Crossroads in always signify choice, whether scary (forboding areas to summon demons) or liberating. Crossroads represent all things unknown and one hundred percent potential.
(Author's Note: This was an idea I've had since 2006, but I only was able to write a bit of it before life took over. I've finally gotten around to writing again, so I decided to rewrite this again; hopefully I'll get further into it than last time. Please enjoy-and leave feedback!)
Sam pushed the Impala's gas pedal all the way to the floor, thankful they were the only car speeding down the empty highway. John gasped softly from the passenger seat, his leg throbbing at the site of the bullet wound. Dean was barely conscious, leaning against the back door, blood soaking his shirt and trickling from his mouth.
"Look, just hold on, alright," Sam said, his voice slightly shaky as he tried to keep his focus on the road . "The hospital's only ten minutes away."
"I'm surprised at you, Sammy," John said. "Why didn't you kill it? I thought we saw eye-to-eye on this? Killing this demon comes first—before me, before everything."
Sam glanced in the rear view mirror at his brother. "No, sir. Not before everything." He racked his brain, thinking." Look, we've still got the Colt, we still have the one bullet left. We just have to start over, alright? I mean, we already found the demon—"
The hunter didn't get the chance to finish his sentence as an eighteen wheeler suddenly slammed into the passenger side of the Impala at full speed, driving it sideways off the asphalt; dirt and grass went flying as both vehicles came to stop over a hundred feet from the place of impact. Everything was still and silent, the only sound coming from "Bad Moon on the Rise" still playing over the crumpled Impala's speakers, while all three of its occupants lay bloodied and unconscious.
The black eyes of the possessed driver stared at the wreckage beyond the windshield of the semi before opening the door and climbing out of the cabin. He methodically walked over to the Impala's driver's side and ripped the door off its hinges, easily tossing it aside, but he stopped when he heard the sound of another engine growing louder. The driver looked to the side and saw a pair of headlights getting larger. He narrowed his eyes as a classic black Chevy Chevelle pulled up and braked suddenly, barely coming to a stop before the driver's side door opened and the owner got out; the truck driver blinked, and the black eyes went back to their normal color.
The driver of the Chevelle was a blue-eyed young woman in her early twenties with blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She wore a long-sleeved, unbuttoned dark blue shirt over a gray shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, and a pair of black boots; a brass ankh with a glass orb hung on a chain around her neck. She stared in shock at the wreckage, glancing briefly at the truck driver, before she hurried over to the Impala, her back to the semi driver as she bent over to check on Sam.
"What happened?" she asked over the music as she started examining Sam.
"I don't know," the driver said, his voice shaky and tearful, as he crept closer to her. "My brakes stopped working—and I tried to stop," his voice breaking, "oh, God, I'm so sorry!"
The young woman sighed as she heard him sobbing behind her. She opened her mouth to give him instructions, but then her gaze fell on John in the passenger's seat, and she paused. She quickly glanced back at Sam, then Dean, then at the door; it was only then she noticed for the first time since approaching that it had been ripped off.
Without moving her head, she glanced to her right and saw the door on the ground several feet away; the young woman tensed, setting her jaw. She flicked her right ring finger, and a small vial with clear liquid popped out from under her sleeve; she deftly gripped it in her palm, wrapping her fingers around it. Taking a deep breath, she quickly whirled around and threw the vial at the truck driver; it smashed into his face, splashing liquid all over him. The driver immediately howled him in pain, his face smoking as though he'd been hit with strong acid. He fell to his knees, his hands covering his face, writhing, as the young woman approached him, standing over him with a hard expression on her face.
"I'm going to make this very simple," she said coldly. "I don't know what's going on, but if you don't leave right now I will kill you."
The driver removed his hands, sneering up at her with soulless black eyes. "You don't have the guts," he growled, still wincing in pain.
The irises of the young woman's eyes suddenly glowed electric purple. "You really want to test that theory?" she retorted.
The driver's sneer slowly turned into a sadistic smile. "Well, well, well," he chuckled, "I thought I hit the jackpot tonight by taking out the Winchesters, but you showing up is the icing on the cake." The young woman's eyes glowed brighter. "I'm going, but don't worry, I'll let him know the three of you say 'hello'." He suddenly threw his head back, shouting as black demon-ichor poured out of his mouth and shot into the sky; it disappeared from sight, as the driver collapsed to the ground, gasping and shaking.
The young woman watched the sky for a few moments, confused, then her eyes returned to their normal blue before she turned back to the driver. He looked up at her confused, and her expression softened. "Sorry," she said sincerely before she balled up her fist and swung it, hitting him squarely in the face. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and she winced briefly as she flexed her hand. She pulled a small flip phone from her jean pocket and pressed a few buttons before holding the phone to her ear.
"Hey, Bobby, it's Allie," she said. "I'm about five miles west of the house on one forty. The Winchesters are here—all three of them—and they're unconscious and hurt really badly; I need you to bring my first aid kit—the special one." She paused listening, then she sighed. "I don't know exactly, but it looks like a demon possessed a truck driver and t-boned them with a semi." She furrowed her eyebrows. "Yeah, I took care of it…black eyes, why?" She paused, tensing. "Bobby, why did you ask me that?" She heard the click as she was disconnected; she stared at the phone, miffed, then snorted in frustration. "Hate it when he does that."
As she tucked her phone back in her pocket, a small groan caught her attention. She looked over to see Sam stirring slightly, and she glanced briefly at the driver, making sure he was still unconscious, before hurrying back over to the Impala. She knelt beside Sam as he slowly opened his eyes and slowly looked over at her.
"Wha—what…?" he moaned softly.
"Shh," the young woman replied as she put a hand on his chest. "Don't talk right now."
"Dean," Sam said, craning his neck as he tried to turn and face his brother, but the young woman stopped him.
"I'll take care of him, don't worry," she reassured him. Her eyes met his, and they glowed a soft purple. "Just rest, Sam."
Sam looked at her, momentarily confused, before he slowly closed his eyes. Satisfied, the young woman closed her eyes as she put both of her hands on his chest. She began softly reciting Latin words, and a purple light started glowing under her hands.
His head swimming in a thick fog, Sam slowly opened his eyes and found himself laying on his back on a cot, staring up at a devil's trap on a familiar ceiling. The fog instantly cleared as he turned his head, seeing the multiple stacks of books, the hideous red patterned wallpaper, and he quickly sat up. He looked to his left and saw Dean lying on the couch, still unconscious, his shirt cut down the middle, revealing the deep gashes all over his front. A young blonde woman sat on the coffee table with her back to him, holding a small bowl with a greenish-brown paste in it; to his wounds, mumbling words too soft for him to hear. "Hey, what are you doing to him?" He winced slightly, his muscles aching, as he stood up and hurried over.
"Saving his life," the woman replied calmly. "All three of you were pretty banged up when I found you, but you and John were easy to take care of, though he cussed me out nicely when I extracted that bullet from his leg. He's upstairs in his room, sleeping."
"Where's Bobby?" Sam asked.
"He's around here somewhere," the woman answered.
"What about Dean?" Sam asked, staring down at his brother with concern. "Is he going to be okay?"
The woman sighed, looking a little more serious. "Dean's injuries, unfortunately, were a lot more serious. He had massive internal bleeding, contusions on his liver and kidneys, and the beginning symptoms of a cerebral edema." She glanced over and saw a mixture of worry and confusion Sam's eyes. "Don't worry, Sam. I was able to stabilize him enough before Bobby and I brought him here, and it was a bit touch-and-go for about an hour, but Dean should be okay; he'll just need to rest right now."
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Thanks," he said. "Uh…who are you?"
"Alicia," the woman answered. "Alicia Singer."
"'Singer'?" Sam asked, surprised. "Are, uh, you and Bobby…?" He trailed off as he gave her a strange (and slightly disgusted) expression.
"It's worse," Alicia replied with an amused smile. "I'm his niece."
Sam just stared at her for a few seconds. "Bobby never mentioned he had a niece," he said suspiciously, "or any relatives."
"Well, you know Bobby," Alicia replied, "he's not much of an open book." Sam couldn't argue with her there. "Look, I know you have a lot of questions, but right now you need to get some rest."
"I'd like to stay with my brother," Sam said patiently.
"I understand," Alicia said, "but there's not much you can do for him right now besides get some rest." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but she put up a hand to stop him. "If you trust Bobby, you can trust me."
"Sorry," Sam said, unconvinced. "Look, you seem like a nice person, Alicia, but it doesn't mean I should just trust—"
Alicia held up the bowl with the paste. "This mixture is an herbal paste made of wormwood, echinacea, calendula, goldenseal, yarrow, agrimony, witch hazel, marshmallow, aloe vera, and chamomile," she explained confidently. "By themselves they're potent at healing minor wounds, but when combined, they're healing capabilities are magnified to the point where even life-threatening wounds caused by a demon will heal in less than half a day." Sam stared at her in silence, mouth slightly open. "The driver of the semi that hit you was possessed by a demon; I was able to send it away before it could kill you or your family. I also know Dean's wounds, I knew a demon caused them."
"You're a hunter," Sam said softly. Alicia nodded, and Sam suddenly looked apologetic. "Look, I'm sorry, I just—"
"It's okay," Alicia interrupted gently. "He's your family; nothing's more important than family." Sam noticed her eyes flickered with sadness for a moment, but she nodded her head in the direction of the stairs. "If anything changes, I'll let you know. Please go get some rest, okay? Your stuff's already in your room–including all the weapons from the trunk...and the Colt."
Sam tilted her head, looking at her with intrigue, then glanced down at his unconscious brother. He opened his mouth, but then his eyes fell on his brother's wounds. Only a short time ago they had been deep gashes to the point where he had seen muscles and bones among the oozing blood, but now the blood was coagulating as the edges of the wounds appeared to be in various stages of healing. He looked back at Alicia, his expression softening.
"Thank you," he said softly. Alicia simply smiled and nodded. Sam headed for the stairs, stopping at the foot and glancing over, watching as Alicia had resumed her task of tending to Dean's wounds.
"Good night, Sam," Alicia replied pointedly without stopping or turning around.
Smiling a bit, Sam took the hint and climbed the stairs. Alicia paused momentarily, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly before going back to tending the unconscious Winchester.
"I thought I made it quite clear," a gruff voice behind her said, "that you were to keep any interactions with Sam and Dean to a minimum."
"Don't worry, Uncle Bobby," Alicia replied without turning around, "I did."
"Don't bullshit me, young lady," Bobby said as he walked over. "I heard everything coming up the basement stairs. If that's your idea of a minimal interaction, I'm the Queen of England."
Alicia slammed the bowl on the coffee table and stood up, facing her uncle with an angry expression on her face. "And if I had just brushed him off," she replied, "how do you think he would have reacted?" Bobby muttered under his breath, and Alicia looked at him incredulously. "You would've rather me left them out there to die."
"That's not true," Bobby said.
"Don't bullshit me, Bobby," Alicia retorted.
Bobby sighed, his anger waning. "Look, Allie," he said, "I'm glad you were there tonight to help them, and I know there was no other place we could take them, but you know what happens in two nights."
"Don't talk down to me like I'm a snot-nosed kid, Bobby."
Bobby closed his eyes, muttering under his breath. "We've been over this before; Sam and Dean cannot be here."
"If we just explain things to them, maybe—"
"No," Bobby interrupted. "Trust me: you can explain things to them until pigs fly, but there's only one thing those boys understand—and we both know there's only one outcome if they get involved."
Alicia absently touched the amulet around her neck. "They're not leaving until they're healed," she said after a few moments. "All of them."
Bobby opened his mouth, but Alicia just stared at him coldly as she folded her arms, almost like she was daring him to tell her otherwise. After a few moments he sighed in frustration. "Fine," he replied gruffly. Alicia looked a little pleased as she sat back down and continued tending to Dean.
"Since we're already on the subject," the young woman said calmly as she dabbed a little more paste on one wound, "is the room ready?"
"Always is," Bobby said, his voice more gentle with a hint of sadness.
"Good."
"How was your hunt?"
"Successful." The corners of her mouth curled up slightly. "Nothing exploded this time."
Bobby chuckled softly. "You should get some rest, baby girl. I can stay with Dean."
"Thanks," Alicia replied, "but I'd better stay with him in case his condition changes." She glanced at Bobby. "I'll be fine, Bobby, I promise." Bobby looked unconvinced, but he sighed and headed for the stairs. "Hey, Bobby, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Bobby replied.
Alicia opened her mouth, but then she shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "It can wait until morning." Bobby furrowed her eyebrows, but Alicia smiled. "Goodnight, Bobby."
Bobby looked unconvinced, but he returned the smile. "Goodnight, Allie," he said before wordlessly heading up the stairs.
(End of Chapter 1)