Relief

It's hard to say if Sam put up a fight. Even Dean, the person the kid was closest to, wasn't really sure.

The only thing that was clear to both John and Dean Winchester, are the results.

The results being little Sammy laying eerily still for a twelve year old. Eyes closed, skin tight and inhumanly pale.

The results being that Sam Winchester laid dead in his brother's arms on the back seat of the Impala.

The results being Dean hugging his limp brother tightly to his chest, screaming at the pain that his heart caused him. Wailing at the prospect of a life without Sam, his Sammy.

When Sam was still alive in his last breaths, Dean would later recall, his pretty hazel-blue eyes simply watched his big brother in silence, not shedding a single tear. Sam looked at Dean as if he was asking for permission. His gaze so calm you would think the kid was simply asking for a piece of candy from his brother.

Sam's last silent request of Dean was to let Sam die in peace.

The thing is, Dean never granted that request. He wailed and kicked like a baby at the very prospect of it, leaving so much salty liquid on his and Sam's faces and shirts that it must have looked like he had just ran a marathon.

But Sam wouldn't be Sam- Dean's Sammy- without his rebellious nature. Always doing the opposite of what he was told.

So instead, the kid looked at Dean one last time before slowly closing his eyes.

His last breath sounding like a sigh of relief.


I've gone and done it again. Damn it.