So, here we are again. I've never been any good at talking about my own writing, so here you go :)

"I moved to Montgomery to get some distance from my dad," Sarah told him as he drove along the main street of the town. "We're about half an hour south of New Paltz, so I still work for him, but it's not a situation where I'm constantly on call."

Sam nodded without saying anything in reply. Only half of his mind was really listening to her (the other half was back in Chicago and oh God Dean where did you go Dean I can't do this I can't), but he could understand better than most why Sarah would have needed to leave home, and yet been unable to really go.

Sarah went on, "It's just me and Keats, Sam. And we won't ask questions. You don't need to worry about talking until you're ready. Left here," she added, before Sam had to think of a response.

She didn't say anything else other than to give him direction for the rest of the drive, and Sam was grateful. He still wasn't quite sure what he was doing – why he'd stopped rather than hit the dog, why he'd gotten out of the car instead of continuing along the road. He'd been so close to the ocean, to the coastal cliffs. His head was pounding, and it seemed to get worse with every moment that he spent alive.

"First on the right," Sarah murmured, and Sam felt his hands turn the wheel and guide the Impala to park alongside the curb. Sarah waited until he'd killed the engine before she opened her door and stepped out to get the dog. Sam sighed, and then forced himself to get out too. One night, he told himself against the voice screaming in his head. Sarah wanted to help him, to open her home to him. He couldn't really throw that back in her face. Besides, he could be gone before she woke up in the morning.

He stood for a moment and studied the house over the roof of the car. It was a simple house – he thought he remembered from that art history class all those years ago that this style was Cape Cod – and in the daylight maybe the paint color would be light blue. There were a few flower patches framing the front lawn, and the porch light gleamed yellow from beside the door. It was clean and neat and ordered, and it made Sam want to vomit.

Something wet nudged at his hand, and he startled before looking down and seeing the dog staring up at him with big wet eyes. He ghosted his hand over the top of the dog's head, then looked up when he felt Sarah's eyes on him. Knowing it was expected of him, he moved to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk, forcing himself to ignore Dean's duffel as he grabbed his own. They hadn't even really unpacked at Rufus's cabin, because Dean had always wanted to be ready to ditch the house. He shouldered his own duffel and followed Sarah up the path leading to the front door.

Once she'd opened the front door and let the two of them – the three of them; the dog had shoved past Sam's hip and paused for Sarah to pat its head and then trotted off down a hallway – Sarah flicked on a light in the foyer and glanced at Sam before passing through to the kitchen. Automatically, he followed her, even though his stomach turned at the thought of food. "I was going to heat up a lasagna I made this past weekend," she told him, turning on lights and then going to wash her hands. "But if you'd like something else–"

"Can I just–" he interrupted her before stopping and reaching his free hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "Sarah, I'm sorry, but I'm really not hungry."

She studied him for a moment before nodding in understanding. "I get it. You want to just crash?" When he nodded once, she smiled faintly and said, "Okay, then. Follow me?"

She led him down a hallway and around a corner before she pushed open a door. "Here you go," she murmured, again flipping on the light. Sam surveyed the simply decorated bedroom. The bed was neatly made up and there was a lamp and a few books on the night table – nothing personal, obviously a guest room. "Bathroom is through that door," Sarah pointed, "and it's fully stocked. Since tomorrow is Saturday, I'll be up for breakfast around seven but – but feel free to sleep in, okay?"

Sam nodded without saying anything and stepped forward to place his bag on the bed. This was getting harder and harder – he shouldn't have come here, he should have walked away from her when he had the chance, he should have kept going after he'd been sure he hadn't hit the dog.

"All right. I guess… that's it. Shout if you need anything." Sarah smiled at him again before turning and walking out of the room. But before she closed the door behind her, she turned back. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" he responded automatically, even though everything in him was screaming at her to just leave, just go away and let him alone.

"Listen, I know… I know I only met him the one time," she started, and Sam closed his eyes and turned away. His throat was tightening – he couldn't talk about Dean, he couldn't, not with the girl who he had liked so much. Sarah pushed on, the words tumbling from her in a rush, like she was determined to get them out before she lost her nerve. "But I don't think he would want you to do whatever it was you were going to do just now. Just think about that, okay? Please?"

Sam's hands were frozen, still clenched so tight as they wrapped around the strap of his duffel. How dare she. How dare she. She didn't know Dean, she had no right to speak for him, it wasn't her fucking place, how dare she presume to do this to him? To Dean?

"I didn't mean to offend," she added, her voice floating through the red haze clouding his vision. "Sam, just – just leave it the night? Please?" When Sam didn't answer, Sarah sighed and whispered, "Well, anyway, good night, Sam. Sleep well."

He heard the door click shut behind her, and even then he couldn't move for a full two minutes. She had no right telling him what Dean would want. Sam knew Dean better than he knew anyone, he knew better than anyone what Dean would want, and do, and say, and he didn't need someone like Sarah Blake to tell him.

Well then? A tiny voice asked him. What would Dean want you to do right now?

Abruptly, Sam turned and strode into the bathroom, catching himself before he slammed the door.

The shower had been too hot, so hot it burned, but it didn't help get the ghost of the feeling of that black ooze off his skin. He got out eventually, and pulled on a pair of sweats, as well as the charcoal hoodie that always passed between him and Dean in bad times, and he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands.

The last time Sam had slept without Dean in the next bed had been... longer than he cared to remember. While Dean was in hell? It had to have been. And then it was shitty motel rooms or abandoned houses, like it had always been. Ruby had been there sometimes. Most of the time.

And now here he was. A neat little bedroom of a neat little house somewhere in suburbia, with a woman and her dog somewhere down the hallway. The whole thing reeked of normal. Again, it brought the bile up in Sam's throat, and he swallowed hard.

Maybe he would catch a few hours of sleep, just enough to make him alert enough to get out of Sarah's house early the next morning without her noticing. Even if she was right, even if Dean wouldn't want him to do this, he couldn't keep going. No matter what anyone said. Dean would understand that. He had made the same choice himself five years ago.

Without bothering to pull back the covers, Sam lay back on the bed and stared up at the shadows on the ceiling. Dean had always been better at this than Sam had – at going on after everything had been lost. Sam still hated, hated with everything he had, the fact that Dean had sold his soul for him, but at least Dean had worked out something to do. And then, later, Dean had kept his promise to Sam to go live a normal life. He'd been happy with Lisa and Ben. He had loved them and they had loved him.

And what had Sam done the last time he'd been left alone? He'd started the fucking apocalypse.

Ah, c'mon, Sammy. We both know I broke the first seal. This one isn't on you, kiddo.

"Don't call me that," Sam muttered automatically, and then flinched. It hadn't been Dean's voice. It had been an echo in his head. The last person to echo in Sam's head had been Lucifer, and maybe that had been easier.

But after that it was silent, save for the sound of Sam's own blood moving through his body, keeping his heart beating, however much he wished it would just stop. Maybe if he begged it hard enough, it would do just that.

Please. Just… please.

Eventually Sam drifted away, and the last thought he remembered having was that he wouldn't wake up.

He did, though. The very next morning.

The sunlight streaming through the windows above his head made him squint and throw an arm over his eyes. "Dean," he muttered, "close the goddamn blinds."

There was no muttered swearing in return, no rustle as another set of blankets and sheets moved, and Sam squinted an eye open to see if Dean was still asleep.

And then he remembered.

It paralyzed him for a moment, the memory. His heart slowed, then sped up. This can't have happened. This doesn't fucking happen

Out. Out, he had to get out of here, he had to go, he had to get back in the car, he had to go –-

He haphazardly tugged on a pair of jeans and made sure everything was stuffed in his bag so Sarah wouldn't have to worry about cleaning up after him, and strode for the bedroom door. His vision shook as he got almost all the way to the front door without seeing either Sarah or the dog. But when he rounded the corner and the front door came into view, her voice called out, "Sam, wait."

For the second time, he stopped for her without knowing why.

She had risen halfway from her seat at her breakfast table, in the middle of the kitchen just off the foyer. Her hair was caught up in a messy bun, and there was a dish of something that looked like cinnamon rolls on the table in front of her beside a carafe of orange juice. Sam's stomach turned, but before he could put his hand on the doorknob, she said, "I googled you. Last night."

"What?" he asked blankly. It took a moment for the words to register.

"I googled you," Sarah repeated. "Apparently you broke out of prison five years ago, and then you were spotted three years later destroying a supply of vaccine in Iowa." She rose the rest of the way and took a step towards him as he stood frozen. "You're also legally dead."

Sam shrugged halfheartedly. "Apparently not. Not yet."

"Look, you owe me an explanation." She came to a halt right in front of him, and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "I remember that spring, when it says you burned down that distribution plant. I was in Chicago that week for an art show. I remember the storm, and I remember how suddenly it stopped. How suddenly everything stopped, even though that whole year had been a weird string of weather patterns. Sam… what's happened? And what happened to Dean?"

"Nothing related," Sam muttered. "Listen, thanks for letting me crash–"

"Shut up," she snapped, and took hold of his wrist. It was the first time she'd touched him. There was a determined glint in her eye that somehow made Sam comply, and he let her tug him into the kitchen. "Sit. Sit and just talk to me. Tell me what happened two nights ago, and I'll help you fix it. I will."

Sam snorted. "There is no fixing it."

"There might be," Sarah insisted, fiercely. "Look – look, before I met you, I didn't think ghosts could exist. And since then, I've kind of stopped believing that anything is impossible. So tell me."

Sam watched her, the way she sat down with her spine straight and her face open, expectant. Her words ran through his head again, and as always, as ever, he asked himself, What would Dean do?

Sam had only once, in his entire life, seen his big brother give up. "Either it's a trap to get me there to make me say yes, or it's not a trap and I'm gonna say yes anyway. And I will. I'll do it. Fair warning." But he hadn't, had he? He'd let Sam talk him out of it.

"I just didn't want to let you down."

"You didn't. You almost did, but you didn't."

Dean would try to figure out a way to bring Sam back.

Sam reached out, and pulled a chair back from the table. He saw Sarah swallow a smile as he sat down across from her, inhaled, and opened his mouth.

Review for me? Is Sam making the right choice in trusting her?