Summary: My Oneshot of the missing scene of the episode "Crossroads".
Sam watched the dark road through the windshield of the Impala for a few seconds, trying to talk himself into not asking.
For one thing, Dean notoriously hated these "chick flick" moments, and Sam had already stretched this one about as far as it was going to go. For another, Sam had learned long ago that you should never ask a question if you didn't really want to hear the answer. He was more surprised to hear himself ask than Dean was.
"You weren't really thinking about doing it, right? It was just to trap the demon. You didn't really want to make a deal, sacrifice yourself to get Dad back…right?"
Dean wouldn't look at him.
Dean wouldn't speak.
Dean wouldn't listen to the blues anymore, and he switched the music to his "Metallica" tape.
As the heavy metal sounds filled the interior of the darkened car, Sam studied Dean's profile, and heard the answer he was afraid of.
He glanced away himself, first down at his lap. He swallowed and looked out the passenger window.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. He had fought so hard, lost so much. He had left his friends at Stanford, he had given up a future. He could have been an attorney. He could have had a beautiful, dark-haired wife, 2.2 children, a dog, and a house with a white picket fence.
Instead, a demon had taken everything from him, beginning with his mother. Only six months old when she died, he didn't even remember her. Then, the pursuit of that demon had taken his father. Dean had raised him, and their father had hunted. Not finished yet, the demon followed him to Stanford, and took Jessica. Even though part of him wanted to stay there afterwards, with his friends, he had left with Dean. His heart was broken, and he had trusted Dean, as he always had, to do the right thing; give him the correct advice. Soon, Sam had fixated on finding their father, and getting another chance to set things right with him – but the demon had taken that from him, as well.
He stared out the window and let a tear roll unchecked down his cheek. Hadn't he lost enough? He was ready to forfeit the game – why couldn't the demon just call it a win and leave him alone?
The word echoed in his head. Alone. That was exactly what the demon had in mind for him. It wanted Dean, now. He realized that was the part that made him angry. That was the part that guaranteed he would continue to hunt, and carry on the Winchester legacy.
That wasn't the part that hurt.
The part that made him want to jump out of the moving car, was the part where Dean wanted to leave him.
Dean had been saddled with him as long as he cared to be, apparently. Only four years older, he had been forced to raise his younger brother and had pined after his father as badly as Sam had. Worse, because he could remember what it was like, to have a family. And now, given a choice, he would choose to be with John, even if it meant that he would have to leave Sam to do it. If their father was here, he would still be the man they had known. He would still hunt, showing up every few months long enough to fight with Sam. The only thing that ever connected them was Dean, and if Dean took himself out of the equation, Sam and John would soon stop trying to make peace. Sam would be alone.
Just what the demon wanted.
Now he knew. It was what Dean wanted, too.
Knowing that, it became what he wanted for himself.
Being alone had to hurt less than this.