Disclaimer : I don't own Sam, Dean, or any of their accouterments.

A/N: Because I can't stand the way they let Faith end...because they have something against letting the brothers resolve anything... ;) Read and review por favor.

---

I'm not good with words.

I'm not good with actions, either. Not when it comes to this.

I don't know how to say things will be alright, because I don't think it will be, and lying to him seems wrong at this point. I owe him more than a cheap, hey buddy, don't worry, I'll be fine. I won't be fine. And I can't tell him I'm going to a better place, because I don't believe I am. He knows it.

I can't lie to him now.

Dying is hard.

Not getting there. No, that's the easy part. One toe over the wrong line and you're done. All you need is one accident. One bad moment. One driver falling asleep at the wheel, one drunk choosing that night to get into his car, one random strike of lightning... the possibilities are endless. There are more ways to die than there are days to live.

The hard part is what you do when you get the chance to know you're going to die. People always say they wish they'd had a chance to say goodbye. Okay, fine. Faced with that opportunity, what are you gonna do? How do you say your last goodbye to the people who mean the most to you?

You'd think I'd have it easy. I only have one person to bid that final farewell to, and that's Sam.

I've written off my father at this point. If he hasn't called by now, he can't, or he doesn't care. Either way, I won't get that chance.

Which is just as well, because I'm not doing too well with the one I've got.

I can't count the number of times I've tried to speak up in the last hour.

The sound of the tires on the road has always comforted me before, but not tonight.

This is my last chance.

To tell him...

What?

To tell him I'm sorry. Sorry for everything. For Mom, for Jess, for dragging him on this stupid mission in the first place.

I'm sorry, Sammy... I'm sorry.

But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out.

I've never been good with words.

The only thing I'm good at is fighting, hunting, killing evil things that go bump in the night.

When I was little, my mom used to tuck me into bed, kiss my forehead, and tell me she loved me, always, more than anything in the whole wide world.

I remember I would smile up at her, and tell her I loved her this much.

My little arms could never spread wide enough.

The night my mother died, so did my ability to love. Or to express it, anyway.

I didn't smile. I didn't laugh. I didn't say I loved anyone. I believed I didn't.

I threw myself into training, as much for vengeance as to have something to fill that hole inside me. I replaced love with finely honed skill, a sharp wit, and a purpose.

I always knew I'd go down fighting.

I'm not ready to go down just yet, but if that's the hand I'm dealt, I'll take it, and I won't complain.

If it weren't for Sam... I don't think I'd care. It's as good a way to go down as any I can think of.

I refuse to invest any faith in this specialist of Sam's. I've resigned myself to my fate, and I accept it. I just wish I could get him to.

He's driving fast, like he thinks I'll die right here in this car. Wouldn't that be a bitch? Make it a lot easier to haunt him, though. Then I really would be able to make sure he takes care of my baby.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah," he asks, not even taking his eyes off the road.

He needs to concentrate to get us there in one piece. The way he's driving and the way he's feeling, they aren't too great a combination. Nerves can get you killed real quick.

"You will take care of her, won't you?"

"The car? Dean, I told you, you're not gonna die," he says, sparing me a glance so hopeful it hurts.

"But, just in case..."

"Fine. I'll take care of it, just in case. But I won't have to," he says. "You'll be behind the wheel before you know it, annoying me with your mullet rock."

I smile, even though it hurts. Even though everything in me wants to give up and sleep, even though I'm starting to think eternal slumber's not so bad if it means an end to this drained, aching awareness that my body is shutting down.

"Hey Sam?" I ask again.

"Yeah," he replies, sounding tired, older than he is.

I try to say it, I really do...

After a while, Sam smiles.

"I love you, too, bro."

I turn away, refusing to let him see the tears I will never let fall.

"Dude, don't be gay."

God, I fucking love you, too, Sammy.

And I am so, so sorry.