Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, I'm just borrowing :)
AN: Yes, this is another story about Dean's deal, but after viewing the finale of season 3 I just had to have a fiddle with it. I hope everyone enjoys what I've written so far and lets me know what they think! :D
Sam glanced furtively behind him at Dean still lying fast asleep on the latest scummy motel bed they had rented for the night. He adjusted the strap of the holdall currently pinching at his shoulder and reached out to slowly turn the door knob, hoping to make as little sound as possible. Sam knew it was a cruel thing to do, sneaking off in the middle of the night, but he reminded himself that it was in his brother's best interests.
Dean shifted restlessly amongst the blankets as though he could sense Sam's underhanded plan, but he didn't wake. Sam released a breath he hadn't even known he was holding and left the room pausing only to shove a note through the gap under the door. He knew that Dean would probably ignore his request and come after him anyway, but at least this way his brother would know that he'd left of his own volition.
The fact of the matter was Sam knew his powers were increasing; after all, he'd nearly destroyed his laptop the other day when he'd accidentally summoned a lick of fire in the palm of his hand. He didn't want to hurt Dean, whether intentionally or not, and there was always the possibility that if he managed to get these powers under control he might be able to do something about that horrendous deal. Sam hated the fact that Dean had bartered away his soul to bring him back to life. Hadn't Dean always said that what was dead should stay dead? So why didn't that seem to include him? Of course, he was grateful to his brother, but not at such a huge cost. It seemed like Dean had forgotten completely about the pain he went through knowing their father had done the same thing for him.
Reaching into his pockets, Sam drew out the wire coat hanger he'd stolen from the closet of the motel room and deftly unbent it. He wasn't foolish enough to steal the Impala; heaven knew he'd be in enough trouble for leaving if, or rather when, Dean caught up with him. Instead, Sam crossed to a battered looking old Toyota pickup truck and inserted the wire down the side of the driver's window. A few careful moves later and Sam was inside the vehicle sparking wires against each other to jumpstart the engine. He was greatly relieved when the truck eventually sputtered into life and he quickly floored the gas pedal and steered towards the exit onto the highway. A glance in the rear-view mirror gave him a clenched feeling in his gut as he saw Dean rushing out into the car park behind him, half dressed and panicked. Sam felt guilty, but steeled his resolve; Dean couldn't catch up to him immediately anyway as, despite not taking the Impala, he had hidden the keys.
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Dean wasn't sure what had woken him at first but, as he blinked blearily into the dark, he knew that something wasn't right. Instinctively he turned to Sam's bed and instantly knew what had felt wrong enough to wake him from his usual deep sleep. Sam's bed was missing one vital ingredient; Sam wasn't there. At first Dean reasoned that he was probably in the bathroom, lord knows the boy had seemed borderline obsessive with hygiene when they were growing up in a combination of various motels and dilapidated houses. Unfortunately the older Winchester couldn't hear any water sputtering out of the dodgy faucets. That and he had just spotted a rather suspicious looking piece of paper resting on the battered old doormat.
It only took him a couple of seconds to scan the few sentences the note contained, before Dean was haring out of the room and racing towards the carpark. It was with a sick feeling in his stomach that he watched the red Toyota pickup peel out of its space and accelerate off in a cloud of dust. Dashing back to their room, the blond man cursed violently as he realized the keys to the Impala weren't where he'd left them. He'd never catch Sam now.
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Sam sighed uncomfortably as he wriggled about in his seat, unable to find a position that eased the ache in his back. He'd tried distracting himself with the radio, but it had felt wrong having music on while he was driving when Dean wasn't around to complain at his choice of station. Sam wrestled the window down instead to try and get some cool air blowing around to wake him up a bit. There was only ten or so more kilometres until he reached the exit he wanted.
The trees all seemed to blur into one in the dark and he almost missed the sign when it finally appeared due to their overgrown state at the side of the road. Sam still couldn't believe he was actually doing this, but he was sick of the awful feelings that constantly plagued him whenever he thought about Dean's deal. The most predominant of these feelings was guilt, and if he had to give in to Ruby to fix the problem, then that was a risk he was prepared to take. The youngest Winchester knew that Dean couldn't stand Ruby and had on more than one occasion made this opinion clear verbally and physically; hence his decision to run away. Dean's deal was up in roughly two weeks and Sam was now utterly desperate having found no other alternative to rescue his brother.
Sam pulled up next to the wood cabin and got out from behind the wheel of the truck, unfolding his cramped legs with a groan of relief. The cabin was only a matter of a few hundred yards from where Dean had originally made the deal in Cold Oak, which Sam supposed Ruby felt was amusingly ironic. Sam looked around the area with a grim expression and decided that instead of getting despondent at the sight of the place, he should let it spur him on. It was also handy as he doubted that this would be a place that Dean would be likely to search for him immediately.
Sam grabbed his holdall from the passenger seat of the truck, slammed the door and crunched noisily across the gravel pathway to the veranda of the cabin. He figured there was no point in being subtle about it since Ruby probably knew he had arrived anyway; she had an annoying habit of always seeming to know exactly where he was. He was proved right when the front door swung open just as he reached the foot of the steps and she was standing there with her usual smirk.
"Well Sam, aren't you going to come in?"