Author's Note #1: I've had this story done for days now, and I tell you, trying to come up with titles is harder than writing the actual story. I must have come with...and hated...about two dozen of them before thinking of this one; which I decided to keep as it comes closest to what I'm trying to say that my muse refuses to work with in giving me the words I'm actually looking for.
Author's Note #2: Hugs to Riathe Mai, who edited this late at night, on her phone, sitting in her car. You're the Best. ^_^
Author's Note #3: Takes place late season 8.
ooOOoo
"Let go of me!"
"Dammit, Sam! Hold up one freakin' minute, lets think about this."
"There's nothin' to think about. This—"
"—is suicide, Sam, and you know it. I backed your plan. I even maybe believe that whole 'step into the light, Carol Anne' crap you're preachin'. I agreed to you doin' this, Sammy. I never agreed to you doin' this alone."
"I can end…all of this…right now."
"We end it. Sonovabitch ain't goin' anywhere. We withdraw, do this smart; this time, when the smoke clears, both of us will be left standing."
"Yeah…okay…alright. Whadaya thinking?"
"Landmines, Sammy. Landmines."