Well, here's my first translation of one of my works.

Hope you like it, and please let me know of my mistakes :P

Spoilers 9x23

Read with: Song of the Kelpie – Solas ( /NGAZa7eOv44)

It is already done.

He can feel it without any doubt, he doesn't have the strenght to continue anymore.

It's not only his emaciated body the one that can't go on, he is made into pieces, in ways that he can't even explain.

Probably he was lifeless more time that he imagines, and now, just for sealing everything, his body is giving up too, this is it.

He always knew it, there was no other way, even when they looked for it their entire lives, just trying to avoid the fateful destiny, always pretending, hiding the truth.

"Everything is alright."

"Nothing bad is gonna happen."

"We will make it through this, we always do, didn't we?"

No.

But, for some strange reason, it doesn't feels so...bad.

Because Sam is right there, and is talking to him, and he can't even hear what the hell he's saying through the hiss that is echoing in his head, but he can see his thin lips moving, and that rewards him.

Because Sam is right there, and holds him in his huge arms, here and there, everything around him is Sam and his unbelievable heat.

Because Sam is right there, and is alive.

An he can't feel any bad, because then everything was worth it, because about "that" has been his entire life, because "that" has been the essence of his existence, "that" is really who he is.

"You know, watching out for you... it's kinda been my job, you know? But more than that, it's... it's kinda who I am." He remembered told Sam that before loosing him in hands of Lucifer.

If he's going to fall in the arms of the death, and this time, with no turning back, he can't imagine a better way than that.

With the hands of his brother all over his face, his nerve endings are focus in the softly touch of that caressing fingers that make a road through his skin and distract him from the pain that burns with no mercy.

Sam keeps saying incoherences and he's just capable to imagine the sweet melody of his voice.

His sight becomes blurry and the shape of his brother starts to dissipate, the end is so close that he can touch it with his finger tips.

But no, he can't leave yet, just...just one more second, he needs to do this.

–I got to say something to you...– he manage to say, making his brother stop talking and listen to him.

–What?– the voice of the younger one is like a whirlwind of emotions that he can't and doesn't want to figure out.

He needs to ask Sam for forgiveness. Because he regrets the things he said and done, because he never wanted to see a tear falling down of that shiny hazel eyes by his fault, because he hurt him so many times that he lost the count, because he trusted in many others over him, his throughout life partner, because he blamed him for a lot of things.

And he needs to make Sam knows that he forgives him. For each time that he left, for every one of his betrayals, for every blow and every brickbat, for every treachery, for everything. He doesn't want a hint of guilt left in his brother.

He needs to tell Sam that he hasn't done anything wrong, and he would never love him less, that was just impossible.

That he was the reason that keeps him alive.

That his biggest desire was his happiness.

That there wasn't anything better than watching him sleeping in the passenger seat.

That together, they were the perfect team.

That he felt like a superhero when he was by his side.

That every time that he smiled, he was thinking of him.

That he wouldn't have changed any of the things that they went through.

That he would have died for him again and again and again.

That nothing, ever, was a sacrifice.

That he likes the smell oh his hair.

That he loves his smile.

That he adores to hear him laugh.

That he loves him since he wrapped one of his fingers in his little hand.

That he loves him even when it doesn't seem like that.

That he loves him right now, and he's not sure what happen after death, but he will love him then too.

That he loves him more than he has loved anyone in his entire life.

That he loves him in ways that he can't even tell.

That he loves him for better.

That he loves him for worse.

That he loves him when he is a bitch.

That he loves him when he is an asshole.

That he loves him even when he doesn't want to love anyone else.

That he loves him, that he loves him, that he loves him.

If he could, he would say that and everything that gets stuck in his throat, if only he had time enough, the words would sprout endless from his lips. But he can't, he feels faint and he needs to say something, now.

–I'm proud of us.–

He cradles the face of Sam in his hand and soon everything is alright, and it's like magic that wander all over his body and heals the wounds in his soul. And his touch is burning, a heat that embraces him and gives him life.

One second, two seconds, an eternity.

He looks at the huge hazels that are the eyes of his brother, and for an ephemeral moment is "Sammy" with 13 years and playful bangs covering his forehead, with 15 and a pout in his lips, 17 and his beautiful puppy eyes, 19 and that "I'm right and you're wrong because I'm the intelligent one" face that he hates and loves at the same time, 22 and the surprise in his eyes when he found him in Stanford. Every single of the stages and the gestures of Sam, Sammy, Samuel appears in a flash in front of him.

From a second to another everything becomes blurry, and his heart beats desperately, anticipating all.

And he doesn't fight anymore.

He finally gives up.

Because there's no better deal than this.

If his heart stop beating, the one of Sam drinks his heartbeats.

An end and a new beginning.

If this was always the way to be, he is thankful.

Because the road gets no longer and the travel is over.

And Sam is right there, his light at the end of the tunnel, the last thing that his eyes sees, the last thing that his body feels, and the last thing that is on his mind.

Sam was his beginning, and now he is also...his ending.