"Love is, that you are the knife which I plunge into myself." – Franz Kafka.

"Carry on my Wayward Son…" –Kansas.

High noon, cloudy skies, just outside of town, I find my wheels pressing over the ground. Dirt like cold looks, tendrils of dying brown grass. This place is a battle field almost as truly as it is a place for the dead.

"Stull Cemetery"

I used to pay no heed or attention to urban rumors and mythologies, but my time in "the life" has revealed to me a dark and terrifying world. A world that beats and pulses like a blackened heart behind the curtain. The oldest Winchester brother – Dean – sits in my front seat, his sweaty palms gripping my wheel tight and I can sense all the fear, all the anger and all the sadness. It channels through his frame and into mine. We know each other. He calls me "Baby."

But the other Winchester – Sam – is missing from my passenger seat where he typically resides. I am not ignorant. I understand to a degree what is going on. Yet who would've thought that it would be a scratched up old Impala like me who would one day perch like a dilapidated monument over this cliff-face and peer down at all the voices, thunders and lightnings of the end of the world.

Sammy. The youngest. A boy, his whole life haunted, now controlled. A puppet for the closure of this age. Brother matched against brother.

"Alright Baby," brave and tragic Dean whispers to me. He strokes my dashboard for comfort, "It's time to end this. For good."

A cassette tape is injected into my veins like a heroin junkie looking for his angry fix, and I allow the euphoria of classic rock music to reverberate through my body. I growl and the two of us prowl forward over the hill and down the Devil's Lane towards our swan song. A man and his car. A Knight and his steed.

Before us a dragon awaits, that old serpent called "Devil," he wears on him the face of a loved one. And if you were to peel back his skin, you would find only fangs and tentacles. Stingers and proboscises – all twisting and writhing down there somewhere in the dark like a Lovecraftian nightmare.

Dean holds out hope that his brother is still inside somewhere.

"Hey, we need to talk."

"…Dean, even for you this is a whole new mountain of stupid."

"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Sam."

I hear the protests of another less than angelic arch-angel. He blabbers on about Dean no longer being his vessel. That he has no right to be here. I feel disgusted by this creature almost as much as the one which possesses Sammy. He stands there so noble, while forcibly possessing the corpse of Sam and Dean's half brother.

"Adam, if you're in there… I am so sorry." Dean whispers to the youth.

"Adam isn't home right now." The creature retorts in an arrogance that twists and distorts its glory.

"Well, then you're next on my list Buttercup. But right now I need five minutes with him."Dean nods in Sam's direction.

"You are no longer a part of this story!" The Archangel screams. There is a flash of lights, some shouting, then flames and the Archangel disappears as Bobby Singer and the fallen Angel Castiel appear and buy Dean his five minutes.

"Castiel did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?" the Devil stalks our ally with a hideous malevolence. I can sense Castiel's terror and a moment later I feel warm blood and shredded flesh hit my bonnet.

My spirit reaches out across the field to Dean's and something inside him sinks.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" he pleads. Lucifer turns his attention back to Dean and contorts his face in a snarl.

"You know?" he hisses, "I tried to be nice for Sammy's sake. But you…" The creature grabs Dean's jacket and pulls him in close, "…are such a pain in my ass!" he lifts him and throws him, Dean slams against my window and cracks it in several directions.

I feel pain both corporal and transcendent.

Bobby Singer lets loose a hail of bullets into Sammy's chest but it does not stop him.

I hear the snap of a spine, followed by a scream of anger and disbelief from Dean as he lies bruised and beaten, jammed into my glass.

"Yes!" Lucifer snarls and breaks Dean's cheekbone in one hit. The Hunter coughs and viscous blood drips down from his mouth onto me. Dean's eyes look back up at his brother with a yearning hope.

"Sammy? Are you in there?"

"Oh he's in here alright" the Snake hisses, "…and he's gonna feel the snap of your bones! Every single one… We're gonna take our time."

I can't see what is happening now, but I can hear a series of wet thuds and cracks and I can feel blood showering me.

It is a perverse rain.

"Sammy it's okay." Dean splutters through his mouthful of broken teeth, "It's okay…"

"… I'm here… I'm here,"

"I'm not gonna leave you…"

"…I'm not gonna leave you…"

I feel my spirit break and I try turn away from the horrible violence.

Sam.

Dean.

I see their names carved into the back of my seats…

And the army man Sam jammed into my ashtray…

…The rattling of Lego that Dean once dropped down my vents.

I see the good times.

I see the bad times.

All the laughter and all the tears.

Their shouting matches and the clinking of beers together at the end of long days…

I keep my eyes shut, watching our lives flash before my eyes, I feel the violent pressure on my bonnet let up suddenly.

"…It's okay Dean…" a softer voice. A damaged voice, 'It's going to be okay… I… I've got him."

We all know what this means, as Sammy takes control of the devil inside, and the pit to hell is opened up beneath the shattered dirt of Stull Cemetery, I hear Dean start to cry as he looses his brother to the grave, and I turn my face away from it all.

Some would say that self-sacrifice is the life blood of the greatest stories ever told, but if that is THIS story, I don't want to know how it ends.