Originally, I wrote this fic for a contest on a message board (as usual, I didn't win), and I really liked it and decided to post it here.
It's an alternate ending for "Crossroads Blues," and therefore contains spoilers from the episode if you haven't seen it. Basically, it's more or less how I would have liked the episode to end.
Title: Ten Years
Warnings: Character death, but don't let that stop you from reading!
Disclaimer: Honestly, do you think I own this show? No, I don't.
Ten Years
She walked into the room after acquiring a new host, a content smile playing across the beautiful girl's features as the events of the night played over in her head again.
That hunter. He'd trapped her, tried to stay strong. He'd crumbled before her, his every last defense falling to pieces as she revealed the truth about his father and the deadly deal he'd made.
The words had left the man's mouth. "You can bring him back?"
She'd gladly offered to put things right, make everything ok. Ten years on top. An added bonus.
She'd been so sure he would jump on it, broken as he was. She'd underestimated him.
He'd underestimated her.
The demon sat down at a table in Lloyd's, eyeing the crowd, searching for anyone that would be willing to make a deal.
Yes, Dean Winchester had freed Evan Hudson from his contract, but in summoning her, he'd opened a can of worms. She was perfectly free to continue making deals, deals like the one she'd made earlier that night.
Dean Winchester had underestimated her, hadn't chosen the right words, had left himself wide open for attack.
The beauty of it was, he would never know. Not until it was too late. And even then, ten years was practically a lifetime. She would be somewhere else by then, and the tormented man she'd tricked that night would be nothing but a memory to his brother.
And, of course, his father.
o0o0o0o0o
"You weren't actually considering making that deal, were you?" Sam asked, eyes trained on his big brother, watching closely for any sort of reaction, hoping against hope that he wouldn't find himself staring down yet another chink in the older man's armor.
Dean leaned forward, flipping the radio station from Blues to Rock, his eyes never meeting his brother's. Sam had his answer, another glaringly obvious example of the way guilt can break a person down completely until you don't even know them anymore.
"Dean," he said softly, "it wasn't your fault. He did it to himself. He wanted to-"
"Just shut up." The reply was so soft, Sam barely even heard it, but the raw anger in his brother's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"You told me once," he attempted again, "that demons lie. Remember? Back in Pennsylvania? The phantom traveler? It said it knew about Jess, and you told me-"
"This is different, and you know it. So just shut up and let me drive."
Sammy sighed. "Look, man. I know what it's like to feel like someone's death is your fault, but you wouldn't let me take responsibility for Jess, and I'm not gonna let you keep beating yourself up over dad."
"Jess didn't die so you could live," Dean said through clenched teeth, "she didn't try to rip you apart inside and then come crawling back apologizing before telling you that…"
The younger man snapped his eyes to his brother's suddenly stiff form. "What? Dean, what is it? Did… did he say something before…?"
Dean leaned forward again and cranked up the old radio's volume, drowning out his brother's potentially harmful question. Sam took the hint and leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes as big brother breathed a sigh of relief.
o0o0o0o
The old Impala sped down the rural road, headlights cutting through the darkness. From the shadows of the trees that lined both sides of the road, a figure stepped onto the abandoned street.
A sigh escaped the middle-aged man's throat as he watched the car, a car that had once been his, speed off into the night. His dark eyes, haunted by the things he'd experienced since that night in the hospital all those months ago, scanned the road. Calloused hands were shoved into the pockets of a worn jacket as a single tear slipped down the face that had aged so much in the twenty-three years since the fire.
"Dean," John Winchester whispered, setting off down the road after his sons, determined to finally make things right.
o0o0o0o0o
Ten years. That was like a lifetime.
A lifetime of loneliness, of sorrow, of regrets. Of secrets not kept.
When John Winchester had finally caught up with his boys, it had been too late. He'd been betrayed. His dying wish, a promise that had been made… Dean had broken his promise, he'd told Sam the truth. He hadn't been able to look his father in the face.
Fortunately, he hadn't had to.
Dean had been rounding the corner, heading back towards the room after making a quick food run, just in time to see John standing on the porch, waiting for his return.
Needless to say, the bag of greasy food hadn't stayed in Dean's hands long.
He'd seen Sam open the door, seen his father and brother hug, and those words had come rushing back into his mind. "Sam is clearly John's favorite."
Sam had never broken a promise. Sam had never made deals with demons to undo other, possibly more important, deals. Sam had never disobeyed his father's wishes to the extent that Dean had since the man's death.
So, Dean had run. He'd taken his car and left. He didn't even try to think of how his father had come back until he was sure that they wouldn't find him, sure that he wouldn't have to look into his father's eyes and see the betrayal clearly written there.
John had tried to call. He'd left a message saying that he understood, that he didn't blame his oldest son for anything. He'd said the burden of that life-or-death secret had been too great.
He'd said the demon had been a trickster. It had made two deals that night without Dean even knowing. It had freed Evan, and released John from Hell.
Sighing, Dean sat back on the single motel bed, running an unsteady hand through his hair as he again heard a dog barking, the sound coming closer and closer all the time.
He knew that his father and brother were looking for him, trying to bring him out of his self-imposed exile, but he just couldn't stand the thought of facing them. Sure, he wanted to see them, missed them like crazy, but he'd lied to Sam, betrayed his father.
As far as Dean was concerned, he deserved to be alone. They didn't need him, John had made that all too clear back in Missouri.
"Demons lie." True. But they didn't lie to Dean.
Something just outside the room was snarling, and the door shook suddenly in its frame as the heavy body of one of Dean's escorts to his new home rammed into the flimsy piece of wood.
Slowly, the hunter got to his feet, face devoid of all emotion, and marched to the door. It shook again, splintering a little at the edges. Accepting his fate, Dean reached out a steady hand and pulled open the door.
o0o0o0o
Ten years. It had taken them ten years to finally find him, and when they had, there hadn't even been enough of him left to scoop into a Ziplock baggy.
Ten years, and a few scattered limbs and splotches of blood and tissue were all Sam and John Winchester could find. It just wasn't right. It would never be right. Never again.
Ten years of searching, of calling, of begging him to come back and enjoy the family he'd always wanted, the family the Winchesters had become since John's return.
Revenge had been put aside as the two men searched desperately, called constantly. They'd tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, that he'd been tricked. Dean had simply told them he'd been too weak, and that he'd told.
It had taken Sam and his father a while to figure out exactly what that meant. The first part was easy. He'd given in to temptation, albeit unknowingly, and felt just as guilty about it as he had once he'd put two and two together and started blaming himself for John's death.
John was the one who had finally figured it out. Dean had told the secret, revealed his father's dying words to the single person he had been told to hide them from.
Ten years, and John hadn't been able to tell him in person that he wasn't mad, that demons lie, and that he loved his oldest boy more than life itself.
Ten years, and all he had of his son was a bloody mess and a tarnished amulet.
Ten years, and he hadn't been able to fix his son.
Ten years, and he finally saw his mistake.
Ten years too late.
So, what do you think? Please review!