You're sun-warmed, drowsing
On the hood. Tan on black. Here.
Sights don't come better.



Here

Here

(Appeared in Sam's wallet one day. He noticed in the middle of the grocery store while he was trying to pay.)



Hair dragging over
My skin. Mouth kissing lower:
Surrounding. Home. Sam.

Here

(Sam got back from the library one morning to find his clean laundry (minus a pair of socks) folded on his bed. This was scribbled on a piece of cardboard torn from an empty box of detergent, and tucked in with a shirt that was missing a few buttons.)



Jeans. Freakishly long. Yours.
Stained brown with mud and dirt.
Digging in the graveyard.

Olive button-down. Mine.
Stained: maybe barbecue.
Tasted fucking good, though.

Socks. Matching, no holes. Yours.
Steal them or mix them up?
Decisions, decisions.

More jeans. Normal length. Mine.
New hole ripped in one knee
When we were sparring. Bitch.

Blue t-shirt with dog. Yours.
So very yours, you freak.
Remind me to shrink it.

Sock. Singular. Yeah, mine.
You cut off the other
To patch up my ankle.

Shorts. Black, blue, more black. Yours.
Remember the itching
Powder? Fucking priceless.

Pair of overalls. Ours.
Both sweat-stained from running
When they figured us out.

Long-sleeved shirt. Dark grey. Yours.
Bar-smoke clinging. You glared
At chicks smiling at me.

Shirt. Stain - demon gore? Mine.
Thinking holy water
Not softener, in that one.

Shirt. Missing buttons. Yours.
Ripped them off trying to
Rip it off you. Hell yeah.

Shorts. Interesting stain. Yours.
Made you come in your pants.
Oh, wait. Never mind. Mine.

Red t-shirt. Mine. Used to
Be white. Beyond saving?
No, you said. And hold on.

Grey hoodie. Was once yours
Till you shrank it. Mine now.
Both like me wearing it.

Don't know why you prefer
Library to laundry.
It's scenes from our life, Sam.


Here

(Sam found this typed into the laptop, as an entry for a certain date in his calendar software.)





Six.
You'd made lots of friends at school,
And didn't want to leave town again.
I packed up all your things for you
While you screamed like you were three.

Bought you chocolate behind Dad's back,
You dozed off against my shoulder.


Twelve.
You hated all the target practice,
Refused to do PT or spar with me.
Kicked your ass round the room three times
Till you fought back, and fought back good.

Helped you with your homework, after,
You got an A and smiled at me.


Eighteen.
Never seen you that angry before,
Guess it had been a long time coming.
You left, heard nothing but 'Stay gone',
Didn't answer when I called. Didn't blame you.

Wasn't sure I could fix things; took years,
But when I asked for help, you got in the car.


Twenty-four.
You ask me 'How long?' and 'How could you?'
But you've got no idea what it was like
To see you like that, to see - Sammy.
I know you're mad. But I had to, I did.

I can't fix it this time, but I'm not sorry,
Just - don't be mad at me. Please, Sammy.

(Scribbled inside the Dr. Phil book Dean gave Sam as a gag gift.)









Yesterday
You bought me jelly doughnuts,
Had coffee waiting when I got up,
Didn't quite manage to hide your smile
Even though the joke was lame.

Today
You follow me into fire,
Check me for burns with trembling fingers,
Kiss me though we're both soaked to the skin
And let me have first shower.

Tomorrow
You'll listen when I yell stop,
Watch my back with a gun in your hand,
Call me a jerk and curl up with me,
And still be there when I wake.


How can any three words
Hope to live up to that?