In the end the brothers don’t die together, not really.
Sam’s laughing and leaning over the backseat looking for more cassette tapes when the soccer mom in the SUV hits the Impala running through a red light to get to her son’s 5th grade promotion.
Sam flies out the back window, Dean headfirst through the dash.
The soccer mom keeps driving.
One dies on impact with the asphalt, skidding, skin meshed with blood and glass and pavement and the ghost of one last smile as he uttered, “Dean I am not listening to Ramble on for the fifth time today, so shut up about it already.”
The other dies five minutes later, inch worming his way across the road with a broken leg and internal bleeding towards the motionless body that lies twenty five feet away. The semi-truck driver that hits him thinks it’s a dog or a coyote. Doesn’t even stop.
Two brothers. Over fifty feet of distance between them, hands outstretched towards each other as if they were trying to tangle fingers, even as they took their last breaths.
So no. The Winchesters don’t die together. Not really.
Well, it seems to me that the best relationships - the ones that last - are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is… suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with
a note found by sam, folded neatly in the pocket of a shirt, july 2008
old, involuntary, captured, i desire you
come on baby, fear the rapture
Look like heaven, give ‘em hell