DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural, merely take the boys out to play every once in a while. I don't own the song either, which belongs to Anna Nalick off her absolutely fabulous album, 'Wreck of the Day'.

L.A. lights never shine quite as bright as in the movies
Still wanna go?
'Cause something here
In the way, in the way that we're constantly moving
Reminds you of home

Dean Winchester died three years ago. She doesn't count the months, or the weeks, or the days, but she knows Sam does. Sam counts the months, weeks, days, hours; he'd count the minutes and even the seconds, but they just pass by too fast. Sarah isn't Sarah Blake anymore, she's Sarah Winchester – sometimes Sarah Connors, sometimes Sarah Riley, sometimes Sarah Amberworth and a million other names but always Sarah, because any other name makes her feel…Detatched from herself.

They're always moving. She sits in the passenger seat, him driving the Impala. They never, ever speak when they're driving, unless she's pointing out directions. The music's always the same – it's been the same tape since Dean put it in there, the last time he was driving. Sam's never taken it out, that much she's sure of.

They're heading to LA. Ever since Sam came to New Paltz, to her place – battered, bruised, bloody – she didn't need to ask. Dean had died, and there was nothing Sam could do about it. He spent two months with her, two months of silent grief and two months of nightmares and two months of, "Shh, it's okay. I'm here, Sam. I'm not going anywhere."

After those two months, it was a while before she saw him again. He only left a note on the fridge door. ('Went to visit Missouri. I love you.') She always thought he meant the state. When he came back, he came back with Dean's car, and with a look in his eyes that she'd never seen before. He came back with a ring in a box and bent on one knee and proposed, and god she couldn't say no.

Mary Katrina Winchester was conceived that night.

Mary Katrina Winchester was born and died at six months, in a hail of fire and brimstone and sulphur. Ever since then they've been moving, hunting, searching and lying and killing.

Sam's never looked back. She knows he hasn't.

She has, but that's okay. Because she knows that this is where she belongs.

So you're taking these pills
For to fill up your soul
And you're drinking them down with cheap alcohol
And I'd be inclined to be yours for the taking
And part of this terrible mess that you're making
But me, I'm the catalyst

Sam's not doing so well these days.

He's exhausted, she knows. She sees it in his eyes and face and soul every time they're together and he whispers ILoveYou. He's exhausted his spirit, mind and body. There's so many scars and bruises and not enough asprins in the word are going to make it better.

Every time, it's the same. Sam's not a bad guy, and he has the best intentions and he loves her and she loves him but he's changed. It's boiled down to asprin and alcohol and Sarah's…She's almost scared. She shouldn't be, because she trusts him – and he knows what he's doing, and it doesn't affect him so bad in the morning, and the pills and the alcohol and everything does help him sleep because god knows he needs it, but…

But. It's always but.

She wishes she could help him. Just lying beside him, arms wrapped around each other, it used to work. It used to help him and he wouldn't dream of fire and brimstone and sulphur but now there's three people in his life that went up in flames.

They're spiralling downward. She almost knows, suspects, awaits what's going to happen next. Sooner or later, it's going to happen.

But for the moment, she'll immerse herself in ignorance.

When you say love is a simple chemical reaction
Can't say I agree
'Cause my chemical, yeah, left me a beautiful disaster
Still love's all I see

His eyes burned that fierce, eerie yellow as he gripped her by the throat, constricting her airway. She choked and gasped and she knew this wasn't Sam, that he was posessed but goddamnit NotSam looked exactly like him and as she watched him he watched her as she inched ever closer to death…

Somehow she manages to get that switchblade out of her back pocket and stab NotSam in the arm. He lets out a roar of pain and for a moment she can't believe what she's done – ohgodohgodSam,ohgodohgod – But then everything comes flooding back, and she drops to the floor, gasping for breath and moving at the same time towards her gun that was scattered across the floor. Just as she turns around, gun in her grasp he makes a motion with his hand and she's flying into the wooden crates, smashing them and the wind knocked out of her.

"He doesn't love you."

NotSam sneers as he inches closer, and Sarah can't help but let out a small whimper as she tries to just breathe and figure out how she's going to solve this.

"He doesn't love you. He never has. Love's just something he cooked up inside his own brain."

The comments keep on coming. They're nothing to her, they're nothing, nothing – but the truth is, they are something. They are something, true or false, but for some reason they hurt. They shouldn't.

Grabbing the gun she points it at him, and finally, finally it angers her when she sees NotSam smile.

"You think you're going to be able to do it? Kill me? With that?"

He taunts, but she knows she can't. But she knows one way to get to Sam and NotSam will never expect.

"Sam, I'm so sorry," Her voice is quiet, and she lets the tears roll down her cheeks and her torn lip starts to bleed more as she talks. She lifts the gun and presses the cold metal against her head. Her fingers cock the gun, holding tight onto the weapon. "I love you."

The last thing she hears is Sam - not NotSam, but Sam – yell her name as she pulls the trigger, and when she wakes she sees Sam cradle her own body, crying and sobbing, all trace of the demon gone. She feels someone tap her on the shoulder, and when she turns away from her body to see who it is.

It's a woman. She's beautiful, there's no question about it. Red hair cropped short and the most amazing eyes that tears open her whole entire soul.

"Come with me, Sarah."

The woman is a Reaper, there's no mistake about it. She knows her time is up. Sarah cries, wordlessly, turning around to face the Reaper, who in another life she would have seen much later.

"Will he be okay?"

She asks, and the Reaper smiles.

With one last glance at Sam, tears rolling down her face, Sarah turns aroud to face the Reaper takes her hand.

So I'm taking these pills for to fill up my soul
And I'm drinking them down with cheap alcohol
And you'd be inclined to be mine for the taking
And part of this terrible mess that I'm making
But you, you're the catalyst

A total of six years after Dean's death, and two after Sarah's, Sam Winchester has lost a brother, a father, a mother, a wife and a daughter. He's lost his family and he's got nothing to live for, even though Missouri tried her best.

So he's sitting at some rundown bar in the middle of nowhere, downing one asprin and one shot, one after the other, because he doesn't plan on seeing the sun rise ever again.

"Sam?"

It takes him a moment to register that someone is calling his name, and he turns around slowly to see who it is.

It's Jo, the last person he expects to see.

"Hey."

Is all he can muster, his voice croaky and so unused that it's almost painful to speak.

She's still a Hunter, that much he can tell by the way she stands. And the way her eyes take in the sight of Sam, and the gun next to him on the counter that nobody seems to really care about, and the shot glasses lined up next to him and the bottle of asprin in his hand.

"Sam, I'm so sorry."

She says, and it doesn't make him feel any better, but he knows that's all she can manage.

You'll be the vein
You'll be the pain
You'll be the scar
You'll be the road, rolling below
The wheels of a car
And all of the thoughts, oh God
Don't know if I'm strong enough now
You'll be the vein
You'll be the pain
You'll be the
Catalyst

It's raining outside, heavily and dark and thick, and in another universe Sam Winchester would never have been this desperate. It's raining and it's cold, and the only sound that's going to keep him company is the music blearing out of the speakers, the casette still the same one. It's never been changed, all these years.

Driving along the main road, he looks up at the small charm attatched to the rear view mirror. It's Dean's old necklace, and he has to blink several times to stop himself from crying. He will not. Hewillnothewillnothewillnot.

He almost misses the dirt road, and the sharp turn makes his stomach lurch. He continues to drive, until he's here. It's in the middle of a forest, dimly lit and the crescent moon only a sliver, the hooting of a distant owl that would have once made this place an eerie scene, but he's seen too much for this to scare him.

Sam turns the engine off, the keys still in ignition. The music still blares out, and letting out a shuddering breath he opens the glovebox.

His hands shake as he pulls out the gun, cocks it and puts the barrel into his mouth.

His thoughts drift back to before. When Jess was alive, when Dad was alive, when Dean was alive, when Sarah was alive; goddamnit, when his life wasn't so full of all this shit. For the first time he lets himself go, sobbing – and it can only be called as such – great big heaving sobs that is his soul's way of screaming to the world I'm just not strong enough.

His hand reaches up to grab the dangling necklace, and clutches it so tightly in his hand it almost bleeds.

He pulls the trigger and then there is black.

These L.A. lights, no no,
They don't shine quite as bright as back in Frisco
Do you wanna go?
Still wanna go