It was the voice Sam had been waiting for all these blood-drenched months shouted across the parking lot of the Sav-More his soldiers were terrorizing. He turned, holding a struggling twelve-year-old by her neck. There Dean was, crouched behind the truck of a rusty El Dorado, aiming The Colt at him.
Happiness bubbled inside Sam, a feeling that had been absent since the day he learned of Dean’s deal with the Crossroads Demon. It had worked. Dean had beaten the impossible, just like Sam knew he would with the right motivation.
Sam remembered how pissed off he’d been at Dean in the beginning, for Dean giving up without a fight. If Dean didn’t want to live, nothing Sam tried to do to save him would succeed. Sam had tried, though, for a long time before he’d realized there was one sure way to get Dean to fight.
“Put the girl down, Sam,” Dean called, a shake in his voice and in his gun hand.
Sam laughed joyously. He’d kept three steps ahead of Dean after leaving his brother for the other side, biding his time. Once the date marked on his calendar had arrived, he’d stayed in one spot, hoping and waiting. His hopes had come true. It was a week after the deadline of the contract and Dean was still alive. That jerk had pulled it off. And that left one thing left for Sam to do.
Sam made it easy on Dean. He ended the girl’s struggling with a snap of her neck. Dean’s reaction was ingrained, though his aim was off by love and loyalty. Sam corrected it, stepping into the bullet’s path.
The last thing he saw was his living brother’s anguished face.
Sam died with a smile.