Title: Freedom, Fatalities, and Fire
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Sam, Dean, Baby
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Sam wanders, and wonders, after Dean is gone.
Word Count: 1,160
Written For: Fan FlashWorks Challenge 393: Amnesty: Challenge 2: Triangle and 3: Anywhere But Here
Warnings: Character Deaths, AU
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.








He couldn't believe what had happened. He couldn't believe that the ride had finally come to an end. He stood, shocked, as voices circled around him. It was a cacophony of Demonic cries, though Bobby's voices and his parents' -- his father's and what he could recall of his mother's -- were in the maelstrom that attacked his senses. He listened through them all, holding his breath, intently searching for one voice to break out above the rest.

There was no roar of any engine, however, and no sound, no sign, of his brother. It wasn't until the one remaining Demon gloated at him, "He's gone to Hell, boy," that Sam moved. Calmly, silently, he raised his gun and blew the Demon, and its host, away. He'd seen what happened to most of the hosts after the Demons were exorcised anyway: They never quite got back to normal. They could never completely forget what they had seen or endured, if they could even rise about all the memories of what their bodies had done at something else's commands.

Then he put the gun over his shoulder and slowly, calmly walked away. His brother wasn't in Hell. Of all the cries he'd just heard when the smoke went up, none of them had been Dean's. None of them had been Baby's. He had a long way to go on foot, but it was kind of poetic justice, really. They hadn't been a triangle: Dean and Baby had been a duo, and he'd always been along for the ride -- well, almost always.

Could he go back? Sammy wondered as he walked with no particular destination in mind. He needed to get somewhere, but he neither knew nor cared where to go. He didn't want to be around, though, when the real authorities came, and perhaps this was his chance. Dean had begged him not to be upset when he made the final sacrifice. Sam had known what was coming, and though he had fought it, Dean had finally made him accept that it was for the best. After all, he'd been dying anyway; at least, this way, he went out on his own terms.

Sam thought about what he knew of Heaven, of the lies that fed into people's minds to keep them happy and placated. Dean was up there somewhere now. Maybe he was riding Baby through the clouds. Wherever he was, he was free. He was free of the endless war and of the pain that had been holding him back for months now. He was free perhaps not to live his own life, to find a wife and settle down or finally pursue something else, say schooling or a career fixing up vintage cars. He was free, and so, too, should Sammy be.

He could put the gun down now and finally get out of the "family business". He could find a good girl who could love him and settle down without fear of Demons. Dean had always been the one who had kept chasing them. Sam had come out of college, away from a normal life, for his brother, but his brother was gone now. He was at peace.

Slowly, as Sam walked, the tears started. They spilled down his cheeks, but through it all, he was smiling. Dean was at peace. He could listen to any music he wanted whenever he wanted. He probably was jumping clouds in Baby, because that car had had a personality. He'd almost believed Dean, multiple times, when Dean had told her she was talking to him.

He'd felt personalities in computers, and there was a computer in a car, but did that mean cars had souls? Many cars whizzed by him on the highway, the drivers never looking or at least not slowing. He'd doubted they had souls, but Baby had been different. She had had so much more than just Personality. She'd given herself many times before to save them, but they'd always been able to bring her back underneath his brother's skilled and gentle hands.

But this time, they'd gone out together. This time, it was different. This time, there was no genius mechanic to bring her back, or even a shell left in which to bring her personality, or her soul, back. There was nothing left. Nothing left but peace. It was over. Dean was resting, finally doing whatever the Hell he chose without having to worry about fighting more Demons or hunting before they could be hunted. He was at peace.

Sam could be at peace as well. He could find a living peace like he'd always wanted growing up. He could resume his schooling or perhaps just go ahead and get a job. (He was a little bit too old now for school after all.) He could start to date again. There was nobody left in the family to bring more Demons into his life. He was the last one.

His tears sped down his cheeks. He would have liked to have gone with them, but Dean had made him promise. He'd told him he couldn't rest if he knew he wasn't safe or at peace. He owed it to his brother not to fight this time, not to try to bring him back or to hunt more Demons. He owed it to him to find that girl, and that dog, and to finally, finally settle down.

He didn't know how long he had walked when he finally came to the roadside diner where they'd eaten dinner the night before. He walked to the very booth where they'd sat, smiling through his tears at the fresh memories of Dean scarfing a bacon triple cheeseburger the size of the plate on which it had been served and a hunk of apple pie. He'd made sure to get a good meal in last night. Sammy wondered, not for the first time, what kind of food was in Heaven and if they actually, genuinely tasted it or just imagined they did.

He'd order some food in a bit; he didn't think it would stay down currently. For now, he just dumped himself into the same seat he'd had last night, and when the waitress came, he ordered two shots. When they arrived, he held each up in turn before shooting it down his dry, tight throat: one for Dean, one for freedom from the hunt. Then he ordered a third for Baby, and a fourth for Dean again. Dean was free and at peace, and so was he. He had no big brother to watch out for him now, no brother to tell him what to do or not to do. He had no big brother to stop him. Tonight, he'd get drunk, he admitted to himself as he ordered more shots. Tomorrow, he'd start to worry about peace, freedom, and living pass the point of wanting to have died with Dean and Baby in that final, fatal, and fiery crash.




The End