Author's Note: The idea for this story, a series of twenty-four drabbles formed around the twenty-four pictures in a disposable camera, came to me from a book called Click with the same general premise. While the chapters of Click were much more detailed, it also had less chapters and wasn't based around anything. After remembering that book, I started to wonder - Sam and Dean have crossed the United States hundreds of times and seen some pretty amazing things. So, I thought, what more would we know about them if we saw the pictures they took? So I started to write a series of twenty-four drabbles that let you see into the lives, and the loss, of Sam and Dean's life. I hope you enjoy.

This story is saved on a disposable camera. Sammy bought it at a gas station in Iowa. It could take twenty-four pictures total and all it took was six years to fill it up. He bought it the summer after he died with the intention of documenting his brother's last year alive. But that idea was dumb, Dean'd said, and they'd never get the pictures developed and the whole idea was pointless so why put the effort into it? So they forgot about it.

Mostly.

Because the interesting this about sentiment is that it strikes when you least expect it. In the form of your mother's old necklace, or a brochure from your trip to Cancun, or that one report you wrote in sixth grade. And it hits you hard and you think, 'Oh, I'll keep this for one more year. Then I'll get rid of it.' And no matter how worthless it is, you're wrong. You'll never get rid of it, and it'll rot in the back of your closet but you'll never throw it out. And that's how Sam was about the damned camera – he knew it was stupid to keep, but he'd had it for so long that he knew he'd never get rid of it. And he was right.

Mostly.

The first picture on the camera is a blurry shot of four hands and torso wearing a blue shirt.

"What's that?" The motel they were staying in in Kentucky was one of the most run down they'd ever seen. There wasn't even a bathroom in the room – there was a public one for everyone at the motel and it was the most disgusting thing either of them had seen in their lives, which was seriously saying something. It was clear that the place was crawling with roaches and rats and other unsightly things that neither of them wanted to see. The carpets were torn and the ceiling were cracked and the walls were thin as paper. The whole place smelled of mold and dust, and the beds were constantly damp for some reason neither of them wanted to think about. The room was cold, a constant chill running through it. To top it all off, they still didn't have enough money left for food, despite the cheap room. They simply hadn't gotten the chance to make some money. As soon as they came through the door, though, Dean dumped his jacket beside the motel room's bed before sitting on it and pulling his shoes off while Sam dumped the contents of his duffle bag onto his bed.

Sam looked over at Dean, a small frown on his face. "It's a camera."

"A camera?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow as if he had never heard of such a contraption before.

Sam nodded, waving it through the air for emphasis. "I bought a camera."

They'd been working a case in Iowa - two disappearances, both little girls under the age of ten, had occurred within the last month. They found out soon about the towns lore - nothing out of the ordinary except for the kidnapping and murder of two children. The kids were both age seven and were twins. Their mother had recently divorced her husband and so after the death of the children she'd locked herself in her room for months before eventually taking her own life. According to those alive at the time, she'd wandered out of her house bundled in a blanket during November after being inside since June. She then walked down to the railroad station and sat on the tracks humming until she was hit. It'd been the woman's ghost taking the girls, perhaps out of jealousy for the people who got to have their children. When the case had ended, they'd packed their things and then stopped by a gas station to get some food before skipping town. While Dean got the Impala filled up, Sam went into the gas station's shop and bought them some food for the long car ride. They didn't have nearly enough cash for a proper meal. A bag of sunflower seeds, some beef jerky, a couple of beers, a few chocolate bars, a few different types of chips and a camera. If Dean only had a year left, he was going to capture some of it. Though Dean didn't know about the camera, and if he did, he'd probably be pissed, telling Sam that they only had so much money for things they needed.

Now they were in another town, another motel, and Dean didn't look too pleased about it, just as Sam had anticipated. He rolled his eyes, falling back onto the bed. "Why?" he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"To take pictures with..." Sam replied, matter-of-factly.

Dean rolled his eyes once more. "Yeah, I got that. But why waste money on something you could do with your fricking cell phone?" He reached into one of the bags of chips that they'd still had left over when they'd arrived at the motel early that morning. Still having not raked together enough cash for breakfast, they'd gone through the barbeque potato chips and now the sour cream and onion instead.

"It was five dollars."

"But why?" Dean asked sharply, propping himself up in his elbows. "Why do you even care about taking pictures, I've never seen you touch a camera in your life."

"Maybe because you're dying, Dean, ever considered that?" San said just as harshly. "You've got, what, maybe nine months left? Maybe I want a couple of pictures first."

"God..." whined Dean. "Don't get all sentimental on me." He stood up, walking over to San. "Give me the camera."

"No, Dean, I'll just put it away," Sam argued, reaching for his duffle bag, going to toss the camera in. But Dean was grabbing at the camera before he could put it away. "I won't take any pictures," Sam promised, but at that point Dean had already taken it from him. "Seriously, Dean." Sam reached for the yellow camera, but Dean pulled it quickly out of his brother's reach.

"If your not going to take any pictures, why do you want it?"

Sam shook his head, mildly irritated that Dean did have a point. But then, not responding further, he reached for the camera and was able to grab it before Dean could yank it away. He got another hand on the camera and he tugged at it, but Dean didn't let it budge. Each brother pulled at the camera but neither would release it, and soon they practically began wrestling over it, feet planted but arms straining. Dean would have it, then Sam would have it, the he would adjust his grip and Dean would have it. It was a childish game of tug-of-war and no one was even close to winning. They were both equally matched, Sam perhaps having a slight advantage due to size. And so it went for a good three minutes at least.

Within the first ten seconds, Sam had realized how ridiculous and pointless the fight was, but he kept pulling, fighting, grabbing, purely out of spite. If Dean didn't want him to have the camera, all the more reason to have the camera. But he still knew killing each other over it wasn't worth it. Ah he began to grow tired, a touch of sweat trickling down his forehead and his face beginning to go a little red, he grumbled, "Just let go!"

And Dean smirked and answered, "Fine."

Momentum is a cruel and merciless foe.

As soon as Dean released the camera, Sam was flying. He stumbled several steps backward, back hitting the wall and nearly falling over. The camera fell out of his hands and onto the carpeted motel floor. A dull thud emanated throughout the room and the smile on Dean's lips was sickeningly smug.

"You probably broke it," Sam mumbled in irritation, picking up the camera and holding it to his eye level. Examining it, he found that the viewfinder and the lens were in tact, but..."You wasted a picture. You must've taken it while were fighting over it."

"So?" Dean asked, falling back onto his bed. He was still grinning like an idiot.

"It's a disposable camera, it only has twenty-four pictures."

Dean's eyes fixed on the ceiling. "What the hell's the point of that?"

"I don't know, Dean," he said with something between a sigh and a chuckle.

"Plus, who says I took the picture?"

"Well, I didn't."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause I didn't, that's how."

Dean shook his head. "I didn't, either. I would've noticed, pressing the button."

"So would I!"

"It was you."

"It was not!"

"What does it matter?" Dean asked, sitting up once more and crossing his arms. "If you're not planning on using the damn thing anyway, why does it matter how many more pictures you can take or not? Just throw it away, it's no use to anyone!"

"I'm sorry I bought it," Sam mumbled, throwing up his hands in defeat, to which Dean grinned and lied down once more. Then Sam took another look at the camera, the bright plastic just barely scratched by the fight over it. He shrugged, not quite sure why he'd gotten all that worked up over the device. With that, he tossed it into his duffle bag, and it sank between the side of the bag and his jacket.