Author's Notes: Over the course of the last week or so, I've come to the realization that I haven't been giving the story as much attention as I should. And I realize, too, that the reason for this is because I'm a little fried. So I've taken some time off from writing to do some random crap, including some RP and some Sims and a bunch of other things. It's kind of nice to just relax. But, this break has made me realize that right now, I don't really FEEL like writing. So, I've gotten to about...chapter thirteen? I believe it is, in my story, and once I post that, I'm going to place the story on hiatus until season 4 comes out and my Supernatural juices get pumping again. Granted, at that point it's going to be AU (not that it isn't already!) but, you know how it goes. ;) I hope you all still read it. In fact, I would greatly appreciate it!

As always, please don't forget to leave any comments or questions you have in a review. I love reading them :)

Sam's fingers tightened their grip on the steering wheel of the impala as he lightly pressed his foot against the brake. He was just coming off of the interstate, with the sound of Kansas' Carry on my Wayward Son coming somewhat quietly from the radio. He arrived in Missouri sometime just past eight that morning. Tiredness stung his eyes and had made him almost want to pull to the side of the road several times on his long trip, but nothing was going to stop him. Not then, and most certainly not now. He was on a mission. This crossroads demon was going to answer any and all of his questions, and then give him the Colt.

She had no choice.

Having used mapquest to find himself a motel, the young hunter drove with a near zombie-like tired expression of determination on his face. Once at the motel he pulled into the lot and parked, grabbing his duffel bag and phone. He headed into the lobby, got himself a room, and had barely made it to the bed before he collapsed onto it. It wasn't a problem usually for him to be up for so long—he was counting somewhere past twenty-four hours now—but the fact that he had been driving for majority of the time was what had gotten him so exhausted. He had taken breaks to pee, but those had been few.

His stomach growled viciously at him, wanting him to feed it. Sam hadn't eaten anything of substance since his breakfast sandwich sometime…God, he couldn't remember. It had been somewhere in Indiana. Or maybe it was somewhere when he had crossed the border into Missouri. Wherever it had been, it had been long ago, and now he had to choose between giving his body some much needed rest, or some nourishment.

Dean would have probably killed him if he knew what Sam was doing to himself over all of this. But Sam had made it to Missouri by the first of June, and that was all that mattered. Maybe the day he arrived would prove to not have any importance, but he wasn't going to risk it. All the signs had been pointing to this location, and the calendar had just been changed to June…

He would think about it all later. Right now, what he needed was a short nap and then something to eat.

But exhausted as Sam was, sleep didn't come to him like he wanted it to. He experienced all the signs of it arriving: he felt the normally unnoticeable pulsing waves of blood flowing through him, the heaviness behind his eyes, and the tiredness in his muscles and bones. It seemed, however, that the longer he lay there, the stronger each sensation became, and that sleep just wasn't going to come to him. That was when his stomach gave another long, angry growl.

"Damn it," Sam muttered to himself. He didn't really want to eat right now. He wanted to sleep.

He knew that he needed to listen to his body, though. If he didn't, then it was only going to make things even more difficult. With that in mind, the young hunter got up, keys still in hand, and wandered out of the motel room and onto the walkway that overlooked the parking lot. He knew he had seen a vending machine around here somewhere…

Sure enough, when he glanced over the edge of the banister and down to the right, near the stairs was a pair of vending machines. He approached them after going down to street level and slipped a dollar bill into one of them. There were many options. Far too many, he thought. In fact, it was a little ridiculous and overwhelming to his feeble mind at that moment. He ended up choosing a bag of Fritos mostly out of uncertain desperation, and, clutching it in his hand, the tired giant made his way back up the rickety metal stairs and walked down the pathway to his room, stepping back inside and shutting the door behind him.

This room was a lot different than the ones he was used to, now that he had a chance to look at it in further detail. It was barely bigger than a closet. The single bed took up most of the room, and what didn't, the television on top of the dresser and nightstand did. And the bathroom wasn't even really big enough to be considered one, in his opinion. It appeared to have nothing more than a stand-alone shower and a stand-alone sink, neither of which looked particularly appealing. He didn't even realize a toilet was in there until he stepped inside and looked behind the door, where it was hiding. All of this, mixed with the horrifically golden wallpaper in the room itself and the pea green stripes on the walls in the bathroom, made this like a room from decorator's Hell.

Well, Sam thought tiredly, with any luck, he wouldn't be here for very long.

With bag of Fritos in hand, he went and lay down on the bed, resting his head against the not surprisingly uncomfortable pillow. But almost like a doll, when his head hit the fabric, his eyes closed, and he felt an immediate wave of fatigue wash over him. He fumbled with the bag of Fritos for several moments until it seemed almost futile. The damn things weren't going to open. He gave up quietly, just letting the bag lie on his stomach as he found himself falling victim to his body's need for sleep.

Sam awoke from his early morning nap sometime around noon, only realizing the time when he glanced at his watch on his wrist. As he did so, it gave a beep for the new hour. Outside, the sun was shining, and it hurt his eyes. He gave a loud groan to no one in particular while rolling over and trying to cover his face from the beams of light that were pouring into his room. There was a sudden crunching sound beneath him, followed by a loud pop, which caused his heart to jump. It took him a moment to realize that he had just destroyed his bag of Fritos, which, when he hurriedly moved to sit up, were now crushed and had spilled out onto the top of the bed.

What a mess, he thought, somewhat irritated.

Giving a quiet grunt, Sam began to clean up the chips' mess. Thankfully, it didn't take long. Afterward, he climbed out of the bed and over to the window where he tugged down the blinds, feeling immediate relief from the brightness. It really wasn't so much a matter of him not being able to handle them at all so much as it was that his eyes weren't properly adjusted after having just woken up. Now shaded, the young hunter was able to quicker recover from his apparently deep sleep. He hadn't expected to fall asleep so suddenly after the struggle that he had had earlier in the day. But then, Sam's body tended to do things that even he had a problem fully understand, so he supposed it wasn't entirely impossible for him to be exhausted one moment and unable to sleep, and then the next, drop like a narcoleptic.

He had planning to do. He was here in Fletcher now, but he needed to find out the location of the crossroads he had seen in his vision. He hadn't caught sight of anything like it on his way into town, which led him to believe it was probably on the outskirts on the other side of it. If there had been any other clues in his vision, he was hard pressed to find them.

But the more he thought about it all, the more dream-like it seemed to feel. In spite of this, he was determined to believe that what he had seen was, in fact, a vision. Still, there was a nagging, doubtful part inside of him, telling him that he was being foolish; that what he was doing was a complete and utter waste of time. That little nugget of reservation had been present in him throughout this entire ordeal, and it was really starting to get to him.

This is no time to doubt yourself, he reminded himself firmly. As his active powers had grown, so had his passive ones. He had to believe what he saw was a vision. If he didn't…he didn't know what would happen. He couldn't take that chance.

Since the only way to really find out where the crossroads was located was to drive around, Sam checked to make sure he had his keys, wallet and knife, then headed out of his room and toward the car. At that moment, his stomach gave a low, whining groan. He forgot that he had yet to eat anything, despite having just crushed his bag of chips he was going to call breakfast not too long ago. He decided he would just get it along the way.

Maybe there was a McDonald's nearby.

. . .

To Sam's relief, it hadn't taken long to find out where the crossroads in his vision was. Given his ability to weave tales quite easily, he had asked the McDonald's employee as to the location of the gas station, mentioning that he had heard it had cheap gas. Given the outrageous prices of it lately, anything helped, he had added. She had informed him that it was on the other side of the town, just as he had suspected, and that one could get there simply by following the signs that would lead them further south, toward Washington county. According to her, it wasn't all that far away, and in fact Mac—the man who ran the gas station—made a pretty penny, being the only gas station on the border of the two counties.

After eating some semblance of a brunch—with a burger, some fries and a coke, along with a hash brown patty—Sam drove up and through the crossroads, wanting to make sure that it was easy to access. Sure enough, it had been. He wished that he could have done all that he needed to right then and there, but it was some time around one in the afternoon, and the last thing he needed was for everything to occur in broad daylight, where any passing cars could see it. He didn't think tonight was going to go smoothly. In fact, he was pretty sure of it.

That was one of the main reasons he had gone back to his room for some sleep. He needed to be on his toes with this demon, because if he wasn't…it could end up disastrously. Ruby's words echoed in his head again:

You're banking a lot on this vision.

It was to that thought that Sam fell asleep, and to that thought that he awoke. When he went into the bathroom and splashed some cool water over his face, he realized that his heart was beating faster than usual. He stared at himself long and hard in the mirror. The lack of a proper diet and worry since Dean's death had given him somewhat dark, puffy circles under his mildly blood-shot eyes, and he hadn't shaved that morning, which put some shadow on his face. His hair needed to be cut, too, but that seemed so minor that it didn't even cross his mind.

He knew he was worried. But for some reason, he couldn't completely admit it to himself. Or he simply wouldn't.

By the time that Sam had gotten himself completely ready to go, it was nearing nine o'clock. Despite the fact that he hadn't done much, time had nonetheless seemed to fly by him. He was just about to head out the door when, hand on the doorknob, he hesitated.

Should he summon Ruby?

He wasn't sure. She had said that he could if he needed her, but he didn't. No, he was certain he could do this on his own. He had before. Granted, he had had the Colt then. That had given him a strong sense of security. Not having that now had greatly diminished his certainty. The only thing that had made it come back somewhat was the fact that he had his powers. He felt more confident in them than before, which he assumed was due to his having killed with them. It shouldn't have been something he was proud of, really, but he was, and he wasn't going to let anyone tell him otherwise.

After what felt like too long debating on whether or not to summon her, Sam decided against it, going down the stairs to get into the impala. He then drove the twenty odd minutes it took to get to the crossroads from before.

It looked much different at night. There were only two or three light posts that stood along the intercrossing streets, all of which cast circles of artificial light onto the dirt and gravel below them. The gas station lights were all out, giving it an eerily abandoned look. In a town like this, Sam wasn't surprised that something like that would close down at the given time. He was glad that it was closed, too, because it made his job easier.

He parked in the lot near the gas station, gathering all of the necessary tools to summon the crossroads demon in a little box. With it in hand, he headed into the center of the crossroads, digging into the dirt with his hands in order to create a little hole. He tossed the box inside of it and then covered it up again, patting it firmly to make sure the contents were snugly in there. The last time he had done this, he had felt the same kind of anxiety as he did now, but there was more determination and desperation in him than there had been back then. There was also more anger.

Sam had just moved to stand completely when he heard the sound of quiet footsteps behind him. When he turned and looked over his shoulder, standing before him was a woman dressed in a casual black evening dress, the somewhat thin straps draped over her smooth, bare shoulders. The front was cut somewhat low and his eyes dipped downward instinctively as he followed the contours, but he quickly brought them back up to look at her face. She had a classic beauty that reminded Sam somewhat of a young Joan Collins, and her long brown hair cascaded both over her front and back.

She smiled at him. "Well, well. Look who it is."

"Look who it's not," Sam retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Unless you somehow managed to get out of Hell. Which I doubt."

"Always a testy one." The demon clasped her hands in front of her, approaching Sam further. He stood his ground. "No, Sam, you're thinking of my friend. Who you mercilessly killed."

"She deserved it."

"I beg to differ." The demon's tone changed considerably, becoming drier, almost angry. Her red eyes flashed briefly before returning to their previously dark brown color. With it, her tone seemed to soften. "What are you doing here, anyway, little Sammy? You've been pretty quiet since dear old Dean died. We haven't heard of you going out and killing any else of our kind." She paused. "It's almost like you just…gave up. But I know you better. You haven't given up. There's something going on in that cute little head of yours. Why did you summon me?" She slowly shook her head from side to side. "I can't help you get your brother back, if that's what you're thinking."

"Actually, you can." Sam stared with an unnervingly serious look. "I know what you've got."

The demon sounded coy as she asked, "What I've got?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You've got the Colt."

"Why in the world would I have that stupid gun?" She stepped past Sam, causing him to turn quickly on his heels to keep her in his line of sight. "I haven't even touched it in all my life, let alone seen it. Last I heard, it was overseas, sold by that girl who got what's coming to her." An almost morbid smile appeared on the demon's face.

"You're lying," Sam accused.

"And what makes you so sure, huh? What makes you think I have that precious gun of yours?" The demon asked, almost as if egging him on further.

"That's none of your business," Sam replied flatly. "I want it back. And I'm prepared to take it with full force."

"If you know I have it, Sammy, then why don't you just take it from me?" The demon's eyes became fully red again, and an evil smirk appeared on her face as she stepped back from him, giving him a gesture that seemed to say, 'come on'.

Before he knew it, Sam's hand was out in front of him, and he used his telekinesis to knock the demon right off of her feet. She flew back several yards and hit the dirt with a thud and a grunt. Sam watched her as she got up, preparing for her recoil. But nothing came. Instead she just readjusted her dress, brushed it off and looked at him. Then she laughed.

"Oh…oh, this is rich. Look at you, little Sammy boy…finally gave in, didn't you?" She stepped closer, and when Sam lifted his hand, she stopped, then held up her own in a yielding fashion. "I never thought I'd see the day that you'd use your powers. We always thought you were too good for that. Too righteous."

"Shut up!"

Sam's barked words were backed up with another forceful blast from him that lifted the demon into the air and sent her sailing through it until she hit the somewhat grassy, weeded area just across the street from the service station. He started walking toward her when he noticed that she was coming at him with an unnaturally quick pace.

"Stop!" he commanded with a resounding voice, his hands held out in front of him. Before the demon was able to get any closer she stopped suddenly in her tracks, as if she had come in contact with an invisible wall. Still keeping up his hands, Sam approached her, brow furrowed in concentration. He could see that there was anger in her eyes at first, but the closer he grew, the more he realized it was now fear.

"I'm not giving you anything," the demon spat at him.

"You don't have a choice."

Just like with the incubus, Sam brought one of his hands forward, focusing on the demon's neck as he began to form a fist. She struggled—and he felt it—but she couldn't move still, and now there were pressure marks appearing around her throat. She coughed and struggled to take in a breath.

"How about we do a trade, huh?" he asked, sounding amused. An impish sort of grin appeared on his face. "You give me the Colt, and I'll give you your life. It's a win-win situation for the both of us. I get what I need, and you get to keep what pathetically is yours."

He loosened his grip on her neck just enough to allow the demon the chance to speak. She inhaled deeply, swallowing roughly before replying almost dejectedly:

"I give you the Colt…and I die anyway."

Her eyes were locked on Sam's, but he couldn't have cared less at that moment. "What? Lilith put you on strict orders not to give it to me? Not surprising. But as you can see,"—he retightened his grip—"I'm not playing games here. I want the Colt. Now tell me where it is."

"I d-don't h-have…" she grunted weakly, "I d-don't have it…w-with me!"

"Then tell me where it is." Sam's grip tightened even further, but soon thereafter, lightened.

There was a long pause during which the demon clearly struggled with the grips that Sam had on her. He could see her arms and legs twitching—could feel her fighting in his grasp—and he enjoyed the fact that she couldn't do anything…that she was trapped like the beast she was. It made an eerily wicked smile appear on his face.

"Tell me where it is," he repeated. "I'm only gonna ask one more time."

"It's…it's…"

"Yes?"

"It's buried nearby," the demon finally confessed. There was visible pain in her eyes. "Just underneath the blooming bush clovers."

In that brief moment of confession, Sam's hold on the demon relinquished completely. He turned his head to look at where she had shifted her eyes to, but he couldn't see where she was talking about. This of course was a mistake, because she jumped him right when he looked away, bringing him to the ground with a vicious growl. Sam gave a loud grunt and tried to protect himself from the impact but failed miserably. The crossroads demon, gripping the front of his jacket and shirt, then used her inhuman strength to lift him up and throw him into a nearby collection of shrubs. Sam hit them with a confused groan, arms flailing as he tried to get himself somewhat steady.

Before he knew it he was being punched in the stomach with what felt like a ton of bricks. It knocked the wind out of him and he hunched forward, mouth hung wide open. The crossroads demon backed off him then, for just a second, which was what gave him the chance to take that one much needed breath. His focus wasn't entirely shot, and because of that he was able to stave off her attack with another, less forceful command:

"Back."

As if suddenly hit with the force of a wrecking ball, the demon was blasted backward, and she gave a scream.

Ruby was right, he thought momentarily. This was like riding a bike.

This gave Sam a moment to complete his recovery. He stumbled back and fell to his knees beside the bush clover, digging in the dirt with right hand while his left stayed outstretched, holding the demon at bay in the crossroads. He dug furiously, hoping to find the Colt. It was stupid, believing her so easily, but maybe—

Sam's fingers suddenly scratched against something solid. He quickly looked over his shoulder and saw the demon held in place, saw the angry look contorting the curves of her face. A sick sense of satisfaction filled him then, and he turned his attention back to the dirt, digging deeper. After a few clumps of dark earth were thrown to the wayside, Sam revealed what looked like the faded black top of a box. There was no way that he could pull it out with just one hand, but he had no idea how to keep the demon at bay without using the other. He cast his sight back at her, then slowly turned and moved to stand.

"You found what you're looking for," she said through nearly gritted teeth. The closer Sam got, the more he could see her struggling, but to no avail.

"Yeah, I did," he said, almost cockily. "And look at you. Still trapped like the disgusting beast you are. Bitch."

The demon howled, "LET ME GO!"

"Shut up!" Sam reached out for real this time, grabbing the demon's throat with his large, powerful hand. He tightened his grip almost immediately, and also began pushing downward. The demon had no choice but to obey; soon she was on her knees, and Sam, hunched over her, gave her a look that would have disgusted his brother. "You demons are all the same. And I'll be damned if I let you get in the way of what I'm doing. Hope you enjoy Hell."

What happened next came so quickly that even Sam didn't quite expect it. Anger coursed through him, pumped in his blood just like adrenaline, and his fingers dug into the demon's neck, almost piercing the tender flesh. He abruptly lifted himself to a standing position and brought the demon with him, and then, with an unexpected amount of strength, tossed her across the street, right into the support pole for the service station's sign. She hit it with a resounding clank, after which he hurriedly ran over to the bushes again, digging in the dirt. It took some effort but he got the box out, failing to notice anything else then. All that mattered was that, when he opened it, staring him in the face was the Colt, looking just like it had right before Bela had stolen it from him and Dean.

Gun in hand, he turned back just in time to catch the demon before she attempted to flee. Sam could see her picking up speed, and in one, clean shot, he sent a bullet right through the back of her head. The momentum of her body sent the demon tumbling forward; she hit the ground face first and with a thud, followed by a crackling sound that was soon taken over by a sizzle.

He stood there for a moment, panting, while he tried to collect himself.

Suddenly, from beside him came the sound of light clapping. Sam turned his flushed face hastily from side to side, but it wasn't until he looked just a little behind him that he saw Ruby walking up the road.

"Good job, Sam," she said. "I didn't expect you to kill her for it. Although, I guess I probably should have. I mean…one bad experience kinda sours the rest, doesn't it? Who needs that many demons at the crossroads, anyways?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. He turned the gun on her. "Ruby, what're you doing here?"

Ruby gave him an irritated look. "Cool your jets, Quick Draw. I just wanted to see if you were right. I doubted you, and…I shouldn't have." When he lowered the gun slowly, she continued on. "I think this might be it."

His response was short. "What?"

She stepped closer to him, sticking her hands into her jean pockets. "I think you might be ready to save your brother."