#It was a week before Dean could finally admit to himself that Sam wasn’t coming back. #A week later they were in Barstow. Dad had landed another gig. #Only Dean wasn’t invited. It was like he was being punished for missing Sam. #Dad moved what remained of Sam’s belongings out of the trunk and tossed them inside the motel room before he left. #He told Dean to get over it that Sam was done with them and that Dean needed to trash his stuff and move on. #Sam had taken all his clothes that still fit and all the books he was still interested in reading. #What remained were a few thrift store hand-me-downs. Some dog-eared books from middle school. Notepads full of last year’s school work. #No sentimental debris remained from Sammy’s childhood except for an old brown bear with no ears that Dean didn’t even know he’d kept. #The bags could’ve belonged to anyone if they didn’t say “Sam” with that five-pointed letter A. Dean traced his thumb over it. #He pulled out each and every item. #He didn’t realize until then just how little there was to show for it or how much he needed there to be. #It was a few minutes later when the Impala had safely rumbled away. All Dean could hear was the blood pounding inside his head. #He broke down. #He broke down under two weeks of game-face and stiff upper lip. #Dad wouldn’t be back for weeks. #He could hold on to this stuff for one more day.