Author's Notes: A ficlet I wrote for a song challenge. Warning, death fic. gasp Yes, I wrote a death fic. I'm been strangely drawn into the death fics.

Everything Burns


"Everything burns if the fire's hot enough, Sammy."


They should have known the pattern was a false security.

They thought they had it pinned down. It was women who died above Sam's bed. Women who dripped their blood onto his forehead. Women who he had to exile from his life to keep them safe, keep them alive.

But in the end, turns out it just preferred blondes.


In college, Sam went to a bonfire with Jess and his friends. They roasted smores. Sam added logs to the fire with a perfectionist's precision.

They talked about life and school and the future. About art history and post-modernism. About pre-law and criminology. They talked about family.

It took Sam three days to get the smell of smoke out of his clothes.


Sam burnt his first corpse when he was nine. It was the same year his father gave him his first gun.

A gentle pat on the back and a soft, "Go get 'em, Sammy." He shot three rounds into his closet and hadn't killed anything except the drywall. Dean had patched the holes for him.

John had taken him and Dean to the cemetery and after salting the body, gave Sam the honors of lighting it on fire.

The smell alone made him puke.

Dean laughed. Then followed suit.


It came when they weren't looking.

Walked in through the front door without them knowing.

Crossed the salt, ignored the crucifix, stood between their beds.

They never knew it was there.


Sam burnt himself on a skillet once when they were making pancakes.

He'd cried. Dean put cream on his finger and then told him how cool the giant blister made him look. Sam had wailed and said he didn't want to die. Dean assured him he wouldn't. Not while he was around. Never, not ever.

They watched Thundercats and had ice cream instead.


In high school Chemistry, Sam learned what chemicals were flamable, which ones could spontaneously combust, which would explode, at what temperature. Sam asked the teacher if there was a chemical that didn't burn. The teacher had given him a frontwards, backwards, and sideways answer that didn't answer anything.

When he asked Dean the same question, he'd gotten what he wanted.

"Everything burns if the fire's hot enough, Sammy."


During the first fire in Sam's life, his mother's blood had dripped onto the pillow next to his head. He didn't remember it.

During the second fire in Sam's life, his girlfriend's blood had dripped onto his forehead. He'd never forget it.

During the third fire in Sam's life, he woke to the taste of blood dripping onto his lips. It would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.


Sam would be the first to admit that he had a fear of everyone he loved dying.

But there was death and then there was death.

One was reserved as an excuse to not get involved again with a women.

The other was a nightmare Sam didn't want to think about.

He never though the two would meet halfway to bite him in the ass.


Sam opened his eyes and his world was pinned to the ceiling above him.

Eyes wide. Mouth open in a silent scream. Gut slashed. Blood dripping.

"No! Dean!"


"Everything burns if the fire's hot enough, Sammy."

A flash burn blanket of fire.

"...if the fire's hot enough..."

And the one who had always pulled him out now lay right in the middle.

"Everything burns..."

Sam screamed so loudly his head exploded.



He'd taken out the entire building with his psychic meltdown. The firefighters said poor infastructure plus a fire equals a building collapsing.

They couldn't explain why only one room was scorched.

Or why there were no bodies.

And no origin.


Sam called their Dad the next day. John must have known something because he answered his phone on the first ring.



"Are you boys all right? I heard there was a fire."

Sam didn't bother asking how he knew.

"I need you to come here, Dad."

"Are you all right?"

No. Not all right. Never all right. Not ever.


John and Sam buried Dean together.

A small cemetery, no funeral. Just a goodbye.

John waited in the car. Sam cried by the grave.

"You weren't supposed to die. Not like this."

He could almost hear Dean's answer.


"Everything burns if the fire's hot enough, Sammy."