Just a little one-shot. Dean takes Sam out for one last meal before Sam says 'yes' to Lucifer.

Last Meal

The Impala's engine hummed, a soft purring that rattled around them, shutting out the cold night. The dark road was empty, the only things visible were the white stripes on asphalt illuminated by the Impala's headlights. She carried her boys faithfully as always, forward to the fate they had chosen.

Dean, claiming that the tape player wasn't working, had found a station on the radio that had Sam's head bobbing to the beat. Usually, he wouldn't allow this kind of music in the car. But tonight was different.

Tonight was the last night.

There were four gallons of demon blood in the trunk, and Detroit was less than 100 miles away. The headlights created a bright tunnel of light to insulate them from the encroaching night, but in front of them a black chasm yawned. Sam's future. This drive was all the time that Sam had left.

They had lapsed into silence about an hour ago, when debates about the Three Stooges, and Batman v. Superman, had run out of steam. The radio had fizzled out, too, the airwaves crackling with static until Dean turned it off. There was no one but him and his brother and the road.

He knew what lay at the end of that road.

Dean had agreed to this choice. He could say no and put an end to it at any time. But he wouldn't. It was the only way, and they all knew it. For now, he wanted to forget. He wanted to wipe out their past mistakes and this bleak future and just drive into the night with not burden and no fear, just Dean and his brother.

Sam was quiet, staring at the stars out the window. Dean didn't know what philosophical thoughts were swirling through is brother's mind. Was Sam having second thoughts? If he was, he didn't show it.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable and homey. This was the place they had spent the most time together. First in the back seat as kids and now, for these past five years, together in the front. Driving into the future, sharing the silence.

Grrrrr.

A gurgling sound bubbled but from Sam's stomach. Dean checked his watch. It was well after dinner time.

"What do you say we get some food, huh Sammy?" His brother might hate the name, but Dean wouldn't have many more chances to use it. He would fit in as many as he could.

Sam scrunched his eyebrows, and shook his head. "Nah, were only a few hours out. I mean…It's not like I'll need it."

"Every man is entitled to a last meal. Besides, I'm starving, and I will need it." Dean was determined to convince Sam he'd make good on his promise. The one to go and live a happy life after Sam was gone. Dean still wasn't sure if he would even try. He might just curl up in a hole and refuse to eat or drink again. This might be his last meal, too.

At any rate, it was the only one that would matter for a long, long time. Dean spotted lights in the distance, a small town perched just off the highway. Blue signs displayed dinning options in gaudy colors. Dean grinned.

"Hey, look. They've got a health-food joint. All the veggies you can eat." Dean's stomach revolted at the thought.

Sam gave him a look, the one that was clearly concern Dean's brain had been hijacked by something else. First, pop music. Now, volunteer to eat healthy food? Sam was concerned.

"It's your choice, Sammy. Are you telling me you don't want to eat at Jason's giant salad bar?"

"Actually, I don't."

Dean paused, the Impalas front bumper hovering on the edge of the intersection. "You don't?" Now it was his turn to be concerned.

"No." Sam peered out the window at the brightly-lit signs before them, and pointed in a different direction. "There, that looks good."

"That is a greasy-spoon, peanuts-on-the-floor, heart-attack-in-the-making kind of place, Sam. You don't like those. You only eat there because I make you."

Sam smiled and nodded firmly. "That's where I want to eat. Do you know how longs it's been since I had good onion rings?"

"At least three years, Mr. I-only-eat-salad."

"Yeah, well, I don't have to worry about heart attacks anymore, do I?"

"Hm," Dean grunted, but he pulled into the restaurant Sam had picked. Any other day, his stomach would have leapt at the sight. Today, he knew anything he ate would taste like ashes.

"You really want to eat here?"

Sam ducked out the door. "Yeah, I really do. Are you coming?" He flashed Dean a grin, one of pure enjoyment that Dean hadn't seen in years.

Well, maybe he could savor his burger after all.

An hour later, they had polished off five burgers, two baskets of onion rings, cheese curds, and a pair of double-chocolate brownies. Empty beer bottles lay scattered between them. Sam sat back with a dazed look on his face. The sugar coma was already setting in.

"Thanks, Dean. This was great."

"You know, we could have done this every night." Dean's stomach was starting to regret that second burger, but he wasn't about to admit it. "I thought you didn't like this food, Sammy."

"I wanted to live, Dean. I wanted to be healthy and not have to go to the doctor every week by the time I was sixty." Sam shook the dark thought away, and shrugged. "Who doesn't like this kind of food?"

Dean rubbed his belly happily. He could probably find more room, somewhere. He eyed the menu. They still hadn't tried to fried mushrooms. The longer this dinner lasted, the more time he had with his brother.

"Cass and Bobby are waiting for us."

Cass had flown Bobby there to give the boys one last ride.

To Detroit.

Dean scowled. "Right." He swallowed hard against the rising bile in his throat. Every bit of this meal was going to come back up, as soon as Sammy wasn't looking. For now, Dean held it in. He nodded tossed a wad of cash on the table.

Sam paused, taking a long look at the table, as if fixing the entire scene in his memory. He smiled, a small, half-smile. He let out a long breath, rose to his feet, and followed Dean out the door.

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