Exhaustion beat Dean to a pulp. If he'd slept more than an hour or two in the past four days Sam would have been surprised, therefore he was not surprised at how quickly his brother went down. As soon as they were in their room, showered and fed, it was all over for Dean. He collapsed into bed and was gone in seconds.

Sam sat up watching him sleep. With every rise and fall of Dean's chest, Sam couldn't help but think:

One day gone. There are only three-hundred and sixty-four days left.

"Idiot," he whispered softly, affectionately.

He sat there for an hour, until he knew for certain Dean's sleep was deep and he would not wake any time soon. When he did rise, Sam plucked the room key from atop the television, and rummaged through Dean's coat pocket for the keys to the car. He slipped from the room in silence. There were only a few scant hours left before dawn but the birds were already beginning to sing. Sam shifted the Impala into neutral and pushed her a little way across the parking lot before he started the engine. Dean might have woken to the familiar sound of his beloved car's rumbling purr.

Sam drove almost by instinct, or maybe the Impala knew where they were going because she had been there before just recently. In any case he arrived at the crossroads far sooner than he expected. He parked, and got out of the car.

His boots crunched in the gravel. A breeze stirred his hair and rustled through the grass, but those were the only sounds. No birds sang here. No crickets chirped. Overhead a full moon shed light all around, enough for Sam to see quite clearly. Once he thought he saw a shadow flicker across the big silver sphere and wondered if it weren't one of the escaped demons on its way to wherever. Perhaps it was a scout tailing Sam. He didn't much care. It couldn't hurt him.

He didn't use any elaborate spell work. There was no need to bury his picture, or sacrifice a cat for a bone. All he had to do was stand there with his hands in his pockets and send out a silent call.

"I must say," she drawled from somewhere behind him. "This is a surprise."

Sam turned around. A woman stood there – blond haired and blue eyed save for a crimson glint lurking within the dark pupils. Her skin was a rich gold in contrast to the plain white nightshirt she wore – or rather, what the poor woman she was possessing wore. She approached at a slow, sultry walk, her eyes running up and down the length of Sam's body as she came to him. The collar of her nightshirt dipped just low enough to reveal the creamy curves of her breasts. She saw his quick glance there, licked her lips, and smiled.

"Another handsome Winchester boy come to see me. Aren't I lucky." She'd begun walking around him, still appraising him, but now stopped abruptly. "Found out about the deal your brother made didn't you."

"Yes."

"And you've come to try to renegotiate, right?" The demon chuckled. "Sorry about your luck, Chuck, but a deal's a deal. In fact, you being here is in direct violation of our terms." She came nearer, leaning in close so he could smell the sulfur on her breath. "Any attempt to worm out of our bargain results in dear, sweet, Sammy going right back to Hell."

"You didn't tell him that."

"Well, I left out the Hell part of course." She shrugged. "I just told him you'd be food for worms again. I think if he'd known exactly what he was doing he might not have been so willing to negotiate."

"And what exactly did he do?" Sam asked softly.

"Oh, I think you know." Stepping closer still, she ran a hand over his chest. "But I've been in a generous mood lately, and I'll give you a little hint. Demons can't actually bring a body back from death – not unless they're wearing it."

Sam pushed her away from him. "You're lying."

"All I did was lend you a hand, Sammy, helped you up out of the pit. You picked the shell, and you healed it yourself."

"You're lying!" He stepped up to her, fists clenched, teeth grinding...

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Thunder in a cloudless sky.

The she-demon smiled. "You don't know your own power, Sam. Altered as you were, you could do things neither human nor demon could ever dream of doing. You were both altered and cursed, as were all the children, so when Jake killed you, you got a one way ticket down." She approached him again, putting a hand to his cheek in a gentle caress. "But the fires tempered you, made you stronger. Before, you were more human than demon. Now..." Her voice became a breathy whisper as she rose on her tip-toes to put her mouth closer to his ear. "Heir to the throne."

"Never," Sam murmured. "I won't be like that."

She broke away from him. "You have no choice."

"I won't be like that!"

Her eyes flashed red as she turned on him angrily. "You already are, Sammy, or else Jake wouldn't be lying out there with his head burst open like a Halloween pumpkin the morning after Begger's Night!" Her fury subsided as quickly as it had come. Her smile returned. "Trick. Or. Treat."

He looked away abruptly, his chest heaving.

"You enjoyed it didn't you," she purred. "Got a little thrill watching him lay there spitting up blood and begging for mercy. The scent of blood made you high didn't it? Made you long to taste it, feel it burn in your gut."

"Shut up."

"You're one of us now..."

"I said shut up!"

"I should."

"Yeah, you should."

Bending at the waist, she curtsied low. "Master."

Sam rushed her, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her back up to face him. "If that's so," he growled, shaking her firmly. "Then I can make you take back that bargain."

"No. You can't. What's done is done and can't be undone. At the end of a year Dean's soul is mine to do with as I please."

"I could kill you."

"You think?"

Her voice lacked the confidence to back up her words. Sam realized she was frightened, frightened that he would kill her. She knew he could, and now he knew it too.

Heir to the throne.

"And if I did?" Sam whispered.

"I'll take him with me. His soul is mine. It's bound to me. You kill me and you'll expedite his trip into the fire."

Sam let her go, turning away from her to rest his hands on the hood of the car. His mind was a fucked up mess of conflicting emotions, memories of things he didn't want to recall, inhuman power he could barely contain. First and foremost, however, was his desire to make everything right again. Somehow he had to make everything right again. He'd sworn he would.

He hung his head, and stared at the reflection of the moon in the dark, glassy surface of the Impala's hood. His mouth quirked in a half smile. Dean loved this car. He'd brought it back from the dead too, once.

His smile abruptly faded. Sam raised his head.

"That's it," he whispered.

The car. Cars have titles. Whoever holds the title, owns the car.

Turning around, Sam walked swiftly back to the demon. "A bargain is a bargain. The deal can't be altered."

"That's right."

"But it can be transferred," he said.

"Yes, but..." The she-demon stopped. "No. No! You can't!"

He felt his face flush, saw her flinch back at the light in his eyes, the power he wielded against her. She would be compelled to do what he asked. He could control her as Ava had controlled the achiri. He only had to give in to what he'd become.

You're my big brother, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you.

"Oh, yes I can." Sam grabbed her around the throat, lifting her off her feet as he stared into her eyes and made his demand in a low, commanding voice. "I want my brother's contract, and I want it now."

A thin sliver of sunlight shone in through a crack in the closed curtains, finding its way into Dean's face like the pinpoint ray of a laser. When he opened his eyes it stabbed at them, making him groan and roll over to escape the pain. The light in the rest of the room was very dim. None of the lamps were on, and there were dark umber shadows in the corners.

For a moment, as he lay caught somewhere between asleep and awake, Dean thought he saw the glow of a pair of yellow eyes staring at him from out of those shadows. The demon was alive. He hadn't killed it. It had come for him.

Dean gasped. The nightmarish vision abruptly faded as fear jolted him into full consciousness. He raised his head quickly, peering anxiously out into the room. The eyes he'd seen had been nothing but a dream. The shadowy outline sitting near the bed was only Sam.

"Hey," he mumbled, dropping his head back to the pillow. "What's for breakfast?"

"Dunno. What do you want?"

"The works."

"There's a Waffle House down the road." Sam reached over and flipped on a light, making Dean groan. "Get dressed and we'll go."

"Gotta get up first." Dean put a hand to his forehead. The cut there was oozing blood again. "I look like hell."

"Actually, no, you don't."

Dean paused a moment. Something about Sam's tone struck him as off. A brief flashback to the cemetery swayed him – Jake, rendered unrecognizable by the rounds Sam had coldly fired into his face.

"And how would you know?" Dean asked softly.

"Well, while you were busy getting tossed around by the demon, I was over there by the door trying to get it shut again. Believe me. You don't look like the Hell I saw."

A brief flicker of a smile across Sam's face made Dean relax again. He wobbled to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. In a few minutes he was dressed and ready to go. Sam had already loaded their gear into the car. He tossed Dean the car keys.

Outside the sun was already creeping toward its apex. Dean squinted up into the clear blue sky and sighed. "Three-hundred and sixty-four days left."

"We're not counting down," Sam said, pulling open the Impala's passenger door. "So just stop right there."

"Gotta keep track. Want to look my best when the hounds show up," Dean got in the car. He expected Sam to slap his wrists for joking.

Sam simply looked at him.

"What?"

"You know, what Dad said, it's still out there, Dean."

"What are you talking about?"

"If you can't save me, you might have to kill me."

"No it's not. I did save you, Sammy. The demon's dead. You're alive..."

"Yeah, I guess."

Dean shuddered. He mustered up a laugh, however, and turned the key in the ignition. "It's over." he said. "That part is over. I saved you, and now you're gonna save me, right?"

"That's right," Sam replied softly. "I will save you, no matter what. That's a promise."

There was, Dean realized, an unspoken "but" at the end of the sentence. He glanced over at his brother who was now staring moodily out the window. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Sam turned back toward him. "Yeah, just tired."

Dean nodded. His brother looked tired. "You get any sleep at all last night?"

"A little bit. I'll catch a nap later." Sam shrugged. Dean let it drop.

The rest of the short trip down the road to the restaurant was done in silence. It wasn't until they pulled up in the parking lot that Sam added one last thing. It was, Dean realized, the "but" he'd been waiting for.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you and Bobby talked about making new bullets for the Colt."

"Yeah, we think we can figure out the formula. Better safe than sorry you know."

Sam nodded. He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. "Dean. The day after this year is up, I want you to take the Colt and put a bullet in me. I want you to kill me, but not a minute before, or a minute after that day."

"What?" Dean flinched, scowling. "Are you nuts? The demon is dead, Sam. You're not going to go darkside, okay, so just let it go!" He caught his breath quickly, adding softly, "You're not going to die again either, not on my watch, and not by my hand."

"What if you're wrong?" Sam whispered. "You could be wrong, Dean. You could be very, very wrong. What if the best thing that could happen, already did? What if what was dead, should have stayed dead?"

Dean stared at him. "Sam...no."

"I'm just...just in case. Worst case scenario," Sam said hastily. "You promised. If something happens to me..."

"Nothing is going to happen to you because if it does I'll save you. It's in my best interest to save you, especially now since you've promised to save me because if I don't save you, you can't save me, and then I can't save you and we're both screwed."

Sam did as Dean had intended him to do. He laughed. "What?"

"I haven't had coffee."

"Dean..."

"In a nutshell, nobody is dying – at least not until after I've had breakfast." Dean reached for the door handle. "Come on. If you don't feed me, I will shoot you."

They both paused before getting out of the car. Sam met his gaze and Dean saw the faint flicker of flame within his brother's eyes. It sent a chill down his spine. Maybe what he'd seen in the shadows back at the motel had not been a dream at all. He looked away quickly.

"I'm serious, Dean." Sam said softly. "I need that time to save you, and I will, I swear. But when it's over, if you're wrong and I..." He stopped a moment, fighting to keep his voice steady. "You kill me, Dean. You take the Colt and you kill me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah," he murmured. "I know, Sammy. I get it." He tried to muster a reassuring smile as he raised his head again. "But we have a year, okay. Anything can happen in a year."

Sam opened the car door. "Yeah." The fire had faded from his eyes. He now simply looked tired; very young and very tired, and very Sammy. "You're right. Anything can happen in a year." He got out of the car, and so did Dean.

Sam led the way across the parking lot to the restaurant. Dean followed slowly, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. The demon's words about what he'd brought back haunted him, and it was obvious now Sam knew something he wasn't telling. Why else had he brought up Dean's promise again? Why had he brought up the Colt? Had that little exchange just now meant what Dean thought it meant?

He found himself being forced to realize an agonizing truth - the demon had not been lying. Sam wasn't entirely Sam anymore, and it was all Dean's fault.

"Sammy," he whispered. His eyes burned with tears. "God...I can't lose you again. I can't..."

Sam's head appeared out of the restaurant door as he realized Dean had not followed him inside. "What are you doing? Come on, I'm going to order."

Rubbing his eyes, Dean cleared his throat and yelled back, "Hang on, hang on, had to tie my shoe."

He started walking again, but stopped, startled as the sunlight suddenly dimmed. A storm had rolled in, a storm moving faster than any he'd ever seen before. Only moments ago there had not been a cloud in the sky, but now...

Looking up he saw a swirl of clouds overhead, heard the rumble of thunder. He squinted as the first few drops of rain began to fall, and flinched as he saw something not entirely unexpected. Within those dark rainclouds there was something even darker, something more sinister, moving among them. He wasn't dreaming this time, not at all.

The war had begun.

Or had it?

Three-hundred sixty-four days and counting.

A demon army had been unleashed, and all it needed was someone to lead it. The demons had waited for centuries for this time to come. Having to wait another three-hundred sixty-four days would mean nothing to them.

Oh, God, what have I done?

He only had one year to fix everything. Save himself. Save Sam. Save the world.

Dammit!

Dean jerked open the door to the restaurant. "Sam," he called. "Get that to go!"