Title: Roadside
Author: Indigo Night
Feedback: Yes please
Summary: On a quiet, desolate roadside, Sam waits for Dean.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the characters
Spoilers: Not really.
Warnings: Character death, and suicide. Wincest if you squint.
Beta'd: SailorGadget, thanks so much! Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Author's Note: Writer's block is an evil, vile, disgusting thing, and this is what happens when I'm finally released from it. Please, read, review, and enjoy!
Sam knew Dean would follow him. It was something they'd never discussed, one of many things they hadn't needed to; it was a simple, unspoken fact. Where Sam went, Dean eventually followed, and vice versa. That was probably why Sam hadn't been afraid there in those final moments. Of course, there'd been that split, millisecond of panic when he'd realized once and for all, this was it, but then Dean's image had presented itself before his fading vision, and all fear was gone. Dean may not have been physically with him, and Sam knew that that was the part that would torture Dean the most, but they belonged so totally to each other -- were so much one being -- that they were never really separated, and that had comforted Sam.
So he waited. Dean would be coming soon; he could feel it. The hum in his ethereal, insubstantial form that forewarned him with eager anticipation that his brother was approaching, was nearly there.
He stood, watching down the desolate road where his life had ended, waiting, longing for the inevitable day when the shiny black impala appeared. Few cars passed this way, and a tiny flutter, reminiscent of his no longer beating heart, would rise in him, hoping that it would be Dean, followed by the sinking disappointment, and the whispered encouragement, not yet, he's coming, just not yet.
It was lonely, waiting on the empty highway shoulder. He lost track of the days passing, he had no concept of time anymore, just soon, soon, he'll be here soon.
Then the day came. There she was, with her deafening roar, the dying sun glinting off of her hood, the only home Sam had ever known. She pulled to a stop barely a foot away from where Sam stood waiting, the driver's side door opened, and there he was. He looked older, much older than he was, in a world-weary, exhausted way. He had more scars than Sam remembered; his face deeply lined
from the cruel use the fates had put him through. But he was finally here, finally he could rest. They could both rest, together, the way it was meant to be.
Dean walked with a slight limp now, making his way slowly to lean against the idling hood of his beloved car, the Beretta in his hand gleaming in the fading light. At one time, the sight of that gun, the thought of what was coming, would have chilled Sam, horrified and torn at him; now it filled him with a humming longing, with the rightness of it, with a desperate need.
"I finally did it, Sammy." Even Dean's voice sounded tired, hoarse. Sam longed to go to his brother, to hold him, to sooth away the hurts, and he could barely contain himself with the thought that soon he'd be able to. "I finally killed the bastard. It killed mom, Jess, you, dad, and god knows who else. But in the end I got it, it's finally over."
"Then it's time, Dean," Sam called, longing, so closing, he'd waited so long, "Come, rest with me. The war's done; you won, for all of us. You've earned it." He approached Dean, taking the few steps needed to close the distance between them, and covered Dean's warm, still living hand with his own ghostly one. Together they raised the gun, resting it against Dean's temple. Together they pulled the trigger. Together they felt the rush of blood pouring from the room. Together they embraced each other and faded away into the sunset. They entered the afterlife, facing whatever was to come. Together, the way it was meant to be.