Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter takes place between seasons three and four. They're my own thoughts and not that of Kripke or any of the other masterminds behind Supernatural. They own all.

Two red eyes drew Sam onward, beckoning. He had no choice but to follow. His mind was a blank; he was a hollow shell. What was left for him? Dean had been given one final moment of being Sam's big brother and his final instructions were imprinted in Sam's memory. "Keep fighting. Take care of my wheels . . . Sammy, remember what Dad taught you. And remember what I taught you." What John had taught Sam was hard discipline and rigidity. What Dean had taught Sam was to fight to save others . . . to destroy that which was evil . . . to depend on family. Paradox. The Winchesters had fought for family, for the salvation of others against evil, for a chance to destroy that which had destroyed their family. And in the end, the thing that they had been fighting against all that time was Sam himself. Sam had drawn Azazel to their house which led to Mary's death. Sam had drawn Lillith to him to collect on Dean's contract. Both older Winchesters had given their lives for another's rebirth. Sam wished he had never been born. Alone. He was shattered, and the only one who could fix him was left behind in Pontiac.

It was late, and Sam's eyes were burning. The tears had stopped flowing miles ago, fatigue burned in them instead. After burying Dean in Pontiac, both Bobby and Sam had started driving to Bobby's house in Sioux Falls. At least there they could figure out their next move. Neither man, however, had the same plan. Dean had ordered Sam to not get demonic help, to not learn whatever it was that Ruby had wanted to teach him, to not bring Dean back. But like his family before him, Sam would do anything for them. Anything.

Bobby braked as he left I-380 into the midst of Cedar Rapids. He watched the Impala in his rear view mirror to make sure Sam was paying attention and would follow him. They'd been driving for about three hours, and he was bone tired. Stuck in the house across the street from where Lillith was having her R&R in New Harmony, Bobby had to hide from any demons' notice of him after he had turned on the sprinklers. He'd waited to see who had won. Praying that they would succeed. Sam's single silhouette in the doorway signaled for Bobby to come on in; one look at Sam's face had given him his answer. Dean was dead. Bobby was left to pick up the pieces once again, but he was unsure of what he could really do for the boy. Keeping him alive for starters. He sighed explosively. That would be a chore. God, he needed some sleep. Sam was probably a lot worse off even though he was younger. Spotting a motel, Bobby pulled into the lot and got out.

Sam jerked as the taillights flared in Bobby's car as he slowed to exit the interstate. Surely Bobby didn't need any gas. No, he was pulling into a motel parking lot. Glancing at his wristwatch, he realized they had been fighting, moving, and grieving for over thirty hours. No wonder his hands were shaking. Pulling in beside Bobby's car, Sam dragged himself out of the Impala and leaned his hips against the hood. "Don't scratch my car, Sammy." "I won't, Dean," Sam spoke to the phantom memory.

Bobby came out of the office, one room key in hand. There was no way he was going to leave Sam alone right now. No telling what damn fool idea he'd get. He knew he couldn't watch the boy all the time, but he'd try as much as he could. For all the Winchesters. He owed it to them and to himself. "Come on, we're on the top floor." Bobby grabbed his gear out of the trunk and led the way, checking back over his shoulder to make sure Sam was behind him.

Once in the room, Bobby offered Sam the bathroom first. He winced at what Sam would think when he looked in the mirror. Sam's face was streaked with dust from the gravesite and tears had made numerous trails down his face.

Sam eased into the stream of hot water trying to ease the ache out of his shoulders. His fingers stung when the water hit the bloody tips. He stood there for less time than he wanted, but he knew Bobby wanted, and deserved, a hot shower too. Pulling on an old shirt of Dean's and some sweats, Sam opened to door and dropped onto his bed. Pulling his pillow to him, he was asleep before Bobby had closed the bathroom door. A white light greeted Sam in the darkness accompanied by the sound of invisible growling dogs.

It was late afternoon the next day when the two heartsick men pulled into the salvage yard. A single creak split the air as Sam shut the Impala's door.

Going on into the den, Bobby spoke to Sam, "Grab something out of the freezer, will ya? I'll cook, you clean up."

Sam tossed some burgers onto the drainboard and headed towards the back of the house. After their foray with the African dream root, Sam now understood why Bobby had decided to live on the ground floor. Sam'd been upstairs a few times, retrieving or returning books, gathering ingredients for charms or spells. Bobby had given the Winchesters a room in the back on the ground floor. Sam threw his bag onto his bed, sank down, and stared at the other one. For three years, he'd stayed in the same room with Dean, rarely did the two stay apart for more than a few days. Covering his face with his hands, Sam contemplated a lifetime without his brother. "May it be short," he thought, "if I fail."

He'd done that before. Lived for months alone. But he'd known, he'd believed that when he found the Trickster that everything would be set right. He remembered every death that Dean had died and every day that he'd spent hunting alone, hunting things, hunting the Trickster. He had become so focused, so like John Winchester, that he has scared even himself looking back. Sam had felt like he was walking on a tightrope. To deviate one iota from his hunt was to lose the chance to rescue Dean. Now Sam was back on that hunt. The Trickster couldn't help him but there were other things out there that could.

There was just one problem. Bobby Singer. He knew what Dean had done in Cold Oak, what had led to them being in this predicament in the first place. And he knew Sam. Sam was a Winchester and would follow his brother's lead if given a chance. Sam wouldn't wait for an opportunity, he'd make one.

"Sam, dinner!"

Sam scrubbed his face with his hands, settled his shoulders, and went out to deal as best he could. He would make his first try tonight.

Cold filled the air. Sam stood at a crossroads watching, waiting. The chill without was echoed by the chill within. Goosebumps pebbled his arms. Had he killed the only crossroads demon? Had he destroyed this chance for saving Dean? Not knowing, he'd left his coat and his gun in the car so that whatever was watching would see that he would pull no tricks or a gun. Nothing. The stars followed their designated paths as the hours ticked away towards dawn.

Closing the front door gently behind him, Sam went to his room. Bobby's bedroom door was still closed.

Settling on his bed, Sam kicked off his shoes and fell backwards, exhausted. He knew Bobby would chew him out, but he could take it. After all, Sam had withstood John Winchester's tirades for years. Dean's outbursts had been harsh, but Sam knew they had no true bite behind them. "Remember what Dad taught you. And remember what I taught you." They had taught him well. The crossroads demon wasn't an option any more, but there were more things under Heaven and Earth than dreamt of and Sam's one dream was of bringing Dean back to him.

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter.