this story switches between view points. Sometimes it's going to be first person, others omniscent... but it shouldn't be hard to follow. I've had this basic premise down for a while, just figured out the ending today. I thought i'd go ahead and post it, since the other things i'm working on are not going well at all. Enjoy.
I do not own Supernatural, or Dead Like Me. Though I wish I did, and I also wish that Dead Like Me had more seasons... oh well...
"It's not stupid."
"It's really stupid."
"Don't make me play this childish game."
"What childish game? I express my opinion of your latest idea with an honest response…"
"You said it was bullshit."
"Which was honest."
"And now you're trying your hardest to get me there, which indicates you have an ulterior motive."
"Wow, nice word usage."
"No need to be snide Sammy-boy."
"I just think there is reason, evidence, enough to check it out."
"A homicidal meter-maid?" he scoffed and turned his eyes back to the road.
"She passes a man walking down the street; he gets hit with a piano from four stories up. She taps a woman on the shoulder and ten minutes later she's got an up and close meeting with a car. There are a million little deaths in Seattle, all which happen around a meter-maid." Sam typed a few minutes on his computer and brought up several corresponding articles. "It's fishy, and no one else seems to piece it together."
"Is there anything else?" Dean turned his eyes to his brother and once again cursed the fact that his younger brother was taller than him by several inches.
Sam pushed his mop of dark hair back from his eyes and glared at Dean.
"No, now are we going to Seattle or what?"
I had to admire Roxy. She got things done. She could contemplate for hours, the exact way to bring a man to his knees, and then implement it in less than a second. She had to have thought up her smart remarks before hand, but she delivered them with a zeal that made it seem spontaneous. Whenever she pulled out her police issue and shot Mason, it was always with a cool look and an innocent smile. If I had ever been given the chance to grow up, I'd like to have been like her.
It was a thought that occurred to me at breakfast one day, right after she shot Mason in the knee cap. While he whined and gripped his leg in pain, she merely went back to her toast and pretended like she hadn't heard the loud insult of gun fire. Since she was in uniform, the rest of the diner pretended too. Like I said, I had to admire Roxy. That being said, I was less enthusiastic about Rube.
"Ok kitten, here you go, don't be late. Roxy, give her a ride across town." The petite black woman scowled, but didn't argue. She grabbed her post-it and her hat, without a word to me she headed for the door. I had to scoot past a pain-ridden Mason, swearing at the blood splatter on my jeans, but managed to catch her as she swung open the door. I looked down at my post-it as I sat in the passenger seat of her meter-maid car, and scowled.
"This is in twenty minutes! Jesus Rube," I muttered but sat back as Roxy pulled out of reverse and onto the road. "P. Ano, 10:25 am, Robinson Park. The entire park Roxy! Twenty minutes! Fuck!"
"So how do we go about this? Just follower meter-maids and hope we get the right one? This could take forever Sammy."
"Dean, I don't know…" Sam resisted the urge to chuck his laptop at his snarky brother and instead rested his head on the window.
"If the impala gets impounded at any point I'm taking it out of your skull."
"Damn, Dean, look…" Sam trailed off as he spotted a meter car. "Follow that one, we'll see if luck's on our side for once."
Roxy parked and stepped out, waiting for the girl to join her. Before she could open her perpetually running commentary Roxy showed her the post-it she'd gotten that morning.
"R. Janson, 10:26am, Robinson Park."
"That's right. I think we may have us a murder- suicide; maybe an accidental squishing, or more likely that stupid idiot sawing down spare branches cuts off his arm and/ or impaling a passerby." Roxy pointed out the potentially dangerous situation. George pulled her hair back into a pony tail and pouted.
"Idiocy like that takes all the fun out of guesswork," she flicked the end of her caramel colored hair back over her shoulder and stuck out her bottom lip. Roxy managed to hide an instinctive smirk. A month ago and the girl still hadn't been able to divorce herself from her current profession. Now she was complaining about it not being entertaining enough. Roxy had never really felt guilty about taking a soul. It was what she did, and she was good at it. They headed off, Roxy toward the park employee, the girl wondering a bit. Considering that Rube usually left the bloody ones for Roxy, she felt it expressed his appreciation for her work.
"Now what do you think they're doing Dean?" Sam asked as his brother swiped the binoculars from him.
"No idea," he had to admit that a meter-maid going to a park in the middle of a work day was odd. He was beginning to wonder if Sam might have something going on. Then he swiveled the glasses back to the young girl in the light blue hoodie and blood splattered jeans. It had to be blood, nothing else dried to quite that color. He watched as the girl bent down to talk to a group of twenty-something's playing Frisbee, and didn't manage to entirely divorce his thoughts from her round…
Sam grabbed back the binoculars and scowled at his brother. He was all too aware of what a Dean licking his top lip meant. As Dean moved to protest they both heard the fatalistic crack of a broken tree branch and the screams of several onlookers. The Frisbee managed to wing straight at the park employee, who wasn't really up on safety protocols as it was, not wearing a hard hat or any other protective gear, and while he fumbled the chain saw, one of the college students ran directly under the tree. Seconds later there they were, a decapitated park service employee and a young man squished under a fallen tree branch, his neck awkwardly angled to the ground. As Dean and Sam watched with worried eyes, both the meter maid and the young girl seemed to talk to people who weren't there, and held out their hands as if grasping on to someone else's as they walked away.
"Now that's not weird at all," Sammy turned to look at Dean, with something like triumph in his eyes. Dean shot him a veiled glare; burning with fury his eyes were a beer bottle green.
"So I take it back. It wasn't a stupid idea after all."
"Roxy, you have to take me home! You can't leave me in the middle of the park all day!"
"You can walk; I need to do my rounds."
"Roxy!" I stomped my foot, but I knew it wasn't getting me anywhere. She didn't give a damn if I had to walk a million miles, let alone four or five. It was Saturday too, so I didn't have the excuse of being late for work. I watched, vaguely pissed, but knowing better, as Roxy drove away. Pablo shook his head, I felt like murder, but the bastard was already dead.
"Go away," I snapped at him, knowing it wasn't going to do me any good. They passed and went for the light when the timing was right, not before. Apparently he had to have some sort of an epiphany before that happened. His board shorts were bright orange, his hair a mess of different dye jobs, and he looked more vapid than a valley-girl. I was hoping to get rid of him soon, but I didn't think he understood that he was dead.
"Lady, I think I might have taken one too many tokes before joining the game, do I know you?"
"Dude! Just go toward the light," I muffled a scream as he turned around and a giant bong shaped out of a brilliant blue and white light shaped out of the sky. He held out his hand toward it and was sucked in, just as I adjusted to the brightness. Then it was gone, and all that was left were those stinking dots in front of my eyes. "God-damn it." I swore with no real anger. But I always wondered why I looked so hard at the stupid things. It wasn't like it was going to shape into anything I recognized.
"Are you all right?" a concerned voice came from above my head as I blinked my eyes back to normal. I squinted up at the man and shook my head.
"Fine, just stared into the sun," damn but he was cute. His shaggy brown hair and eyes a few shades lighter tinged with worry. He was a tall one all right, at least a foot taller than me, so I hid my blush by pulling my ponytail out and ducking my head.
"Was that your friend just leaving you?"
I stopped for a moment, did he see… then I realized he'd overheard me yelling at Roxy.
"Not friend, more like, co-worker," that was close enough.
"Do you need a ride home? My brother and I could…"
"No, I think I'll be fine. It's not that long a walk." I may be dead, but I still don't accept rides from strangers… at least, not without Daisy pushing me to.
"How bout I walk with you?" He joked, I was sure of it. I looked up at him and shrugged my fall-back expression.
"So, are you a cop too?" Sam asked as they started walking. For the first few minutes she had glared at him, like she couldn't believe he was actually walking with her. His question confused her at first.
"Oh, no… Roxy's… um… it's more like a free-lance thing that we work on together. I work at a temp agency." She bit her lip and pushed her hair behind her ears.
"I'm Sam," he held out his hand and waited for her smaller one to join his. She had bird bones, light and delicate, smooth skin and a pale complexion. She blushed slightly as he held her hand longer than he intended to.
"Millie," she said hesitantly, like she was going to say something else but had stopped herself. He noticed her eyes, when she was brave enough to meet his gaze for a second or two, were a light blue, almost grey. Then she ducked her head again, and he lost the uncomfortable sensation that he was drowning.
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse before she could focus again, and pull back her hand. He'd made her dizzy staring into her eyes like that. But he was vaguely relieved when he muttered Christ's name in Latin and she hadn't flinched. Of course, all that meant was that she wasn't possessed by a demon, which didn't knock off half the things on their long list of nasties.
Dean sang along with Metallica's "Until it Sleeps" as he trailed the meter-maid. He couldn't believe it, but she'd actually been giving tickets to illegally parked vehicles. She waited next to meters and sneered as they popped up red. She'd even gone as far as to threaten a very tall black man who screamed at her about only being a few seconds late. He hadn't heard her comeback, but she stopped just short of drawing her gun.
He had to admit, she had guts. Of course, if she was some sort of hell spawn that wasn't really a compliment. She was a compact lady, and as he currently realized, sneaky.
He felt the gun barrel on the back of his head, and held his hands up as a deep rumbling voice threatened.
"Sir, please step out of the vehicle."
"What's wrong officer?"
"Just wondering why you're trailing a meter-maid," the tip of the revolver poked his head insistently. "Hands up, out of the vehicle, license and registration," the meter maid joined them and opened the door for him.
"I wasn't doing anything wrong officers."
"Why were you following me?" She spat out, her hand resting carelessly on her hip.
"What can I say, you're my type," he lost his cocky grin when she refused to do anything but glare at him. "Ok, ok, I'm a free-lance reporter! I got a tip a few days ago about mysterious deaths revolving around meter-maids! I was just checking it out."
"You have too much free time," the large man scoffed, "you want I should lock him up Roxy?"
"No, just go ahead and write up a stalking report, make sure it's on the books. If I catch you around me you better hope your health insurance is up to date."
Dean breathed a sigh of relief, apologized profusely and as she walked away, gave his name, complete with picture id, as Ralf Edward Higgins.
George was still wary around the guy, but he'd been a perfect gentleman so far. She really didn't want to lead him back to the house, so they stopped at the Waffle House.
"I'm meeting someone here, so I should go."
Sam nodded, took her hand again and, feeling like an idiot, kissed the back of it. As she blushed brilliantly and looked away he cleared his throat and released her awkwardly.
"It was nice walking with you, Millie," he stepped back, intending to leave when she tugged the back of his shirt. He turned back around and blinked in shock when she went to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
"Thanks for walking with me, Sam, maybe I'll see you around," she looked away again and disappeared into the diner, heading straight for a table with a middle aged man, checking a date book. He raised his hand to his cheek as the man looked up and unerringly right into Sam's gaze. He felt a shiver go through him, cold and lethal, he turned and flipped open his cell, scrolling down to DEAN.
Dean flipped open his phone and as he was playing with the ring-tones, putting off the call to his taller-half, the dulcet tones of "Don't you" by the Pussy-cat dolls rang on. He smirked and answered, "Sammy!"
"Don't call me that."
"Whatever, so, how'd the date go?"
"It wasn't a date Dean, I was gathering information."
"Yeah, uh-huh, so how'd the date go?"
"She says she works with the meter-maid on an independent project. I walked her to a diner; she said she has a meeting…" Dean waited impatiently as Sammy trailed off.
"Meeting with who, Sammy?"
"Whom, Dean, proper English is not hard to use."
"Ok, with whom? Smartass," he muttered.
"Apparently an older man and a junkie who just returned from the bathroom," as Sam watched the junkie bowed out of the booth, limping a little. As he turned the corner Sam saw why. The entire kneecap of his pants was blown apart, liberally smeared with blood and drying stiffly. As he left the diner he stumbled a little, dropping a yellow post-it as he caught himself on his palms.
"Wow! That one hurt," he winced as he leveled himself up. He blinked in surprise when a hand went to his elbow to sturdy him. "Thanks mate."
"No problem, are you all right?" Sam asked as he bent to pick up the post-it. As he handed it back he noted, L. Pennysworth, 1105 Willhouse lane, E.T.D. 12:15pm.
"I'll be fine, thanks for the arm up, I'll just be going then." His English accent warred with the scruffy hair and less than focused eyes, but he left under his own power, torn-up knee not-withstanding.
"So, Pumpkin, who's the cutie-pie?" Rube always wanted to know about the people who might be nice to me. It's like anyone who smiles at me is bad, and he's got to make sure I know that.
"Just some guy who walked with me when Roxy wouldn't bring me back," I shrugged. Like it's no big deal, because it's not.
"Dean, get to Willhouse lane."
"I don't know."
"Very specific, nice."
"Shut it, look, the guy had a note with a name a place and a time. Doesn't that sound suspicious to you?"
"Why don't you follow him?"
"Because, I don't need the questions that she would ask me if he caught me. I don't want her to think i'm a jealous stalker or something."
"Fine, hang around, call me when you get something else. Willhouse lane?"
"Yeah, 1105. I'll see if I can get anything else out of her."
"Good luck, and Sam," Dean sighed.
I gasped and turned away from watching the door as Sam walked in. When I chanced a peak back he smiled and waved at me.
"Hey, my brother got tied up doing something, he'll be a while picking me up," Sam shrugged. At least he didn't try to sit down, Rube would have killed me.
"I'm sorry," I tried a smile; they don't grace my face normally, so I know it looked weird.
"No biggie, I was just thinking that since I'm here anyway I'd get some pancakes," he leaned against the booth and kept that pleasant curving of lips.
"They're really good here…" I shot a look over at Rube, who was watching with that not-quite glare.
"I'm sorry," Sam held out his hand, Rube shook it. "I'm interrupting; I'll just go sit over there, then." He was about to turn around and go to the bar when Rube slid out of the booth and got to his feet.
"Don't worry about it, I was just leaving," he patted Sam on the back and with one shake of his head, warned me. "Just remember what we were talking about, kitten, remember that incident at the wedding?"
"Yeah, puppets, I get it Rube."
"Puppets?" Sam asked after he ordered pancakes and eggs, scrambled.
"Kind of an inside joke," Millie hesitated before picking up her coffee and taking a sip. "You kinda had to be there."
"All right, so…" he fiddled with a creamer and shook his head with a smile, "I feel so odd, I don't normally pick up girls at the park."
"That's fine; I don't normally let guys pick me up at the park." Millie cursed herself, that was as witty as her conversations with the opposite sex could get.
"Well, then since we're in the same boat, I'll stop feeling awkward if you do." Millie felt her lips stretch into a hesitant smile again. Twice in one morning, it had to be a new record.
"That sounds all right, I guess." She tucked her hair over her ear again and searched her brain for a new topic, any topic. "So what do you do?" she blurted out.
Sam's mind was blank for a second before he let out an exasperated half-chuckle that morphed his face into a nervous smile.
"Not a lot."
"I'm sorry?" Mille liked the way his entire face seemed to stretch into his smile, as if he didn't know how to hold it back.
"My brother and I travel a lot, do odd jobs when we need the cash, but pretty much we live day to day."
"That sounds interesting," Millie propped her elbow on the table, then leaned her cheek on her fist. "More interesting than collating, anyway."
"Collating? Isn't that binding paper?"
"According to my boss, it's so Zen," she remembered Dolores's pleasure at giving her that task, then how she had gotten out of it.
"I have to admit, I don't think I'd be able to handle being stuck in an office every day." Sam then remembered why he'd been in college. If he'd finished his law degree, he'd be stuck in an office all the time. He took a sip of his coffee. It was something else to think about anyway.
"It's not that bad. Dolores, my boss, really likes me. So it could be worse," she shrugged.
"I…" Sam cut off when his phone rang. He really had to remember to keep his phone away from Dean, the new ring tone was that Two Sisters song. He grinned sheepishly when Millie chuckled. "It's my brother, excuse me." She waved, excusing him. Sam got up from the booth and answered. "Yeah?"
"Dude, get away from her now."
Dean couldn't believe his eyes. He'd seen the explosion, and the two guys caught inside of it, clearly. The one in the car had speaking with the guy Dean assumed was the junkie his brother had been talking about. The address Sam had given him turned out to be a gas station, and right after the junkie had touched the man in the station wagon Dean had gotten a shivery sensation on his spine. Something wasn't right. Then he saw it, the man hadn't closed his gas tank, it was wide open. A man walking down the street had lit his cigarette with an old fashioned wooden match, and thrown it away. Somehow it caught the wind, without blowing out, and landed in spectacular Hollywood style action, right in to the open gas tank. The explosion rippled out, catching the junkie and throwing him across the street, into a picket fence. The smoker had thrown himself to the ground, and was slightly singed along his jean jacket, but otherwise unharmed.
"Fuck that," he couldn't move, literally frozen in place as he replayed the incident. The junkie hadn't made any move toward the man until he was in his car; in fact he'd been speaking with everyone in the station as if looking for someone specific. He hadn't touched the gas tank; he hadn't even looked at it. But he'd been there when someone had died in a horrible accident. Just like the two girls that morning, one of whom had his brother.
He pulled out his phone just as the junkie got to his feet. Dean watched in horror as he grabbed the wooden stake sticking out of his side, and yanked viciously. He swore, then dropped the two foot long splinter, and held his hand over the wound. He took a few deep breaths then straightened himself up and shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with a piece of debris from the explosion, tossing it aside casually; then started talking to the air in front of him. Like he was responding to some comment. He shook his head, and then pointed down the street.
Dean scowled as he noticed a shimmering of the air, barely there, but enough of a distortion to believe it real.
Then it was gone, and the junkie was walking away.
"Dean, what happened?"
"They've gotta be reapers."
"But I thought you couldn't see…"
"Not that kind Sammy! Get away from her, meet me…"
"No, Dean, tell me what's going on."
"Sam?" Millie heard the aggravation in Sam's voice, and found herself a little pissed that they'd been having such a good time and his brother had called to ruin it. She held Sam's wrist and marveled that she could do that, for even a second, without killing them. She hadn't ever been big on physical contact, and the reaper powers had diminished that even further.
"Don't let her touch you Sam," Dean's voice was loud, Millie heard it clearly.
I dropped Sam's wrist, and stepped back. He was looking down at me with an apology in his eyes, but I saw a knowledge there that I'd never seen before. He knew something about me that I didn't want him to know. I didn't want to stick around to find out what it was, and sure as dawn came every day, I didn't want to be around so he could look at me like that.
"Excuse me," I stepped away, brushed past him, dodging as his hand reached out. I heard him curse, and then I was out the door.
Reapers shouldn't cry, they shouldn't have tear ducts or human emotions. I was dead and I still couldn't help my heart break. It wasn't that I was in love with Sam, dear little gods; I'd only known him a couple of hours. But it wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair, death isn't fair, and I know God is up there laughing his ass off right now.
I heard the jingle of the Waffle House door as it closed behind Sam, but ignored his frustrated yell for me to wait. I kept walking, my arms crossed in front of me so I don't accidentally touch. My hair was still down, hiding my face; no one could see my tears.
"Get away from me Sam!" I shot out as I felt his hand grab my shoulder.
"Why? What's going on Millie?" He made me stop, swiveled around so he was in my path. I refused to meet his gaze. Why? Why was my life such shit?
"Go away, and leave me alone Sam," I shot out. "Do what your brother says and don't touch me!"
"I don't do everything my brother tells me to do," Sam shot out as he gripped my shoulders.
"Well maybe you should before you get hurt!"
"Georgia?" The southern accent was enough to make me want to kill. "Is that anyway to speak to a fine young man?"
"Go away Daisy, this doesn't involve you or the multitude of men you've slept with stories." My voice was ice, I didn't care.
"Well Georgia, see if I help you again," for once in her life, or death, Daisy actually listened to me and left. But she turned back around and spoke to the back of my head, "Rube is on his way, emergency meeting, so you'd better wrap this up quick."
"Actually pumpkin, Rube is here." I looked up in time to see Rube wrap his fist around the back of Sam's jacket. "And you, young man, want to let go of my employee before I hurt you."
"And you want to let go of my brother before I hurt you," I had to gasp as I took in the muscle car, and the muscled man in the front seat, shot gun aimed squarely between Rube's eyes.
I took in the ridiculous scene with something like an astonished disbelief. Sam held on to me, Rube held on to Sam, and Sam's brother was going to shoot Rube. I snorted, not like the shot gun could do much damage to Rube, but I pried Sam's hands off my shoulders anyway. Rube released Sam, and Sam went over to lean on the car.
"What the hell is going on?" He asked the assembled.
"I have nothing against either of you young men, but you going to want to clear out, before I clear you out." Rube went over to Dean and rested his hand over the door of the car. It was a man pose, threatening, cliché, but powerful just the same.
"If you knew how many times I've heard the variation of that…" Dean was obviously unaffected by the threat.
"I do Dean Winchester, I really do. You see, you've cheated the end so many times that I don't think you'll ever get an official post-it, you're not my territory; so clear out, before lady luck finally dumps your ass."
"Sammy, get in the car."
"Now," Dean's voice was chilly, sharp and not to be argued with. I didn't watch, but I heard as the passenger door slammed shut. Rube got back on the sidewalk and started toward me, but he stopped as Dean tapped the frame of the window. "We'll be around."
He looked over at me, caught my eye. I don't know what he was trying to say, but his gaze, while it looked over at me, was kind. Or maybe it was regret I was seeing there, but I didn't get the chance to answer it as Dean pulled away with a squeal of tires.
"Come on kitten," Rube nudged my shoulder. "We've got some things to discuss."
"this isn't something in dad's journal Sam, I don't even think he knows about this kind of reaper."
"What kind of reaper?"
"First off, you know how when you die a reaper comes to take your soul away right?"
"Yeah, that was what the faith healer was doing, taking the souls and giving that energy to sick people."
"Well, these reapers don't actually kill anyone, that's the first difference between these guys and those. Accidents happen, people die anyway, these reapers just take your soul before the accident so that your soul doesn't go through the trauma of death. If its done right, there is no chance of these people becoming restless spirits, no matter how improper they're burial, they've already passed on."
"How do you know all this?"
"I met a girl once…"
30 years later…
"Hey Sam," her voice was familiar, but it took me a while. It would take anyone a while, considering I had only known her for one short weekend. She still looked the same. Her long caramel hair was pulled back in a smooth ponytail, her jeans fit well, tucked into worn black combat boots, her hands tucked into the pockets of a thin sweatshirt.
I was older; my hair had gone pure white in streaks that reminded Dean of a skunk. I had to deal with his poking fun, but I kind of missed it lately. It was remarkable, how much I missed Dean, but didn't really think about it. He hadn't gone spectacularly, but kind of quietly in his sleep one night. I researched for months, trying to find something supernatural that may have taken his life, but there was nothing. I was forced to believe that his heart condition had never really healed all the way, that it had been a ticking time bomb. He'd just taken a last breath, sighed it out, and his heart had skipped.
"Hey," I replied, knowing a lot more now than I did thirty years ago. "Do you think a piano might fall on my head?"
"I've actually got a bet going with Mason on how you'll bite it. You do it right, I get twenty and breakfast." She shrugged with a wry grin on her lips, sadness in her eyes.
"Thanks for writing," it was an odd comment, but I knew that it'd make it easier. I'd managed to write an apology and have it delivered to the Waffle House. I didn't know if she'd gotten it, but three months later I checked one of our many Post Office boxes, and there'd been a letter. It hadn't been long, but it detailed her afterlife and how her "job" worked. I wrote back, told her about mine.
"It helped, to know…" she trailed off, then stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek.
"Pretty soon," she sniffed back the tears as she moved away. I felt an odd tingling sensation, like a part of me had just stepped back.
"Turn away." I didn't want her to watch.
"No," she shook her head and furiously wiped away the tears that fell from the corners of her eyes.
It was quick, at least, one moment I was standing in front of her, then next I was standing behind. I was watching myself fall, trip over an electrical wire that had been behind me, then fell into the street. In the next instant I was hit by a bus.
What an ignoble ending. I thought, sure that when I got wherever I was going, Dean was going to laugh himself silly.
"Did you win breakfast?" I asked as Georgia turned around and looked up at me. Her eyes were still shining, but the tears didn't fall.
"Actually, yeah, I did." She smiled. "I said impact, Mason said decapitation."
"He thought I was going to be decapitated?"
"He likes the bloody ones," she shrugged, and then she turned at the blue light coming from behind me. "Looks like your ride's here."
And there was Dean, looking for all the world like he had thirty years earlier in front of the Waffle House. I looked down at myself and noticed that somehow I'd regressed back to that age as well.
"Well, Sammy-boy, shake a leg, get a move on!" he grumbled irritably. Like always.
"Thanks Georgia," I bent down to kiss her cheek and backed away with a grin. Road trippin' with Dean. Not most people's version of heaven I guess, but it sounded perfect to me.
...OK, so I chose thirty years because it was a nice round number and it gave the brothers some more time. Dean went first, in his sleep, because i didn't want an angsty drawn out thing. Then Sam gets hit by a bus. For some reason that just tickled my funny bone and i think it fit well with DLM humor. Anyway, I was contimplating having Georgia join them for the road trip, but if if was her time to go then Sam would have to be the new reaper. And that's not fair to dangle Dean in front of him like that. Besides, that wouldn't be Georgia's heaven or after life whatever. She hardly knows the boys. But they were nice to her, wrote to her, long-distance friends can say almost anything.
anyway, hope you enjoyed!