Standard Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters do not belong to me, and I'm using them without permission.

by Liz Bach

Epilogue

Setting fire to the McCray farmhouse and watching it go up in flames was meant to be cathartic. It was supposed to represent closure – for the McCrays, for Rain's victims, for Dean Winchester's kid brother, who'd come pretty damn close to losing his own life down there in that frigid basement. But Sam didn't appear to be taking anything away from the bonfire that blazed before them. In fact, he looked remarkably indifferent to the entire proceeding.

Dean balled his fists and shoved them deep into his pockets as the flames popped and churned and breathed in the cold midnight air. They'd been standing there too long; the fire was bright enough and the smoke thick enough now that someone driving by would surely realize something was amiss out at the old abandoned farm. The last thing they needed was to get caught torching a crime scene.

But, as unimpressed as he seemed by the spectacle of the house burning down, Sam made no discernable movement to leave. Actually, he hadn't moved from his present position since before Dean had emerged from the doorway with an empty gasoline container in one hand and irreverently flicked a single match behind him into the parlor. Despite the snow and frost, the house had gone up like kindling, and now it burned with a vengeance worthy of its former supernatural inhabitant.

Dean dug the heel of his boot into a spot of mud that had slowly materialized as the snow around the immediate vicinity of the house began to melt. Then he sniffed loudly and looked back up toward the fire.

"We should probably hit the road," he said with masterfully feigned disinterest.

Sam's brow furrowed, and Dean wondered what he was thinking.

The old wooden frame weakened in the flames, and the house began to fold in on itself, sending a spray of yellow sparks dancing and spinning up toward the dull black sky. Dean stared up at them. Kept staring, even after the sparks had all burned out.

"My entire life didn't flash before my eyes…"

Dean turned to his brother, who was still looking at the house. The orange glow of the fire gave an illusion of color to Sam's pale skin. It made Dean slightly sick to his stomach to think that Sam would actually appear healthier and more alive here in the dark with a huge ball of fire blazing before him than he did in the light of his everyday life. The flames flickered and pulsated, reflected bright movement in Sam's glassy eyes.

"Only the most painful parts."

Dean looked away quickly and didn't bother Sam about leaving again. They stood there for a long time being warmed by this, their most recent act of destruction.

:

Some time later, the wheels over so many miles of asphalt sounded and felt like sluggish sixteenth notes thrumming a steady rhythm deep within the thick metal and worn leather of the Impala, and Sam let that and the throaty rumble of the V8 lull him into a tolerable state of detachment. His eyelids were heavy, but he refused to sleep. The constant drone of ambient road noise filled his mind and vibrated throughout his body, and the snowflakes streaking through the headlights were like tiny stars flaring up briefly, falling, and burning out.

It was late, and the highway was practically abandoned. Despite the incessant snowfall, the roads were more or less clear, only wet. They'd been driving for two hours, and at some point during that time, Sam had absently folded his hands together and tucked them between his cheek and the cold glass of the passenger side window. It was an unintentionally sweet, childlike gesture that Dean had caught out of the corner of his eye and then unsuccessfully attempted to ignore. It was dark, they were tired, and the last week had been long and bad; and now Sam had this uncomplicated, innocent look about him that couldn't possibly have been any further from a true reflection of the state of Sam Winchester's current circumstances or his life.

They'd been listening to live radio, of all things, keeping an ear out for the weather report. The roads had been decent so far, but Dean expected them to get worse as soon as the snow began to stick. They would be downright treacherous once the moisture froze over, giving way to sheets of invisible, black ice.

Both brothers knew the safest thing they could do would be to just stop. But Dean drove on, ostensibly ignoring the signs of danger. And for the moment, Sam was too tired to do anything but let him.

So the wheels kept spinning, and the snow kept falling. The road lay out long and dark before them, and the radio crackled on as they passed from one signal radius into the next.