2081/At the Crossroads

At the Crossroads
Date of Scene:	20 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

---

Sam Winchester has posed:
Finding a suitable crossroads in New York City isn't going to happen, so Sam travels back outside. Ironically, he goes right back to Beacon. It just seems fitting. It's the place where the Backahasten made its reappearance. The place where he learned he shouldn't even really be alive. It doesn't sit right with him, this notion of Dean sacrificing himself for him. Dean is the hero. Dean is the warrior. Dean is pure.

What is he? He is the reason Dean's mother is dead.

What is he? He is unclean.

He abandoned Dean, and didn't realize Dean was missing fast enough to spare him from a year of torture.

He has to fix this.

He tucks a letter into his coat pocket, next to Feigenbaum. It's for Fred. There's another one for Dean.

And then he assembles the mystic items into a little Altoids tin, adds his picture, and buries it. The summoning ritual for a Crossroads Demon is so quiet compared to so many others, with nary a word spoken. He crosses his arms and waits, not sure how he's going to word this or phrase this to make it work out.

He swallows. Hell sounds terrifying, and now he knows that's it, that's where he'll be, no matter what he does. At the least, he can say that what few good things he ever did for anyone he did just because they were right, because he cared, and not out of any expectation of a reward.

Dean Winchester has posed:
There isn't a lot of pomp and circumstance when the woman with the black tank top and black mini skirt steps away from the Crossroads. Her black eyes, dark hair, and curvaceous figure all make her appear like a salesperson rather than a demon. Her red lips curve up at the edges and she treads slowly towards Sam. "Hello Sugar," she soothes easily enough.

The black in her eyes vanishes, losing that small discovery of who she is, as she tilts her head to inspect the Winchester in front of her. "Not the brother I was expecting," she flashes him a brilliant smile. Her hands clasp behind her back. "So. What can I do for you?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I want to buy Dean's debt," Sam says simply. "I was the one who died. Give Dean back his life, and you can take me right now. You don't even have to wait a year." Because the first thought he goes to is self-sacrifice. It just makes sense.

As he speaks to the woman his head has lowered, his eyes stare mostly at the ground. He hasn't been able to sleep since Dean told him. He hasn't been able to do much of anything. He has tried to put on a good show for Fred, but other than getting out to his storage unit and shooting up, he has found himself just kind of sleeping at the Hyperion with Fred at night, then sleeping at the apartment during the day, all until he could go with this. This moment. When he made this decision to come out here and do this.

They'll just have to capture the Winter Soldier without him.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"How noble," the woman's voice is velvet, but the way she says suggests it's also quaint--like a child bringing an offering far too small. "I don't hold Dean's contract," her head turns and she hums, "but the one who does won't take that deal. It would have to be sweeter. A lot sweeter."

She manages another smile. "You could, however, convince him to take the new deal." Her eyes lid lightly and then her eyebrows lift. "The contract holder gave him an opportunity to renegotiate his contract." She steps towards Sam to smooth the collar of his shirt, "The fact that he hasn't taken it speaks spades about his death wish."

Her smile turns smug. "A family trait, I suppose."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam swallows hard. "What were the terms of the new contract?"

He doesn't speak to his death wish. He doesn't really want to die. He just doesn't want to live at Dean's expense. There's a difference. A subtle one, but a difference all the same. He doesn't protext when she starts petting at his shirt, feeling too defeated, really, to stop her. "And who is the contract holder?"

Maybe he can at least get some information. Maybe he can find the loophole. Both of those things would be far better than just up and dying, for sure, but...

He also gives a hard half-smile. "Maybe the fact that he hasn't taken it says it was kind of a crap deal."

Dean Winchester has posed:
"He still has time," she offers lowly while walking her fingers across Sam's shoulders, encircling him from behind like a predator might her prey. As for the terms, she's happy enough to share, "Indefinite extensions for services rendered. Tasks, procurement--that kind of thing." Her chin lifts as she crosses in front of him again.

"And if he'd taken it immediately, your memory erasure would've been thrown in. Like last time." She coyly notes, "Sixteen year old Dean didn't want his brother to remember Hell. And now he's proceeded to tell you the sordid details of the affair? Must be getting cold in his old age," her smile turns wicked.

She smirks at the note of the contract holder. "My employer holds Dean's contract." She smirks when she notes, "Your brother was a big enough fish that we came to him." These were definitely details Dean had left out.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"What makes my brother such a big fish?" Sam asks, his own voice turning cold. He's thinking, deep in the back of his mind, about all the blood running through her veins. How it might give him a slightly different hit than a revenge demon's, and how he could take some, then force the thing to smoke out, leaving the young woman alive. Because she can't deal anyway, can she? It has to be her employer. And she's being coy. 'Her employer' isn't any kind of an answer. His hazel eyes go flat and dark, dangerous, as he watches her. His mouth sets into a grim line.

He decides not to bother telling her he doesn't remember a thing about Hell now. He doesn't remember anything about being dead, or the first fight with the Bakahastan. The second is clear enough. Dean decked him.

Dean Winchester has posed:
She hums at the question. "The question of the hour," she replies with another smile. "He doesn't even know," her eyes lid and she takes a single step away from Sam. Just the one. "Tell him to take the deal. He only has three more days until it runs out." She begins to walk around Sam again. The encircling isn't going to stop.

She whistles sharply. "Tick-tock. Tick-tock. That's the sound of Dean's life running out." The flatness in Sam's expression is, however, noticed. "Oh don't be so glum. He takes the new deal, and all will be fine."

Sam Winchester has posed:
And something inside of Sam Winchester snaps.

He waits until she's on his side, then turns and flings out his hand, lashing out with his telekinetic power. He intends to fling her straight into the nearest tree and hold her there; his eyes have taken on the darker cast of his more demonic side. The pupils expand, eating the hazel iris. They aren't black like a demon's, not eating the whites, but the color is becoming black as midnight now. He stalks forward, ready to make another move if that doesn't work, reaching into his tactical jacket for a vial of holy water. He feels the letters crinkle as his hand passes.

"You know what you've just told me?"

He flings some of the holy water at her for good measure, furious, wanting her to hurt.

"You've just told me you're disposable. Useless to me."

Dean Winchester has posed:
The blast of telekinetic energy causes the demon to fly towards the tree. When she hits it, she actually groans, but manages a defiant smile, never quite giving satisfaction to the hit. "And you're brother is still going to Hell for you. Even if I die."

"The contract holder won't let this one go." And then because there's still plenty of taunt left in her, even if she's facing the end, she adds, "There are a lot of folks looking forward to adding a Winchester to their collection. Many have counted the days to Dean's imminent coming."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Buy yourselves a Funko Pop."

Not that they make Funko Pops of Winchesters, but it does a fine enough job of conveying the fact that Sam is not amused by the fact that there is anybody who wants to run around //collecting// them. Like they're some sort of Hunter Pokemon. He keeps his hand up, holding her to the tree, then drops the empty vial of holy water and fumbles a hypodermic needle out of his coat pocket with his other hand. He raises it high, intending to just jam that into her neck vein, where he can get a really fast blood draw. He might as well not waste the summons.

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going back to Hell, and while you writhe there, you find your boss and you tell him that he is either going to show up and deal with me directly, or I am going to find him. And when I find him, it will be armed with the knowledge of how to destroy all of your kind...permanently." The black finishes finding its way into his eyes, and now he barely looks like himself, not that he notices. "You're /not/ getting my brother."

The fury that he spends almost all of his time controlling, tempering, keeping on its leash, is given full reign now. He lets it rage through is veins, lets it take every part of him. This...thing...deserves no protection from the nuclear levels of rage he's carried around inside of him for as long as he can remember. His nostrils flare with it, his teeth are bared with it. He's shaking with it. "You can't have him. You will never. Have him."

Dean Winchester has posed:
The demon trembles, just a little. "We thought it would be John first. I'm actually pleased it's Dean. That lovely head full of dark blonde hair? Those green eyes?" she forces a smile. No, she's not comfortable, but no she will not lose it here and now if she can at all help it. "Sugar, he's already ours." Her black eyes blink blankly. "The boss has been in touch with your brother for some time. I think he wants to see how his investment is coming. Ever wonder about who he texts so secretly? Or why he slips off for phone calls?" She actually cackles. "Or why he's gotten more rather than less reckless with age? He's already ours. We staked our claim nine years ago while you were asleep. We're already in his mind. He's got no future and he's known it for nine years."

"There's so little you know," and she delights in holding any or all of the knowledge cards. "But the moment someone makes the deal--the moment they agree to give us ours in due time? Their torture has already begun. People stop living when they know when they're going to die."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"And you chose to do this to a sixteen year old boy."

Sam drops his filled needle back into his pocket.

The rage washes over him, fueling and feeding his will.

"Go home," he says, shoving it at the demon. This is only the second time he's tried to simply //will// a demon back to Hell. It hurt last time, but he hadn't had his regular doses, and he'd strained something in his head. This time he's a bit tighter in his focus, giving it all he's got. He already knows a Crossroads is stronger than a blackeyes, but he'd like to preserve the vessel if he can. Though he supposes if she's got some sort of gaping bullet wound under that tank top it's a lost cause. It doesn't matter. This feels more sure to him than a verbal exorcism, too. He's also pretty sure it hurts the demon more...which is a bonus.

If he can't solve Dean's problem tonight, he can at least /punish/ this /thing/ for Dean's problem.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Brilliant, isn't it?" she hisses. "Even the most righteous--" but the order, the command cuts off the thought. She writhes at his words, fighting against the imperative statement. The woman's body twists, fighting tooth and nail against the ordeal.

She's ripped from the human, but not before her energy pushes back against Sam's.

The woman that remains is left unconscious and seemingly empty while still held up against the tree.

Sam Winchester has posed:
The pushback hurts. It spikes his head with a migraine and causes his nose to bleed. The woman drops like a sack of potatoes as he loses control of his telekinesis. He can't see for a moment, and he staggers back, panting.

His eyes are their right color again by the time he rushes back to the woman, searching for a pulse. "Come on," he mutters. "Be alive. Come on."

Not that begging someone to be alive has ever worked. He needs to save /someone's/ life tonight. Someone's. One life to make any of this make sense whatsoever. He swallows hard, continuing to search. His eyes are red rimmed suddenly as tears fill them up. He needs to save someone's life, and he's got no idea how to /fix/ this thing that he's broken. That he didn't even know he broke.

He should never have gone to Stanford.

Dean Winchester has posed:
As if through a sheer act of will, the woman gasps for breath after being told to be alive. Her pulse is present, but weak. Without that act, she would've certainly died--the Crossroads demon had a strong hold on her. Her body trembles; its weakness is clear, but she is most certainly alive, and only because of Sam's nifty trick.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam exhales. "Okay. You're okay. Come on. We gotta get you to a hospital."

He sniffles back blood and tears. He scoops her up into strong arms and brings her to lay her gently into the back of the rental car he got for this venture. His vision blurs, and he drives fast to get her to the hospital. Crazy fast. He gets her situated, uses a stolen credit card to put her deposit down, and walks back out to his car. He puts his head down on the steering wheel and finds himself just breaking down. He screams in rage and pounds on the dash over and over again, until he's spent.

He sniffles and takes up his phone. And texts Dean.

'Dude, I'm doing some research tonight, looking for some sort of solution. What's the name of the contract holder?'

If he calls, he'll give away the whole game.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The ping of his cellphone causes the older Winchester to stir. Dean slept way longer than he'd intended. /Two hours/ he'd said, and then they'd be on the road. That was at least six hours ago if not more. He'll have plenty of apologizing to do.

He stretches wearily before turning on the light next to the bed that definitely isn't his. He's still in the button-up shirt, tie, and dress pants that he'd worn to visit Angel. But at least he'd had the good sense to take off the jacket before sleeping.

He laughs as he considers the time. Walking back through the Roadhouse this time of day while in a well-tailored suit seemed like definite razz-material. He rolls his eyes and finally grabs his phone. And when he sees it, he frowns.

He considers calling back, but just replies as vaguely as he can, 'Just a Crossroads demon. Nothing special.' He rubs the back of his neck and pulls the jacket on.

Sam Winchester has posed:
It's bullshit and Sam knows it. Does he confront Dean with that particular bit of intel?

He pulls out his needle. He looks at the blood, rich and red and dark. He can feel the burn of the pain as it starts. Like a full body, oncoming Charlie horse that he knows will leave him wanting to scream if he leaves it long enough. He knows, cause he nearly did start screaming before he managed to hunt the first demon, get the first dose. Swallowing with sick shame, he plunges the needle into his arm.

He sighs as the pain subsides. His nose stops running over with blood. He wipes at his face, and finds a way.

'My research indicates the contract holder might be higher up the chain than that. You sure?'

Maybe that will shake something out. He knows if he just comes right out and tells Dean what he just tried to do his brother will go ballistic, and probably take the amended contract just to ensure Sam stays out of it. So he has to go carefully.

He's going to need Fred's help with this.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Geez," Dean mutters to himself as his phone pings again. With a long exhalation of breath, he goes to sit back on the bed. His eyes roll and he buries his face in his hands. He sucks on the inside of his cheek and his eyes trail to the door. He could ignore the text, but it'd be weird now that he answered once.

'Went to the Crossroads and did the spell. Talked to whoever showed up. No idea.'

There. That seemed plausible. The question he'd posed to Jo nags at him as he stares at his phone a few moments longer: Why did Crowley come to him that night? And why does Crowley want to change the contract?

And then, he adds, 'I've got this. Don't worry about it.'

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Damn it," Sam mutters, glowering at the phone.

He leans back, closing his eyes. Dean's not going to tell him. But he already has the clue.

He'll just have to research the lore of the Crossroads. He's going to need books. Books that he doesn't have now. This won't be on the Internet. He's going to have to go looking. Louisiana, he's thinking...Louisiana, Georgia, that's where he'd expect to find the best crossroads lore.

WAND might have ideas too.

He just has to avoid giving up. Sure. With the clock ticking. Hell. Maybe their father will know how to fix it, if he ever figures out how to find John.