At The Crossroads

[justasaleswoman]

When two roads diverge, in a yellow wood or else where, you can take the one less traveled by, the high road or the low road, whatever path you choose, and it may make all the difference, and you may get to Scotland first, or wherever it is you're trying to get.

But then, there's a funny thing about roads.

From dirt tracks to interstates, all roads lead one of two places.

Another road . . . or a dead end.

So when that road you took leads you to another road, and those two roads come together at neat right angles, or close enough . . .

Well, then you have another choice to make.

Another road . . . or a dead end?

Then again, maybe you're already at the dead end.

An empty intersection in an empty landscape, just waiting.

This is a crossroads.

Where pacts are made.

Comments

[hopeitsworthit]

The silence of the crossroads is broken by the scream of tires and the tick of overheated metal.

Everything is very still.

Dean grips the steering wheel hard, white-knuckled, eyes red-rimmed and tired. His brother has been --

Sam's been --

It's been three days, and that's too damn long. (Hell, the first five seconds aged him a hundred years, and ain't nobody ever lived that long in the first place.)

It's tempting to just sit here, lean his head back, close his eyes, and just wait until everything gets better. Maybe he'll get lucky and wake up and it'll all be a shitty dream.

But every second wasted is another second Sam's body is rotting away, and one thing Dean cannot handle is letting more damage happen to his little brother.

So he gets out of the car, slamming the door like that'll do anything, like he's even frustrated at all (that's not his goddamn problem, he's just so tired), and opening the trunk.

There's a box.

He fills it.

And then he buries it at the center of the crossroads, dirt under his nails like the grave dirt he's not gonna have to deal with for Sammy. Not now.

Not ever.

He's ready to stake a lot more than his life on it.

[justasaleswoman]

And then the crossroads is silent again.

And Dean, as he has been for days now, is alone with his thoughts and his failures and the sound of his (but no one else's) breath and the night.

[hopeitsworthit]

The skin at the back of his neck prickles, but no matter which way he turns, no one's coming.

A thought he hasn't let himself have (on top of the thoughts about what a shitty, shitty idea this is -- because that voice sounds like Dad, sounds like Sam, and if they fucking want to take him to task for this they can goddamn well be here or they're just gonna have to suck it up and deal) is what if this doesn't work?

God knows maybe he'll be a fuckup at this, too. Nothing else he's turned his hand to has ever worked.

Why did Dad save me, anyway? Sam's the one --

Sam --

Oh God, I can't do this alone.

"Where the hell are you, bitch!"

Yelling doesn't make him feel better, but the pain in his throat from that scream is at least a start on what he deserves.

A pathetic, shitty one, but that's par for the course in his pathetic, shitty life to date.

"It's like a frickin' free meal! Don't tell me you're gonna come over all hesitant on me now."

[justasaleswoman]

She's behind him. (Where else would she be?)

"No such thing as a free meal, darling."

When he turns, he'll see a woman in a black dress, with dark hair and grey eyes, that shift over to red for no more than a second or two.

Just so that he knows who he's dealing with.

"But if you want my attention all that badly, well . . ."

She's never exactly been accused of being coy.

[hopeitsworthit]

His stomach lurches, acid filling up the back of his throat.

It makes it easier to bite back his first response.

And his second one.

He can feel his skin tightening, fingers clenched tight enough that the stubs of his nails dig into his palms.

But he knows what he's doing.

God, Dad, who the fuck ever, just let this work. I've gotta get Sam back. I've just --

I have to.

It just goes against the grain, letting her walk around without doing anything.

Giving her what she wants.

But if she gives him what he wants, too, then --

"I should send you back to Hell right now."

[justasaleswoman]

"What, no hello? After all this time?

"Dean. Manners."

She takes a couple of steps closer to him.

"It is so good to see you. It's been too long, darling. But Sammy told me to stay away from you. Guess he didn't trust you to know how to take care of yourself. Which, given that you haven't exactly managed to take care of anyone else lately, well . . . he did get the brains in the family, didn't he?

"I mean, you've gotten your whole family killed."

She's inches close enough now that when she leans in, her mouth is inches from his.

"It's too sweet. Sorry, you're going to have to give me a moment, here."

She inhales, breathing in desperation and bravado and pain.

"Sometimes a girl needs to stop and smell the roses."

[hopeitsworthit]

Guess he didn't trust you.

With the way things are going, Sam was right not to trust Dean. Not about anything.

Look what trusting Dean got him.

Dead.

Dean grits his teeth, forcing himself to stay stock-still as the demon hellbitch leans closer.

He can almost smell the sulfur in the air.

(He can almost hear the hellhounds, but he's not thinking of what the others looked like when the dogs were done, he's not -- )

"You ain't no girl, sweetheart. I hate to break it to you."

What Dean wants to do is get on with it. But showing his hand too soon (and it's a shitty fucking hand, there's no way he's leaving here without making a deal and they both know it, everyone knows it, Meg down in hell is probably laughing her goddamn ass off about it, and oh but that was not a thought to have, not when she's gonna get to visit him up close and personal sooner rather than later. Fuck.) --

Showing his hand too soon is just not how he wants to go out.

[justasaleswoman]

"So is the part where you send me right back where I belong?"

If he didn't do it last time he's sure as hell not going to do it now.

(And nothing, but nothing, is surer about this conversation than hell.)

"Cut the crap, Dean," she says, moving away from him now. "You won't, and we both know it. And we both know why."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean'd swear in court that he's not a masochist, but that doesn't explain why he says what he says next.

"Oh yeah? You think so?"

Nothing about this is going to be easy, even if Dean has to dig in the knife himself.

Sammy, I'm sorry.

[justasaleswoman]

"Well, it's not like you called me so I could express my condolences on your loss.

"No, you wanna follow in Daddy's footsteps."

And really, when has he ever done anything else?

"You wanna make a deal.

"Little Sammy back from the dead.

"In exchange for what?

"Your soul?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"Hey," Dean says, spreading out his arms a little.

"Plenty of demons'd shit their pants to get their hands on it. You're telling me you don't want it?"

Why wouldn't she? He's never seen a demon be picky before; it's all a numbers game.

Right?

"Last time you just couldn't wait to snatch it up."

What else is he gonna do with it? He let Dad down, he let Sam down, he's let plenty of other people die --

Seems like he was destined for Hell anyway -- 95% chance on the outside.

This is just --

Sealing the deal.

[justasaleswoman]

"That was then," she says.

[hopeitsworthit]

The bottom drops out of his stomach.

"Uh huh. Right. You're gonna have to deal with the fact that I don't believe you. So come on, let's get this show on the road. You bring Sam back, and ten years down the line you come for me. No muss, no fuss, no fighting. I'm all yours."

Ten years is enough time.

It's got to be.

[justasaleswoman]

"You must be joking.

"Ten years?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"Ain't that the deal you give everybody?"

Everybody he's ever talked to, anyway.

Except Dad.

But he's not thinking about that. Hell no. Not now.

"It's not like you don't have enough time on your hands, a little waiting isn't gonna kill you. I bet you don't even break a sweat."

[justasaleswoman]

"You're not everybody, darling."

She comes forward again.

"Why would I want to give you anything?

"Without Sam, you probably won't last ten months, never mind ten years. And if I'm wrong about that, well, as you said, a little waiting won't kill me."

Why would they pay for something even he thinks they're going to get when he's done with it, free of charge?

She leans in close.

"Keep your gutter soul. It's too tarnished, anyway."

[hopeitsworthit]

He sucks in a breath, the side effect of a gut punch.

And immedately kicks himself for even giving her that much.

Dad would be pissed about it.

"Nine years."

He just barely manages to keep that from coming out too fast.

From pleading.

She shouldn't get the satisfaction.

[justasaleswoman]

Too late, darling. She's already got it.

"No."

[hopeitsworthit]

What the hell?

He keeps the edge out of his voice.

"Eight."

He's lucky he keeps the quaver out of it, too.

[justasaleswoman]

"You can keep going, Dean, and I'll keep saying no."

If he gets off the rejection, who is she to deny him that?

[hopeitsworthit]

Failure settles like a stone in Dean's gut.

It just goes to show --

"Five."

It hurts to say, but not as much as the thought of turning around and leaving.

Going back to Sam. Or what's left of him, anyway.

Fuck.

"Five years. You bring Sam back and in five years my bill comes due. No questions. That's my last offer."

It has to be.

What the hell else does she want from him?

[justasaleswoman]

She smiles, and it's the same sort of smile he gets from a girl who's been playing hard to get all night right before she gives it up.

She closes the space between them and leans even closer than she did when she was all but whispering in his ear.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean braces himself for the touch of her mouth.

It'll get Sam back, and that's all that matters.

[justasaleswoman]

Her breath is all he's going to feel, and close as that is to a kiss . . .

Well, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

"No deal."

[hopeitsworthit]

He swallows.

This is worse than being gut-shot.

"Fine."

There's white noise in his ears, in his brain. What's he going to do?

This can't be something there's no way of fixing.

He's just got to figure it out. Just got to --

[justasaleswoman]

"Fine," she says.

She steps past him, keeps walking, and doesn't even look back over her shoulder when she says, "Make sure you bury Sam before he starts stinking up the joint."

But they both know he's not actually going to let her leave, right?

In five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .

[hopeitsworthit]

Three seconds after an internal count hits one --

"Wait."

He closes his eyes, but has them open again before she turns around.

There's weakness and then there's weakness, and one kind of shame Dean's not prepared to live with.

Or die with.

[justasaleswoman]

"It's a fire sale, and everything must go," she says, under her breath, and then turns.

And waits.

[hopeitsworthit]

The white noise buzz is still in his ears and his mouth is dry.

He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, at his neck where the shirt collar hits his throat.

Oh God, what is he doing?

(Saving Sam, of course. It's what he was born for. It's what he knows how to do. It's --

He has to.)

"What do I have to do?"

That is, after all, what it comes down to.

What it'll always come down to when family's involved. When Sam's involved.

It's written on his bones.

[justasaleswoman]

"First of all, enough with the groveling. Needy guys are such a turnoff."

And she spends a ridiculous amount of time with them.

She crosses back to face him.

"Look," she says. "I really shouldn't. I could get in a lot of trouble."

It's not likely, not with the plan and everything, but with her boss, well, there's always the possibility.

"But there's about you, darling. You're like a puppy, you're just too fun to play with."

Verity makes a show of sighing.

"I'll do it."

[hopeitsworthit]

Hell, Dean'd wag his tail for days if it'd get him his brother back.

Or, you know, sell his goddamn soul.

He manages to keep his expression pretty even, though.

And the taste of bile is in the back of his throat again.

"You'll bring him back?"

Hope is cruel, but it's a clean kind of pain. As clean as this shit can be, anyway.

And then Sam'll be okay.

It's the only thing that matters.

[justasaleswoman]

"I will," she says.

"And because it's you, darling, I'll give you one year, and one year only."

[hopeitsworthit]

There's a momentary hint of relief at finally knowing what the price is going to be (and knowing when it'll be over, too -- it's not that long a wait), but it's hastily swallowed up by the sick feeling in his gut.

Because a year isn't much time at all, and Sammy -- Sam's going to be coming back to almost less than nothing. Except --

Except if Dean doesn't do this Sam isn't coming back. And if Dean's gonna be damned either way --

[justasaleswoman]

"But here's the thing," she continues, because he doesn't get hints of relief, not now, not even momentary ones.

"Don't be thinking for a second that this ends any other way. You try to welch, or weasel your way out, try to jump though a loophole or find another way, and the deal is off.

"Sam drops dead, and the only deal you'll get then is whatever discount you can cut on the kerosene you'll need to torch his meat."

[hopeitsworthit]

He pushes away the images that set of words invokes. Sam's not gonna end up like that.

Not --

Not forever.

No.

And maybe he never has to find out.

[justasaleswoman]

"It's a better deal than you deserve. And a hell of a better one than your daddy got.

"So, Dean . . . what do you say?"

[hopeitsworthit]

Better?

This is better?

Bullshit.

But Dean's done talking.

He sets his jaw, swallows back acid, and pulls the demon bitch's face toward his for a kiss.

Sealing the deal.

Bringing Sam back.

Doing his job.

That's what counts. It's the only thing.

Right?

[justasaleswoman]

She brings her hands up to the back of his neck and the side of his face, and there's no way she's rushing this.

She thought the first time she kissed him was sweet.

But this . . . cue the swell of the orchestra and the happy ending.

(Matter of perspective, after all. It's a happy ending for her.)

"You don't do things by halves, do you, darling?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"Ain't much point, is there?"

Already the itch of getting back to Sam -- making sure he's okay -- is burning under Dean's skin.

The demon's proximity may also have something to do with that.

So he takes a step back. Slow.

Casual.

Steady.

Nothing really feels different. Not yet.

(If he says it enough times it'll totally be true.)

[justasaleswoman]

"Leaving so soon?" she asks.

And then laughs. "It's okay, Dean. I never figured you were the type to hang around for a cuddle or a cigarette.

"Hurry on back to Sammy. Tell him I said hello."

[hopeitsworthit]

"In your fucking dreams."

Maybe literally.

He's resolutely not thinking about that, either.

Hell.

The demon's right about one thing, though. It's time to get gone.

Dean's got somewhere more important to be --

For as long as he can.

[justasaleswoman]

She stands at the center of the crossroads and watches him head for his car.

"Have a great summer," she says.

"See you next year."

[hopeitsworthit]

"I'll bring the puppy chow," he bites out, slamming the car door and shooting the Impala into reverse.

Those tracks are gonna be laid in the earth for a long while.

[justasaleswoman]

They might still be there when he gets laid in the earth, even.

Verity stands and watches, red eyes on red lights, until she can't see even the tail lights of the black car speeding into the night toward the dead end he just chose.

And then, once again, the crossroads is silent and empty and waiting.