I don't own the Winchesters – damn!!

Dean puts his foot on the pedal and floors it, old engine roaring into life, the black car shuddering beneath him.

He moves his eyes a little, subtly, so that he can look at Sam. His brother is clutching at the door jamb, knuckles white, face determined. Sam doesn't speak, but Dean knows just what he is thinking.

Behind them, the sirens shriek and tyres screech. Dean can see the blue lights flashing in his rear view mirror and he presses his foot down just that little bit harder, putting distance between that accusing light and them.

Sam shifts slightly, his hand wiping across his cheek. Dean sees his throat working, a slow swallow up and down and he wants to put his hand on his brother's knee, squeeze it, a poor gesture of comfort.

He can't though, so he just clutches the wheel, eyes front, watching the road in front of him curving endlessly into the night.

Sam got him out of the deal; Sam saved him. Dean bites his lip, seeing the road waver and dissolve and he drags the back of his hand across his eyes angrily.

Is it too much to ask for a break? Shit, hadn't they save enough people, hunted enough evil, surely brownie points count for something – right?

The Impala roars, an angry lion, metal rattling and creaking. She is an old lady now, entitled to some dignity in her old age. Dean whispers soft apologies under his breath and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam's cheek dimple.

"It'll be ok, Dean," his brother's voice is hoarse, as if he had been shouting; "it'll be ok."

He knows, he knows that Sam is lying but it comforts him to hear the lie anyway. He forces his mouth up into the grin he knows his brother wants to see and puts his foot down for the third time, feeling the pull under his fingertips, feeling the wheel tug and turn.

There is a blockade up ahead and it comes out of the darkness before Dean is really aware. He sees bodies, shadowy in the flickering light, he sees hands waving. Sam cringes down further into his seat, teeth clenching. Dean can feel the trembling of his brother's thigh pressed against his own and he, finally, lets his hand drift off the wheel and down to Sam's leg, squeezing hard.

"This is it," he says and Sam nods, briefly, in perceptively. Dean wonders why he doesn't feel fear, doesn't feel dread. All he feels is a strange sense of adrenalin and relief and he lifts his toe from the pedal and lets his hands go loose on the wheel.

The car swerves, wildly, and careers off the road and into the copse of trees. It goes nose downwards, fast and hard, bumping and twisting, flying gracefully through the air like a shiny black bird and, finally, landing upside down against a ruined tree trunk, wheels spinning.

Hendrickson curses, running forward and pushing through the crowds. He can smell petrol and oil and he knows that there are only minutes before the old car implodes.

He can see inside; Dean Winchester is crushed against the steering wheel, his neck twisted at an awkward angle, his eyes wide open and staring. The younger brother, Dean's Bonnie, is slumped in the passenger seat and his hazel eyes flicker for a moment, landing on Hendrickson, his blood stained mouth curving upwards as long fingers flicked against the lighter that he was holding.

Hendrickson opened his mouth to cry out but it was too late as he was knocked off his feet by the sudden blast of yellow flame.

"When we go down, we go down together"

End