Dean wandered outside to piss. The house never had indoor plumbing. Sam remembered as a child being given a flashlight, a roll of toilet paper and a warning: check for spiders before you sit down. Only once had they actually found a spider lurking beneath the wooden seat. Dean captured it in a jar so they could get a better look – a shiny black hunter with a bright red warning sign upon her back.
Time's up. You're dead.
John had been livid. He'd taken the spider and smashed it, jar and all.
"Haven't I taught you anything, Dean? What if you'd been bitten? Or your brother? Huh? Next time try to think before you do something stupid!"
There were days when Sam really hated their father.
This would turn out to be one of them.
Night had fallen again. Dean came back inside and lit candles. The light was weak, leaving dark shadows around the perimeter of each room. Sam stood within them, cloaked by death, a shadow within a shadow that his brother could not see. Not so his corpse itself, which still lay where it had been for nearly twenty-four hours now. Dean refused to bury it, burn it, or leave it. Now he sat in a chair beside the bed and began talking to it. He talked for hours, reminiscing about things from their past, their childhood, talking about the dreams they'd had – dreams that would never be fullfilled.
Sam knew Bobby would return if he didn't hear from Dean again soon. He was convinced when their old friend arrived he would find not one corpse, but two. Dean was one step away from losing it completely. He was one step away from pulling the trigger.
If Sam hadn't been dead already, listening to Dean describe burdens he shouldn't have been asked to carry, and shortcomings he possessed only in his own mind, would have killed him. He'd thought about it before, what it must have been like to be a child raising a child. Typically Dean never talked about it much.
Until now.
Sam's first word had been his brother's name. It was never John there for birthdays, holidays or school functions, it had always been Dean. When Dean did anything silly, childish, Sam often had to curb his criticism. How could he be so cruel to chide his brother for cutting loose a little? Dean never had a childhood of any sort. He'd been busy making sure Sam had one instead. There was no reason for Dean to condemn himself for anything - but he did.
"I had one job. I had one job, and... I screwed it up."
Sam's voice was as broken as his brother's, only Dean could not hear him. "No. You didn't, Dean. You didn't. Not at all."
"I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love."
"You never let me down. You were always there for me, always. This wasn't your fault, Dean." Sam whispered. "Please. Just let it go. Don't do this to yourself."
"What am I supposed to do? Sammy..."
"Dean..."
"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?!?!"
The chair fell to the floor with a clatter. Sam flinched. Dean kicked the chair aside and left the room, forcing Sam to hurry after him. He entered the common room just in time to see Dean pick up the gun from the table.
"NO! Dean. NO!"
For a second Sam thought he'd gotten through. Dean stopped, standing stock still with the gun in his hand. Sam approached, hopeful. Had he finally been heard?
"Dean?"
Abruptly Dean snatched his coat off the back of another chair and tucked the gun into his pocket. He grabbed the keys to the Impala, and before Sam realized he was actually leaving, his brother had gone out the door. It slammed shut in Sam's face, preventing him from following. He could only listen to the roar of the Chevy's engine and the sound of her tires spinning as Dean gunned her down the gravel drive back toward the interstate.
The house was suddenly silent.
"Silent as a tomb," Sam whispered. He sighed, staring at the closed door in front of him. "There should be a manual. Secrets of the Dead 101."
He couldn't open the door. If he could, he didn't know how. The only other option was to go through it, something he didn't relish doing.
Standing in front of it, he tried to talk himself into taking the plunge. He knew he should be able to go right through the heavy wooden door, but his mind wasn't quite accepting the fact he didn't have a corporeal body anymore. The mind block was enough to keep him trapped. He had to get around it before he would be able to go anywhere.
"Don't think about it. Just go. Just walk right through...just run right through..."
"Going somewhere?"
Sam turned, startled at the sound of a voice behind him. Fear surged through him first, followed quickly by anger, this obviously an emotional trend when it came to the appearance of the yellow eyed demon. "Son-of-a-bitch!"
"I'm sorry. Perhaps I should have rung the doorbell." The demon chuckled. He stood in the bedroom doorway Dean had occupied for so long that morning. As Sam watched he casually righted the chair and sat down in it. He cast an appraising look at the body lying on the blood-stained mattress before turning his attention back to Sam. "Tsk Tsk. Full rigor. Not pretty."
Sam ground his teeth. "What do you want?"
"I want to congratulate you on your abysmal failure. Showing mercy, Sam? When I told you this was a competition to the..." He jerked his head toward Sam's body. "Death?"
"I'm no killer."
"Obviously." The demon smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You were about to go chasing after big brother weren't you? How foolish, considering you have no idea where he's going."
As much as he hated it, Sam had to admit he was right. He did not, however, have to admit it out loud, so he didn't.
"He's going," the demon said casually. "To the crossroads where he thinks he might sell his soul and bring dear little Sammy back from the dead – oh, don't worry," he added quickly, as Sam moved toward the door again in alarm. "He can't. You're far beyond the ability of our little bargain maker to resurrect." Slowly, he stood up and made his way toward Sam. "But...Dean doesn't have to know that does he? We can let him think your return was his doing. He likes playing the hero doesn't he?"
Sam frowned. "What do you mean, my return?"
"You've been granted a reprieve, by a very influential individual. You see, Jake is useful, yes, but you Sam, you are the one we've been waiting for, and save for a minor technicality, you won the battle."
"You said I'm beyond resurrection."
"And you are – by the gal at the crossroads. Nor do I have the power to bring you back. No, Sam. You have the honor of gaining the favor of - as I said – a very influential individual, a very powerful individual. You will have your life returned to you."
Sam's eyes darted quickly to his body, then back again to find the demon smiling at him. "What's the catch?"
"Ah, always the pessimist."
"What do you want from me?" Sam demanded.
The demon's yellow eyes flared bright for a moment, flickering like the flames of the candle behind him - or the fires of Hell. "The usual, your soul." He shrugged. "I could only do so much to turn you on to our cause. Possession of your soul would insure your complete cooperation."
"Right," Sam snorted. "Some bargain. I'd rather stay dead."
"Well...all right. Stay dead." The demon took his time, strolling around the room quite leisurely as he spoke. "But I must tell you that when Dean discovers the crossroad demon can't bring you back, he's going to blow his brains out all over the interior of that cherry ride of his." Glancing over his shoulder, he grinned. "Do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather upholstery?" A chuckle followed the smile. "So you keep your soul and you stay dead. You aren't going anywhere any time soon, except maybe insane, but you'll still have a soul." The demon stopped his stroll, turning toward Sam with one eyebrow raised. "Wow, Sammy! That's like being stranded in the middle of a desert with nothing but a rowboat."
"I won't be your slave."
"Who said anything about slavery?" The demon affected a hurt expression. It didn't last long, quickly turning wry once more. "You'd leave the fate of mankind in the hands of a man trained for killing? Jake is already showing signs of enjoying his new power. Ironic that he was the one to off little Ava. They're very much alike." Smiling, the demon tilted his head toward Sam with a nod of acquiescence. "But you, Sam, you're different." He tapped a finger against his temple. "You use your head. You think before you pull the trigger. I've always liked that about you." The same finger turned to point at Sam's chest. "And that's what makes you a good leader."
Sam swallowed heavily. "So...I won't...turn evil?"
"Evil is relative, and it's your choice. You'll hold all the cards, Sammy."
"So these terms..."
The demon brightened, as if Sam had already agreed to said terms. "You and your brother will both live, and after a year's time, you will fulfill your destiny and lead my army to war. Just you. Your show. I'll be strictly hands off." He approached Sam quickly, standing close, whispering in his ear. "But just think, Sammy. Things don't have to be so bad. Like I said, you are a smart boy. You can bring this war to a peaceful conclusion, stop the killing, the destruction. Men are as bad as demons – you know this. You can bring them all to heel, Sam. Bring peace to the world."
"And Dean?"
"He can have the life he's always wanted. You'll have the power to grant it to him." That sly grin reappeared. "Really, Sam. What have you got to lose – besides your soul of course, but I wouldn't worry about that. If you lead this army to victory, you surely won't be getting into Heaven, and Hell will no longer exist." He shrugged and moved away again. "Not to mention the fact you'll gain immortality. My superior rewards his loyal followers very well."
Sam walked away. He moved past the demon to the bedroom and stood over his own body much as his brother had earlier. His eyes closed as he struggled to make a decision.
Where there was life, there was hope. A year. He would have a year before he would be called up to serve – or whatever. Anything could happen in a year. There had to be an out. He and Dean would find it, and if they failed, and there wasn't a way to prevent his defection, Dean would just have to put a bullet in him. Their father had told him this was his duty, and Sam had made him promise.
Dead, they were both useless. Alive – well it would be a gamble wouldn't it, but as long as there was a chance...
"Okay," Sam whispered. He opened his eyes. "Okay."
"What's that? I didn't catch that."
"I said, okay. I'll do it."
"That's what I thought you said." The demon came over to him and looped an arm over his shoulders. "Welcome to the club, Sammy." After a quick squeeze, he stepped back again. His grin broadened. "Oh, and did I happen to mention you would not remember this little conversation once you came around?"
Sam's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. "What? No! Wait..."
It was too late.
The demon gave a nod.
"See you on the other side."
