Disclaimer: At the crossroads once, I saw a woman dancing. I found my inspiration, but I left with only a dream. Now I only own the sand in my hour glass. And even that too, slips away.

Set mid Season Four, before Dean knew about Sam's addiction.

At the Crossroads

Alexander Chambers realized that if he sat in the coffee shop for another hour with his computer on he would die of boredom. He had no inspiration whatsoever today, and his ideas were as fleeting as leaves on water. No wait, he frowned, that was a terrible metaphor. He sighed as he realized that even today his inner monologue was feeling abnormally un-creative.

He packed up his laptop and picked up his cup of coffee. Alexander walked out to his car and threw his bag inside. He got into the driver's seat and put his hands on the wheel. The road ahead was limitless, and vast. He could go to the library. He could go home. He could go to the theatre… He could go as far away as he pleased.

But he didn't have a clue what he would do.

Alexander picked up his coffee from the cup holder and took a sip. He set it back down. He clicked on the radio, and started humming. He inserted the key into the ignition, and his engine roared to life. Without a thought he cruised down the road and let the curves lead him. The twisted path had an agenda as simple as his own: to go nowhere.

Before he knew it, town was far behind him. The pavement had stopped and the road was rockier. As he drove he noticed an unusual warehouse. He slowed his car down to a stop as he considered the oddity. Alexander knew the town used to be much more industrialized, but he didn't realize the machines stretched so far out on the border.

An idea struck him. With a smile, Alexander decided to investigate. What was the harm? He reasoned that at least he would walk away with some inspiration for his work. "O Muse," he joked as he approached the warehouse, "Guide me."

A raven cawed as the door swung open.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam balanced the two cups of coffee in one hand as he juggled the motel key in the other. Without spilling the coffee, he managed to open door. He smiled brightly as he stepped inside the room. With any luck, Dean would still be asleep. And if Dean was asleep, he could remain ignorant of Sam's nighttime activities with Ruby.

Sam would just pretend that in thirty minutes when Dean woke up, Sam had only been gone briefly—to get coffee. Sam looked up as he entered the room and his smile quickly faded. Dean finished tying his shoelaces and looked up from where he sat on the bed. "Oh, you're back." He remarked casually.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Dreams." Dean said bluntly. "Is that coffee?"

"Yes," Sam handed him a cup. Thinking quickly, he added, "I just went out fifteen minutes ago…"

"No. You didn't." Dean took the cup and gestured to the packed duffle bag. "I've been up for hours." Dean took a sip of the coffee. He saw the look of panic in Sam's eyes and brushed it aside. "It's fine though, I found us a case."

Sam recognized the fact that Dean was avoiding the issue. Hell, he was too. Clearing his throat, he noticed the newspaper on the nightstand. He picked it up and asked, "What is it?"

Dean gestured to the article at the bottom of page two. "Alexander Chambers was found dead yesterday. His eyes were wide open in terror, and he officially died of asphyxiation." Dean raised his eyebrows. "And he wasn't the first."

Sam skimmed the article for other details and nodded. "Any ideas on what it is?"

"A ghost, maybe." Dean shrugged. "Get packed and we'll go. I've been waiting for you long enough."

Sam set down the paper and stood up. Efficiently, he opened up his drawers and emptied his life into a duffle bag. Dean didn't bother with small talk about where Sam had been, and Sam refrained from asking about Dean's dreams. Ignorance wasn't bliss, it was a truce.

When they finally got into the car thirty minutes later, Dean immediately put a cassette tape into the radio. The music blared, louder than any awkward silence could ever be. Sam glanced over at Dean, who was singing along, and frowned. Awkward silence, guarded conversations—they were just more things he would have to deal with until Lilith was dead. Sam reminded himself that when she was gone, things would go back to normal. No angels, no looming apocalypse, no nightmares, and no arguments.

Slumping against the seat he tried to make himself believe it was true.

Dean continued to drive along the bumpy road.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They found the town, but they didn't find answers. They found the clues, but they didn't see the puzzle. They found the warehouse, but they didn't find an escape. The last thing Sam saw was a raven in the window of the old warehouse. The last thing Sam felt was a large object, or maybe hand, hit him from behind. The last thing he heard was Dean screaming as he struggled and a distant cry for "Sam!"

It was too late to reply

They were already lost.

In front of Dean, he could see the sun rising, behind him the sun was also setting. It was as if he was stuck in between changes. His weary feet protested every time they landed heavily on the dirty road. The dusty, rock strewn highway weaved in front of his tired eyes. Sleep wasn't an option, it was a threat; an impending nightmare that would descend if he gave up now. Months were minutes, seconds where days and he'd been lost for years. In the distance he saw a fork in the road.

Great, he sighed, another choice to make.

So far he had made all the wrong decisions. Hadn't he decided to check out this town? Hadn't he said it looked to be a simple matter of a ghost? Hadn't he said to split up? Wasn't it all been his fault Sam was gone?

His head hung a little more, and he felt like a noose was tightening around his neck. The rope was made out of knotted decisions. It wasn't a ghost, it wasn't a simple town and they should never have underestimated it. The stumbling riddles and contours of this strange case had to be some clue to what had happened. There had to be a reason Dean was here, a certain method to the madness.

Dean hadn't discovered any method yet. All he had found was an old warehouse that he and Sam had thought contained the bones of one very pissed off spirit. Whatever it was that was leaving a string of bloodless, eyes wide open corpses-- it wasn't a spirit. They'd been ambushed too quickly, thrown to hard, before Dean could even fully process the mistake in judgment he'd made. Maybe that was the madness' method. Another miscommunication. God knows they had plenty of that lately.

Either way you danced around it-- They'd been trapped because, once more, Dean had made the wrong choice. Beaten and bruised, he now stood at another crossroads pondering the road less traveled.

A man sat at the crossroads with his head bowed. He looked up at Dean's approach and his skin stretched into a twisted smile. Bloody streaks like tears were dried on his cheeks, fallen from his hollow eyes.

He clapped his hands slowly in mocking applause. "Dean, you've come far. Just not far enough."

Dean hesitated in the presence of the blind man. Dean's right arm hung nearly useless at his side as he swayed on his unsteady feet. He didn't want to start another fight unless necessary. He inspected the blind man's appearance curiously. How had the blind man in tattered clothes known it was him? How did anything make sense?

"Don't worry boy, I can see your soul." The blind man said calmly as if he had understood Dean's worries and concerns. He was looking Dean over as he continued, "And, furthermore, why should you fear an old man?"

His chuckled dryly, the noise sounding like mix between a raven's caw and coyote's barking laughter. Dean looked over the man's shoulder. The road ahead was forked and his only clue to the path was the sign post the old man leaned on.

"Do you know the right path?" Dean asked as he scrutinized the weathered post with nearly illegible signs. He didn't like the old man, and he hated someone reading him so easily. But Dean knew he had to work with what was there.

The old man gestured to his right. Hearing Dean sigh tiredly, the blind man frowned. "What's the matter?" He tilted his head to the side. "Oh I see. You want to know if it's best to go to Harlin or to Kelsin?"

"Not exactly." Dean said with bared teeth. "I'm just trying to find my brother."

"You've already lost a long time ago." He pointed at Dean's chest. "I've seen your heart young man, and that's not what you really want."

Dean scowled at the offending little man. The blind man was wearing a trench coat over his dirty gray suit with a blue tie. He was squatting on an old empty crate of apples and held on tightly to his obsidian cane. The strange thing about the cane, it was topped with a marble figurehead of a wild dog.

"Fine, I'll figure it out by my own damn self." Dean growled as he turned towards the left.

The old man whistled and looked pointedly in the opposite direction. As Dean walked by the old man, he swung out his cane and solidly whacked Dean's injured right knee. The blind man swung his head to look over at Dean. "Wouldn't do that." he said casually.

Dean stepped back, rubbing his sore kneecap as he started to mumble. Then he realized that blind men had unusually good hearing, and clamped his mouth shut. He shuffled away and moved towards the right as quietly as he could. Once more, as he was about to pass the man, the cane whipped out and struck him. "Sure about it?" he drawled.

Dean clenched his bloody knuckles into fists. "Let me pass."

"Answer my riddle."

"No."

"Then you'll never find Sam." The blind man lowered his cane and leaned comfortably against the sign post, crossing one leg over his other knee. He sighed happily as he let his eyelids lower. "Such a shame," he yawned. "Sam probably won't understand why you're always letting him down."

Dean looked at the roads in the distance. He looked back at the weathered man. "I'll answer your question."

The old man's eyes immediately snapped awake and he sat up. A wrinkled pair of jet black wings, each three feet long, fluttered from his back and shook with excitement. Feathers fell from their bony frame, but he didn't notice. "Oh good, someone who will play fair." He smiled to reveal his rotted teeth, or at least, the teeth he still had. "Someone who will play by the rules."

"Rules?" Dean said cautiously.

"Even the angels have rules." He spit on the ground. "Even the cursed."

"What are the rules?"

The old man remembered the rules; they were rather easy to someone who had created them. Don't ask questions, don't speak unless spoken to, don't walk sideways except on Tuesday, you are crazy, this is for your own good, don't go left when you can go right, don't go right unless you are on fire, two plus two equals five, don't acknowledge the shadows, don't disrespect your elders, know at least one riddle, talk in lists, and it went on for quite a while.

But the most important rule of all was very simple and to the point: There are no rules.

The blind man considered all this and smiled. "You'll figure it out."

"Fine. What's your riddle?"

"This thing all things devours birds, beasts, trees, flowers," the old man intoned with wild hand gestures, "Gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hard stones to meal, slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down!" He concluded with a final flourish. He leaned forward towards Dean. "What is it you need?"

"To find Sam." Dean snapped as he began to concentrate.

"Wrong!" He cheered.

"I didn't even get to guess!" protested Dean, "You asked me a separate question!"

"Technicality."

"Let me guess."

"The Sphinx didn't put up with this, why should I?" The blind man said indignantly as he tapped his cane.

"Let me guess." Dean reiterated by cracking his knuckles loudly.

"Very well." The old man waved his hand dismissively, cursing under his breath in Latin. Dean didn't catch the strange language, or its meaning. It bugged him to see someone so nonchalant about physical threats. He tried to put the thought aside and focus.

There were a great many supernatural creatures Dean had fought but none that could do all that. Werewolves could kill kings, but they couldn't bite steel without risking silver poisoning. Vampires really couldn't move mountains. It could have been a witch. That was just as plausible as anything else.

"A witch." Dean said confidently.

The old man held up a finger to protest. "I don't think so, the real answer is…" His face froze suddenly as his thoughts changed. "No wait, you've got a point." He let his features relax as he shrugged. "Oh well. You'll see your brother." He started to wave. "One way or another."

One way or another ended up being vertical. Dean felt the ground shake, and as he looked down the earth gave way. He gasped for air and panicked as he began to fall through the air. The blind man's echoing laughter wished him good bye.

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Sam woke up lying on the dirt floor of a room with stone walls. In case he was dreaming, he repeated to himself, "I am awake. I am awkake…"

But Sam wasn't sure if he was dreaming, dead, or awake when he saw her across the room.

She had blue eyes and blonde hair that cascaded down on to her shoulder in waves. She was hauntingly beautiful, Sam couldn't deny it. She strode across the room in three quick steps and cupped his face in her hands. He looked up at her, and couldn't notice the eerier similarity she had to…

"Jess?" Sam asked softly.

She smiled. "Not quite."

Sam looked perplexed as she ran her fingers through his hair. He wanted to ask her more questions, but she shook her head. "There's no need to talk anymore."

She pulled away from and turned towards the one other item in room; an old wooden desk. Sitting down, she pulled out a piece of paper and a quill. She gestured at the paper and tapped the side of her head. "I've already got your story."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The blind man at the cross roads was laughing. At his feet two marbles rolled by. Or maybe they were eyes. He couldn't see the difference. He couldn't see their blue irises or their pupils widen in shock as they rolled along the pit's edge and then finally into it.

He stood up and stretched his back. He twirled his cane and began to whistle. Walking slowly, he ambled down the road, leaving the cross roads behind himself. He neatly side stepped all obstacles, without any distractions.

Each small step he took, another layer of clothes seemed to fade away. His skin was weathered and stained. The texture on it became increasingly prominent, and his tattered wings began to shake. The transformation continued as he strolled. His skin became darker, the feathers on his wings multiplied to coat his skin.

The cane fell to the ground as did the last remnants of his façade. He took flight as he circled the boundaries of the realm he had created under her command.

She wouldn't be happy if he didn't play his part and deliver one good idea.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The troubling with falling is that there isn't much time to gather your thoughts.

Unless your thoughts are simply: Not again. But that's an entirely different matter. All in all, what transpires in those brief moments are generally cut off with a resounding SPLAT. Your last thought, last breath, is entirely too short when you fall. There was hardly any time to think deep, unveiling thoughts about the universe's origin or problems of any nature.

Dean was aware of this as he fell. He tried to think of something coherent, dashing, or anything that a real hero would plausibly say as they fell to their death. Captain Mal would probably have thought about his ship. But Dean was almost ninety percent sure the Impala was in good hands. At exactly five seconds into his downward spiral, Dean thought: This would be better if I had pie. Succinct, to the point, and a solid message for others to live by. Definitely a good last line. Unfortunately, no one was nearby to hear him.

At exactly six seconds into his flight, he added to his thoughts remorsefully: I just wish I'd found Sam. He'd survived Hell to ensure his brother got some normalcy in his life. It didn't work out that way and it was all falling apart. His nightmares threatened him when he was awake, and Sam always seemed to avoid looking straight at him. Dean absently wondered what constituted for normal by Winchester standards. Oh well, it was too late for those types of thoughts.

Dean shut his eyes. He preferred hearing SPLAT to seeing it.

At exactly eleven seconds, he cautiously opened them and thought, Well, this is odd.

Looking down into the bottomless pit he realized he had tons of time to think. And for some reason, that scared him even more.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam soon realized his legs were frozen with his knees bent against his chest. He could move his arms, but he just let them rest on top of his legs. Sam leaned his head back and concentrated on the ceiling. "Who are you?" he repeated in a soft voice.

She finished writing her current sentence with a flourish. "Just a Muse." She said offhandedly.

Sam's eyes snapped forward to look at her. "But… Really?" She nodded as Sam pressed on. "But why are you doing this?"

The Muse turned around to stare at Sam. Her eyes flashed a thousand colors as she pursed her lips. Sam cleared his throat, "If you don't mind. I want to hear this."

"Do you really?" She looked at him pityingly. "Do you ever wonder what an idea is? Where it comes from?" She looked away from him. "Of course not."

"I want to hear you." Sam repeated.

"Fine." She shrugged. "Why not? It's just that, you have your T.V. and your internet and your blogs and not a one of you has an original idea." She sighed and slumped in her chair. "I'm just looking for a little originality." Looking up at Sam, she flashed a twisted smile. "And you seem to have such an amazing little mind. Drinking blood? Actually drinking demon blood?" She laughed. "That is very original."

Sam shuddered, feeling a chill in the room. "You think so?"

She regarded the pages of notes she'd written and nodded. "Definitely. It's a nice twist on the same old revenge story."

Sam looked up at her. "So, can I go now?"

"No." She said bluntly as she turned to look at his eyes. "Oh don't give me that look. You drink demon blood. You of all people now there won't be a happy ending now."

Sam stood up slowly, edging his back up against the stone wall. His knees trembled as he took as steady breath. "I'm going to make a happy ending."

"With you and your damaged brother?" The muse laughed. "Now that's an idea."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oo-o-o

Dean shut his eyes and repeated his mantra: Find Sam Find Sam Find Sam… do you remember your time in Hell? Dean's eyes snapped open. That was not where he wanted his thoughts to go.

The walls to the tunnel around him occasionally had shelves built in. Tons of books flew past Dean's vision as he fell further. He was bored now, after 216,000 seconds, of flying. Or falling. He didn't know if there was difference. At the back of his mind, he remembered someone once saying that flying was all about learning how you control your fall.

But Dean didn't have control of much. He was losing control of Sam, for one. Two, he was losing control of his mind. He was fighting within himself constantly, and he was never sure of the decisions, the words, the things he chose.

The reddish glow of the walls glimmered off of two spheres. Dean reached out and grabbed them, bringing them closer to look at. They reminded him of eyes, and he pocketed them to glance at later. Dean looked back at the walls as another volume of the Divine Comedy flew by. He'd already seen it fly by twice already.

Dean was tired of falling. He didn't like where his thoughts were going. They were headed for rock bottom, and they were right.

Dean landed with a slight bump on an earthen floor. He looked at the tunnel ahead of him. There was no crossroads, or blind man, or riddles. He smiled; this was one choice he could make without thinking.

He hit the ground running.

After he ran for ten minutes Dean came to the end of the hallway. There were two large oaken doors. One had a sign on it that said: Do Not Enter. The other had a gold plaque on it that said: Please Use Other Door. Dean looked from door to door and considered each one carefully. Biting his lip, Dean hoped he made the right choice. His hand hovered above the door knob of the first door as he took a deep breath and pushed it open.

Dean found Sam lying on the floor with head in his hands. Sam looked up at Dean's approach with glassy hazel eyes. There was a jagged cut along his skull, and his mind was exposed. Words kept spilling out, a jumbled mixture of pictures and letters that just tumbled, twisted, and fell from his mind. Sam mumbled incoherently under his breath, too quickly for Dean to understand.

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders and shook his brother. "Sam, focus!" He looked at the wound along Sam's scalp and wondered, not for the last time, what exactly was going on. "Sam," Dean tried again, "You got to help me."

"I can't help you, no one can." Sam remarked offhand as his unfocused eyes roamed around the room and finally landed on Dean. He flashed a lazy smile. "You can't have a happy ending, she said so."

"What?"

"Everything we do… You know there won't be a happy ending…Why do we even try?" Sam's started to look around the room. "She'll be back. She knows the story."

"Who, Sam?" Dean snapped his fingers, trying to get Sam's attention. "Talk to me--"

"It won't work."

A raven was perched on the desk by a pallid bust of Pallas. It cocked its head to the side and Dean could have sworn the bird was looking at him. The bird was blind though, eyeless in fact. "Do you know something, bird?" Dean snapped.

"I know you found Sam, for what that's worth." The bird's cackling laughter was empty of any real mirth. "And I only know you're destined to suffer the same fate as me. The same fate as all the others."

Sam nodded agreeably and slumped against the wall. Dean looked from his brother to the raven. "What's that?" Dean looked at Sam.

The raven flapped his wings, bony molting things, to keep his balance and squawked. "She'll bleed you of your ideas and leave you finished."

"…you too?" Sam looked up.

"She took my eyes to the see the world as I see it." The raven shrugged.

"And who are you?" Dean asked tiredly. He hadn't even seen the raven fly in.

"Coyote, the Raven." Coyote tilted his head and flashed a crooked grin. "I'm a trickster in this corner of the woods."

Dean threw his hands in the air. "So you can undo this!"

"Could." The raven looked bitter. "I have to do what she wants now. She strangled out most of my power and left me in this place."

Sam sputtered a dry chuckle at the hapless bird. "Trapped in your own illusion. That's the way of the world… trapped in the lies we weave…" Words dripped down his scalp and hit the floor with a tink…tink…tink…

"Nevermore." Coyote croaked and took flight. He disappeared in a burst of feathers.

Dean stood up and held his arms out to Sam. Reluctantly Sam took his arms and stood up. "Do you have anything to cover that?" He asked as he gestured to Sam's unseemly gash. Before could Sam could ramble more, Dean handed him his jacket. "Never mind. Just apply pressure."

Sam held the wadded cloth up to the side of head, but his words were still jumbled. "What now?" Sam looked around the room.

Suddenly, there came a rapping, like gentle tapping, at the chamber door. Sam looked up and in a horrified whisper hissed, "It's her."

"Who?!"

"The Muse."

Dean kept one arm tight around Sam as he felt in his pockets for some sort of weapon. He pulled out the marbles. "What I wouldn't give for my gun." He grumbled.

Sam looked down at the blue orbs' in Dean's palm. "Coyote's eyes!" he gasped.

"How do you know?" Dean said as he held up one of the eyes. "It doesn't say so,"

"Makes as much sense as anything else." Sam shrugged.

"What do they do?" Dean held up the eyes. "'Cause we need to figure something out fast…"

Sam groaned and his knees shook. Dean took the brunt of his weight and grimaced as he declared, "I wish we were out of here."

The eyes' irises widened and the veins turned dark red. As Dean looked at them in wonder, the scenery around them changed drastically. They were back at the crossroads and perched on the sign was Coyote with his wings folded at his side. "Figure out my riddle?" he chimed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The Muse walked into the chamber and scowled. Her papers were still in order on the desk, but Sam was gone. She double checked the story she'd copied…and checked it again. It'd been to long without originality, and just when she'd found some spice he was gone.

The Muse was angry but as watched the words swim on the paper she smiled. She'd gotten what she wanted. After listening to so many others rabble on, she now had something to actually worth it.

The story, as far as she could see, didn't have much chance for a happy ending.

It was okay though, she could tweak the details. The Muse smiled feeling satisfied. She waved her hand and the world began to change. She folded the papers together neatly and went off to go find her pet, that fool-- Coyote.

She was done here now that she had something.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam raised his head to look up at the crooked sign post. "No, but we got something better."

Dean looked at Sam. "Are you crazy? These could be our ticket out of here!"

Sam frowned. "Maybe within this world, but he…" he jerked his head at the raven who was scrutinizing them, "can actually get us out."

"What's the big secret?" Coyote asked.

Dean held open his palm and revealed the eyeballs. "If you can get us out of here, they're yours."

The raven floated down and landed on the crate in front of the sign post. "My eyes!" Coyote said in awe. "That's just what I needed!" He held out one wing greedily. "Give them to me!"

"Promise first."

Coyote glared. "Haven't you heard the stories?"

"Exactly." Dean snapped. "Promise."

"I solemnly swear," The raven lay one wing across his chest as it spoke dryly. "To take y'all home when I have my eyes."

Sam nudged Dean. Dean frowned but held out the eyes. The raven took them gingerly in his beak and swallowed them whole. He took two hops backwards and shut his eyes and waited. A strange sizzling filled the air and the bird burst into flame. He didn't scream as the fire cloaked him.

Dean and Sam looked on in awe as tower of flame seemed to grow. Just as quickly as it had started, the flames vanished. Before Sam and Dean stood a tall man in a crisp suit. His hair was pulled pack into a sharp ponytail and his eyes were a crisp blue. "That's much better," he smiled to reveal sharp pointed teeth.

"Well?" Dean prompted. He gestured at Sam. "We'd really like to go."

Coyote nodded. "One moment, one moment." He cracked his knuckles and rolled up sleeves. "But you never answered my riddle."

"We don't have the time." Dean hissed.

"Exactly." He said with a snap.

The sun behind them finished setting, the sun in front of them rose, the road curled in on itself and night fell like a blade on the guillotine. The world disappeared.

She stepped out of the shadows and looked at Coyote. "You let them go?" she asked, perplexed.

"How else would you know how the story ends?"

The Muse and inspiration stood at the crossroads and nodded. She smiled slowly and said softly, "Then go."

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Dean sat up slowly, rubbing his head. He looked at his watch and noticed the second hand was moving backwards. Unsure of the time, he looked around at where he was. It looked like a gray warehouse with broken windows. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for his memories to return. He opened his eyes again as panic surged his system. He had to find Sam.

Dean stood up and looked around. Sam was lying by the opposing wall and it looked like he had a small cut along his forehead that was trickling blood. Dean helped Sam get up slowly.

"Did we…Are we…" Sam touched the side of his head. "Ow."

"We did go somewhere, and we are alive." Dean said quickly as he looked around the room. "Now, let's just go before the Muse comes back or whatever the hell it was."

Sam nodded weakly. "We're not gonna try to kill it?"

"How can we?"

Sam couldn't deny that logic and followed his brother's lead outside. "Dean," Sam took a breath, "do you think we'll have a happy ending?"

Dean opened the car of the Impala and gestured for Sam to do the same. "Only if we get out of here."

Sam slid into the car seat and slowly pulled on his seatbelt. "I mean the choices we make. You think it's gonna end well for us this time?"

Maybe, if you were more honest with me…
Maybe, if the angels weren't such dicks. …
Maybe, if you didn't run away from me all the time…
Maybe, if I wasn't so broken….

Dean bit his tongue and simply said. "Maybe." He put the key in the ignition and started the car. As they pulled away he added, "Just depends on the road we take. Can you pick out some music?"

Dean pointed to the cassette box. Sam picked it up with a sigh. The conversation was over, and they were going to drown themselves in music.

Overhead, a raven took flight. It landed on the highest branch of pine tree and watched as the Impala rode away. "Drive safely." He sneered as he flapped his wings.

He flew away from them towards the crossroads where inspiration lay in the choices made.

o~o~o~o~the end