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.