Crossroads
He was standing at a crossroads, staring into the empty darkness. There were two paths in front of him; two behind. Yet he couldn't move, couldn't take any of these roads to what would be the rest of his life. He just stood there, staring. Staring at the spot where, a moment ago, someone had stood. Not just someone. Dean. Dean Winchester, his brother. And then… he was gone. Gone, and there was nothing left. Nothing but the damned roads, disappearing into oblivion.
8
Sam shot up in bed, his head stuck to his forehead in sticky clumps. As he had every morning for the past four months, his head spun to stare at the bed at his right. The figure of his sleeping brother, sprawled on his stomach, arms and legs splayed, lay under the blankets, snoring lightly. Slowly, Sam let out a breath, then another. Even more slowly he began to calm down.
9
By the time Dean awoke, Sam had made coffee and was at his computer, engrossed in some website or other. Dean groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and headed straight for the bathroom. Sam barely heard the shower start a moment later.
Half-an-hour later, Dean slammed through the bathroom door, grabbed a cup of the now-lukewarm coffee, and sat himself into a chair near Sam. "What'cha doing, Sammy?" he asked, his voice light.
Sam looked up, glaring at his brother. He asked every time. "You know what I'm doing, Dean."
"Finding us a job, I hope," Dean growled, leaning back.
Sam muttered something under his breath, and Dean cracked a quick grin before it faded into a frown. "Sam, I know you promised to try. And I've seen you trying, I have. But," Dean looked down at his hand. "I don't think there's a way out of this one."
Sam looked up again, glaring again. "Dean," he said, his voice frighteningly calm, "Do you know why I am at the computer when you wake up, every single day?"
A grin played across Dean's face. "Because you don't have any fun at night?"
Sam ignored him. "It's because I wake up every single morning at 5:19 am, after having the exact same dream. Every single morning, Dean."
Dean looked at the wall uncomfortably. "You know you haven't had any visions since we killed that son of a bitch." He looked carefully into Sam's eyes. "It's just a dream Sammy."
Sam shook his head. "I'm at a crossroads, trying to pick which way to go. And I can't. I just… stand there. And you- you're not there. You were there, I know that. But then… you're just gone. And I have to… I have to pick which way to go, Dean."
Dean shook his head, leaning forward. "It's only a dream, Sammy. It's not real. You know that."
"But it will be!" Sam said fiercely. "It will be. Unless I find a way to get you out. To save you."
"Sammy…" Dean started, though he had no idea how to continue the thought.
"Dean." Sam's expression altered, forming what Dean had long ago coined aptly as 'Sam's bitch-face'. "You saved my life, and you gave up your own. And I'm really grateful to you for that, you know. But I can't make those decisions… those decisions that will have to come if you- if I'm alone."
Dean shook his head, eyes dull. "Yes. You can."
Sam's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Maybe. But I don't ever want to."
Dean was about to retort, but he stopped himself. "Alright, Sammy. Alright," he sighed, looking down. He held up the coffee cup, still held in his hand, and sniffed at it, making a face.
"Right then," he stood, shaking aside what he would call a 'chick-flick' moment, his voice back to normal. "I'm off to get us some real coffee. And a job, if I can find one." He threw a careful glance at the laptop. "You can get back to… that… if you want."
As Dean threw on his coat and left the room, door slamming behind him, Sam turned back to the computer. "I will save you," he whispered, "I will."
As the computer buzzed into action, Sam leaned forward, carefully reading every word. He would never see a crossroads again, if he could help it.