*sigh* The hellatus has begun. It makes me sad. This story was a plot bunny that would not stop hopping around my head. It's AU but only in the sense that I don't mention Ruby at all.

Here we go. Please let me know what you think.


Day 342

Sam Winchester would have been a great actor.

His entire life had been an elaborate performance, a labyrinth of expertly sold lies. He pretended he mother's death wasn't his fault. He had his Stanford friends believing that he was a normal, wholesome kid, a lover not a fighter. And now he was selling Dean on happy-go-lucky Sammy, covering the stomach-searing anxiety of his brother's impending death with easy smiles and lighthearted sarcasm.

Sam flashed dimples and smacked Dean's hand as it made off with his bacon. He took it away, stuffing the whole length of it in his mouth and chewing merrily. "Eat your own bacon, jerk."

"Yours looked better; mine's burnt. Come on, Sammy, let me have it. It's my dying wish." Dean whined, tossing in a cough for good measure.

Sam looked at him, eyes watering, stomach burning, and pushed the plate towards him. His brother lit up like a Christmas tree in a dark room, gleaming with color and light. His Denver scramble rushed its way up his throat, and Sam pushed away from the table, and stumbled for the bathroom. The guttural spasm deep in his stomach told him he wouldn't make to the toilet, so he hung left and arched over the sink and vomited. As he horked up breakfast and probably last Tuesday's dinner, all he could think was, "342," the number of days he had left for Dean to steal his bacon, bust his chops, have his back.

Sam refused to deal. Dean had been his mother, father, confidant and partner stuffed into one overbearing, pie-loving, beer-guzzling heroic package.

He retched again and flicked off a patron who entered the bathroom, reeling at the smell. As Sam rinsed his mouth and glanced at this reflection. It was at that moment that he knew he wouldn't survive Dean's death, and more importantly, he didn't want to.

Sam gritted in his teeth in determination, not the mind-numbing, insurmountable fear that had assailed him for twenty-three days.

He was going to save Dean or die trying.

Day 310

Crossroads were merely intersections, an ordinary object that represented an overarching metaphor of the turns life could take, the decision to go North towards everything good and true or forge another path, create your own destiny. Sam dropped the loaded box, containing the proper herbs, bones and his license into the steaming city vent, and headed to the hot dog stand, buying one with all the works. He leaned against the building and watched the heat waver in the distance, the ebb and flow of urban traffic, and the majestic presence of the Empire State Building hovering in the distance.

He wasn't sure who to expect, so he was surprised with a impish, tubby man with two leashed bulldogs approached him, and offered an evil grin as his eyes flickered black. "Sammy," he cooed with a devilishness that put Sam on edge.

The demon crossed his arms over his vintage Spider-Man t-shirt and stared at the droop-faced dogs like they were dessert.

Sam performed, chewing his hot dog like he had not a care in the world. He waited until the demon walked around him, tried to take another step only to be locked in place. His eyes bled back again and he growled in disgust. "Where is it, you junkless moron?" It snarled, twisting his meat suit's face in malicious angles.

Sam licked the mustard off his fingers, winked at a passing group of ladies, and pulled out a pen light flashlight. He flashed the blue beam of the blacklight, illuminating the devil's trap.

"I'm sure your whackadoo dad never taught you manners, but this is a crap way of making friends."

"I don't need friends; I need answers." Sam said gruffly. "How do you get out of a deal?"

The demon kicked out at one of the dogs as it smelled his shoes. "For most, that's pretty simple. Know the right people, have the right leverage. It's a matter of negotiation."

"And for me?" Sam's stomach tightened and his heart went from a nervous canter to a full-tilt gallop of dread.

"For you, Sam, the would-be demon king, it's impossible."

Sam turned to look down at the poor man inhabited with evil. "And why am I so special?"

It scoffed. "You're not, Sammy. You just have misfortune of being John Winchester's son. Blame Daddy, I hear you do that for everything else anyway."

"All right, then," he said and wiped the grease off his fingers before walking away.

He got to the end of the block before the demon shouted his name, cursing at him to come back.

He turned around and shrugged with indifference. "You said it was a simple negotiation, and you have nothing to offer. Don't worry. It's supposed to rain next week. Enjoy the view."

"You need to re-evaluate your thinking! Use that Ivy League brain of yours!"

Sam marched back over to the demon. "I'm listening."

"What are the terms of the deal?"

"Uh, Dean gave up his soul for my life. They gave him a year."

"Well there goes my faith in the modern education system," he sneered with a dramatic eye-roll. "If you're not alive, the deal is null and void."

Sam's palms began to sweat. "You mean…"

"Don't go stumbling into traffic just yet, stretch. It's not that easy." The demon huffed and glared at the traffic. "'Thee who is slain at the hands of the devil's own and reborn at the foot of a cross must be put down by the hands of the same father.'" He recited. "If you need a translation, try Google. Now let me out."

Sam didn't need it. It was abundantly clear. He dug into his pocket for a soaked cloth that would smear the invisible paint before he did, he narrowed his eyes up at the demon. "Let him go unharmed, okay?"

"This poor schlub?" It scoffed, tugging at his meat suit. "This is the most exciting thing to happen to him since Iron Man was released. I can't wait to get out of this undersexed geek."

Sam scrubbed at the concrete and the demon bolted, whisking out of the host with a visceral scream and a funnel cloud of black. The beauty of New York City was no one really cared and barely turned their heads. The man crumpled onto the pavement, panting and alive, and Sam left him, falling in with the flow of traffic, mind whirring.

He'd been ready to forfeit his life the instant he found out about the deal, but he couldn't without the certainty that it would work.

Now, he knew the terms—Sam had to be killed by a demon.

TBC