Disclaimer - I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all the standard disclaimers apply.

Summary - Sam's last word.

Warnings - Deathfic. But in a bittersweet kind of way.

A/N - This is my first drabble fic (under 100 words). Written for Toratio's prompt at spn_bunker on LJ.

The Last Word

It's not a bad way to go.

He's warm, there's no pain, and he can leave knowing that he fought all the way to the end; saving people, hunting things. He's done more good than bad.

He can feel death tugging at his soul; his eyelashes lead-heavy as everything around him becomes softer. Like twilight.

Then there's a calloused hand on his cheek. The smell of leather and gun oil. The Impala's headlights calling him home.

He looks up, sees the face he's been waiting for, the face he hasn't seen in so long, and smiles.

"Jerk."