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

[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.