This story is set in the future so may contain spoilers for canon events. It does contain tragedy, so do not read if this will upset you.

Disclaimer: Dean, Sam, Castiel, the Impala and any characters from the Supernatural TV series do not belong to me in any way (sadly). I am just playing with the characters and paying homage to the truly great series that is Supernatural. This story is written purely for enjoyment, with no profit of any kind expected, intended or desired.

Each moment slips by, just a grain of sand in the hourglass of our lives. Sometimes we crawl. Sometimes we swoop with joy. Most of the time we just endure the boredom, or fear, or pain or responsibility. Then one day there is just a single grain of sand left, and we wonder…

…how did it come to this?

Chapter One

12th – 0800 hrs

Sheriff Haroldsen dumped a generous spoonful of sugar into his coffee and stirred it vigorously as he scrolled through the newsfeed on his pc. An item on the 'breaking news' tape caught his eye.

"Bit close to home," he thought, shaking his head.

Lately it seemed there was only bad news: storms, murders, riots, war, but in the last week there'd been a lull until this incident just one county over. He sighed and scratched his forehead with a work roughened finger. There was no sense in it. Suspected murderers, salt rounds? What was that all about?

11th - Daybreak

Dean stretched cautiously in the darkness of the barn, easing the stiffness from his muscles slowly and painfully, hissing a little through his teeth as pain flared in his left shoulder. The material of his shirt, stiff with dried blood, tore away from the deep bullet score and started a fresh, warm trickle of blood which crept down his arm and onto his hand. He wiped it off impatiently onto the material of his jeans.

He slid towards the open doorway, careful to stay in the shadows. The cold grey light of dawn was spreading across the horizon; a seemingly endless prairie stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see. Grasses rustled in a soft breeze and a small bird called. The thin strip of road was deserted but for a hawk hovering over some unsuspecting small prey. Normal dawn happenings. He glanced around carefully, his keenly honed hunter's instincts telling him they were safe for the moment. Still time perhaps to make a break for it?

"Dean?" a breath more than a whisper. Behind him Sam stirred, just a shape in the darkness unfolding and stretching.

"Here Sam." Dean moved slightly so his brother could see him against the light. Sam shuffled up to him slowly, slightly bent at the waist, his right arm tight against his ribs.

"You okay Sammy?" Dean reached out and absently pulled a stray piece of straw out of his brother's mop of hair.

"M'okay. Just bruised." Sam sighed, "Thirsty though."

Dean handed him a plastic bottle of water; it was only half full. Sam held it with shaking hands and took a small swig. "We need to move. They're not gonna stop are they..." Sam's tone made it a statement more than a question.

Dean nodded anyway, regretting it immediately as the motion set off a steady thump behind his eyes. He stepped carefully outside into the dawn, gun drawn, and circled the barn once. Still nothing disturbed the vast landscape.

At his whistle Sam eased the huge barn door fully open, the Impala now visible in the gloom inside. He settled himself painfully into the passenger seat as Dean started the engine and nosed her out onto the dirt road. "I'm sorry baby," Dean whispered as he stroked the Impala's wheel lightly with his thumb. He hated to see her like this, all covered in dust and bits of straw, with the marks of their headlong flight all too visible on her black paint.

They crept across the prairie, not fast enough to leave much of a dust cloud, not slow enough to miss the potholes in the rough road. Dean clenched his jaw, worried about something breaking. His baby was a trooper but after all was said and done she had a lot more miles on her clock than he did.

Sam cushioned his ribs against the jolting, his mouth tight with pain. He kept an eye on the road behind them as they seemed to crawl like ants across the vast open space, the rising sun a magnifying glass above them as they fled. Far back he could see the sun was glinting off glass and chrome as flashing blue and red lights crept after them across the brown of the prairie.

Sam was keenly aware of his brother beside him, could tell by the way Dean leant into the door a little that his shoulder was bothering him, felt the tiredness seeping across the space between them. He reached out as though to touch his brother's sleeve, his hand falling away again, wanting familiar comfort but suddenly embarrassed. Time had left its little marks on their faces, sprinkled the first grey in their hair; he was too grown up now, too damn old to be reaching out to his big brother like that.

Dean narrowed his eyes in Sam's direction, feeling the pull of his brother's desperation. "Alright there Sammy?" he growled.

Sam nodded, swallowing, blinking, always the one with the clever words but suddenly wordless and overwhelmed.

-o-

They didn't hear it coming over the bellow of the Impala. The helicopter was just suddenly, shockingly right above them, swooping low and swinging to face them, hovering just above the road surface as its rotors threw a cloud of dust and dry grass in their direction. Dean hit the brakes sharply, the Impala fishtailing as he fought her under control. Behind them the lights and sirens closed in. There was no way off the road here, the drop off on either side too steep.

Sam's hand was already on the door handle, ready to bail out, when the helicopter lurched abruptly sideways, rotors stuttering, and then shot into the air. The pilot seemed to be fighting the controls, close enough to the Impala that they could see the white panic on his face as the machine staggered through the air. It gained height rapidly, leaking black smoke as it careered off across the prairie.

Dean gasped out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, floored the accelerator, tried to re-open the distance between the Impala and the pursuing vehicles. The gap opened steadily and Sam was just beginning to breathe a little easier when they came up out of a slight dip in the ground and saw the roadblock ahead of them, all sun on steel and flashing lights.

"We're out of road, Sammy!"

Grim faced, Dean swung the Impala without hesitation on to the prairie, pushing her as fast as possible into the vast grassland. A single vehicle followed them but seemed to hit an unseen hole, coming to a jarring halt. Its lights strobed helplessly behind them as the Impala ploughed on, Dean using every trick he'd ever learnt to keep her moving forwards.

"They've stopped!" Sam gasped, bracing himself into the corner of the seat as they bounced wildly along. "Calling up more air support?"

After what seemed like hours, but was probably in reality only thirty minutes or so, the landscape became suddenly wilder. The Impala launched gamely across terrain that would be challenging to a modern 4x4. Dean could feel her guts wrenching as he fought the wheel, "I'm so sorry baby," he moaned, pushing her onwards towards a distant building. Where there was a building there would be some kind of road. They couldn't afford to get caught out here in the open, needed to get back on a road before the next helicopter turned up or they were cut off by ATVs. His life, and more importantly Sam's life, depended on it.

They were moving way too fast when they hit the gulley, and the Impala bucked like a startled horse, twisting and flying briefly into the air, for a second almost like her namesake before she smashed into the dry surface. She rolled once, flipped back up onto her wheels and came to a shattering halt. Dean felt something just give, and knew even before he landed on his knees beside her that she would be going no further without assistance. He pulled himself up by the doorframe, looking at the damage, smashed his fist onto the roof, "Dammit baby!"

Sam grabbed his shoulder and held on when his brother tried to twist away. "We have to move!" He thrust a duffle of weapons at Dean, throwing another onto his own shoulder. "We'll come back for her Dean," his voice pleading now, "Please Dean, we have to go!"

Dean nodded, "Just gimme a minute Sam, I'll catch you up." His breath sobbed in his throat, the pain of parting like a knife in his heart.

Sam stepped back, a sharp lump stuck in his throat, unable to move further from his brother. He watched with tears in his eyes as Dean placed his hands on the twisted hood. "I'm so sorry baby," he whispered hoarsely, "I will come back for you. If I can."

He stood upright, still keeping one hand touching her gently. There was no-one left to call: no Bobby, no Garth, no-one who would come by with a tow truck and rescue his baby. He patted her lightly, feeling the warmth beneath his fingertips of the place he had called home for so very long, was slammed with a rush of memories: his Dad brooding and dark behind the wheel, him and Sammy laughing on the back seat, thundering up the road with Highway to Hell pouring from the windows… He dragged his fingertips free, felt dizzy, suddenly adrift without an anchor. He forced himself backwards, backing away from the initials scratched in the door panels, the lego in the air vent, the spilt Winchester blood, the ghost of laughter echoing inside the smashed windows. He knew he may never see her again, couldn't bring himself to lie to her, the only one who had never let him down. He couldn't, wouldn't, promise to be back. "I'll try," he repeated, broken, staggering away after Sam into the brown grass. He turned back just once, the sun sparkled off her twisted chrome, glittering in a broken headlight like tears catching the light. Unable to breathe past the pain in his chest he stepped away, just one more step, and she was lost to view.

Sam forged onwards, instinctively knowing it was the best way to keep Dean moving forwards. His hands clenched as he forced himself not to turn back to his brother. He could hear Dean stumbling along behind, his breath gasping and whistling harshly, knew without looking that his brother was crying so hard he could barely get the air in and out of his chest.

Sam's own pain at the loss of the Impala was nearly buried beneath choking fear, caused by the intensity of his brother's distress. It could only mean Dean really believed he wasn't coming back. After a while he slowed a little, chanced a glance back at Dean's tear tracked face, and met the tortured green glare full on.

"She will still be there," Sam said gently, "Watching the stars, just like we always did."

Concluded in chapter two… it's actually quite painful to write this one… Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!