17. Let go

Thomas, who had been quiet for a long time, finally spoke. His voice was calm, but there was a trace of sadness in it. "You know, when I was buying and selling houses, I often came across things like this. At first, I didn't believe in ghosts or spirits. It all felt like stories people made up to scare each other. But after a while, I realized they were real. There are things in this world we can't explain." He paused, his expression thoughtful. "Luckily, I had some friends who knew how to handle this kind of thing. They're like the people you have around you now. They call themselves hunters."

James looked up quickly, surprised by what his father had said. A memory stirred in his mind as Thomas went on. "Do you remember that funeral we attended a few years ago? The one where you met Ellen?"

James nodded slowly as the memory surfaced. "Yeah, I remember. She had a little girl with her, right?"

Thomas gave a small smile. "That's right. Her husband, Bill, was one of my friends. He was a hunter too. He helped people deal with the kind of things we're facing now. That bar they run, the Roadhouse? It's more than just a bar—it's a place for hunters. They go there to share information, make plans, and support each other."

James's thoughts raced as he put the pieces together. He remembered Ellen and her daughter, Jo, clearly. He'd met them at the funeral and a few times after that. Back then, Jo had seemed curious about him, maybe even interested. But James had kept his distance. Well with his age he wasn't going to date kids. By his count, his real age was over 35, if he combined the years he lived, in his both past like and current life.

At the time of there meet, Jo had been a young teenager—maybe 14 or 15. Because of his morals, James couldn't see her in the same way she seemed to see him. He politely avoided her interest and kept their interactions limited. Over time, they drifted apart and lost touch.

Outwardly, James nodded, keeping these thoughts to himself. "I didn't know the Roadhouse was connected to hunters, Dad."

Thomas's expression softened. "You were just a kid back then. There was no reason to involve you in all of that. I wasn't a hunter myself—I didn't have what it takes for that life. But I knew enough to call on them when things got strange. Bill and Ellen helped me more than once. And now, it seems you're following a similar path."

James nodded again, but his mind wandered to the one season of Supernatural he had watched before reincarnating into this world. Of what he could remember, there was no mention of this place.

'Mabye this bar was introduced in the second or third season?' James assumed.

Thomas's voice brought him back to reality. "If you ever need help, go to them. Especially Ellen. She's strong and will stand by you if you need her."

James nodded, thankful for his father's advice, though he kept his thoughts about the TV show to himself. "Thanks, Dad. I'll keep that in mind."

Thomas's form flickered again, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Oh, and there's something else. At the Roadhouse, there's a guy named Ash. People call him 'Dr. Badass.' He's a little strange but brilliant when it comes to finding things or solving tough problems. He owes me a big favor."

James raised an eyebrow, curious. "Why does he owe you?"

Thomas gave a small smile. "Years ago, I saved his family's life—well, technically. It's a long story. Let's just say Ash knows he wouldn't be here without me. If you ever need help—any help—just go to him. No matter how dangerous or crazy it is, he'll help you. Trust me on that."

James nodded slowly, filing away the name Ash in his mind. He wanted to ask more but decided it could wait for later.

Thomas's expression shifted, a little more serious but still calm. "By the way," he said casually, "did you have my funeral yet?"

James blinked at the sudden question. "Uh, no. I was in the hospital after everything happened, and I haven't had time to do anything about it yet."

Thomas chuckled, a mischievous spark in his eyes. "Good, good. I was thinking about how my funeral should go, you know? Nothing too fancy, but not too plain either. Maybe a nice ceremony with a few good speeches. Don't make me sound perfect—people know I wasn't. And definitely no boring organ music."

James smirked at his father's casual attitude about his own funeral. "Any special requests for the music?"

Thomas shrugged. "Surprise me. You've got good taste. But make sure there's pie at the reception. A good funeral always has pie."

He paused, his smile turning playful. "Oh, and I want to do something funny. You know those jack-in-the-box toys that pop out when you turn the handle? Get one and rig it to my casket somehow. Imagine—right after the ceremony, the lid creaks open, and out jumps a skeleton with a sign that says, 'Gotcha!' The look on everyone's faces would be priceless."

James stared at him, half-amused and half-shocked. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm completely serious," Thomas said, grinning. "Life's too short to take death seriously. Let them laugh—it's what I'd want. Besides, it'll give them a story to talk about for years. 'Remember how Thomas scared everyone at his own funeral?' Classic."

James shook his head, trying not to laugh. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?"

Thomas's grin softened. "You'll understand one day. Funerals aren't for the dead, James. They're for the living, to help them let go and remember the good times. I want mine to be something people can smile about."

James's smile faded as his father's words sank in. He nodded. "I'll make sure it's a good one, Dad."

Thomas sighed, looking at James with a serious expression. "Well, kiddo, I've said everything I wanted to. You know, it's my time to go now," he said softly. "I stayed here because I was worried about you... but after seeing you, I'm relieved."

James didn't respond. He just looked down at the floor, his heart heavy. He didn't say anything, but deep down, he didn't want his dad to leave. Thomas noticed the hesitation in his eyes. "Bill once told me that if spirits stay too long because of an obsession, their minds start to unravel, and they could go insane. You wouldn't want that to happen to me, would you?" he said gently.

James still didn't speak, but he understood. He knew he couldn't keep his dad here any longer. He definitely didn't want him to become a lost, obsessed spirit.

"James, you need to let me go," Thomas said, his voice full of understanding.

Tears filled James's eyes as he looked at his father. He never thought he would cry so much in this life. In his past life, he never cried much—even when his parents treated him horribly or when life had been tough. But now, standing in front of his dad, he couldn't stop the tears from falling. It felt shameful, weak to him, who considered himself to be tough and overcome any situation.

Thomas, seeing James's pain, reached out, wanting to comfort him, but his hand passed right through James's head. He tried again, but it was no use. He couldn't touch him.

Just then, Sam and Dean walked into the room, having knocked first. They both looked at James with understanding in their eyes. Sam took a deep breath and spoke softly, "James, this isn't a place where spirits should stay. It's not healthy for either of you."

Dean added, his voice calm but firm, "We know it's hard, but your dad would also want you to move on."

James wiped his eyes, trying to pull himself together. It felt like a knife to his chest, but he knew they were right. His father had been through so much already, and he couldn't let him suffer any longer. Slowly, he nodded, unable to speak, but the message was clear.

Thomas gave a small, proud smile, his form flickering one last time, as he stood up. "You've grown up, James. You'll be okay."

James stepped back, watching his father's figure slowly fade. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he knew it was the right thing. Thomas was finally at peace.

Sam and Dean stayed silent as they watched, knowing this was a moment of closure for James.

Finally, James looked up at the place where his Dad was standing, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be alright."

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