Chapter Text
Sam slung his backpack over his shoulder, keeping his face turned away from Dean as he walked over to the truck he'd noticed pull in earlier. If he looked over at Dean, if he had to see his face, he wouldn't be able to leave, and he had to do this. For both of them. If he wasn't safe to be around, then he wanted to get as far away from Dean as he could. He never wanted to hurt him like he had before, never wanted to see him bleeding on the ground at his feet and know that he'd been the one to put him there, not again. And if what War had said about him being Lucifer's vessel was true, then - But Sam wasn't about to let that happen. He might have freed the bastard, but that didn't mean he was going to let him walk around in his body. He'd let the first demon he saw tear him apart first.
"Hey," he told the driver, forcing a smile. "You, uh, you think I could get a ride?"
The driver, a heavyset man somewhere in his mid-fifties, studied him for a second, then nodded. "Sure, kid. Get in."
Sam noticed that he didn't ask where he was heading, which was probably a good thing, since he had no clue. He rounded the hood and slid into the passenger seat, and sooner than he'd expected, they were driving away, pulling out of the lot and leaving Dean behind. But this wasn't like the last time he'd left Dean, when there had been angry words spoken that helped drive him away and the pain of separation had been dulled by the fact that he had something to look forward to, a destination and future that called to him. This was so much harder than that.
This time he was leaving his heart behind, and unlike last time, it wasn't taking a week for the pain to catch up.
By the time Sam managed to wrench his eyes away from the side-view mirror and the no-longer-visible rest stop, it was almost sunset. He had no idea how much ground they'd covered, but he got out of the truck and stretched when they pulled up in front of a Biggerson's. "Hope you don't mind diner food," the driver said.
"It's fine," he responded automatically, trying not to remember Dean's ear-to-ear grin when they'd won free meals for a year. Sam reached for his door handle, but looked back when a hand landed on his arm.
"Listen, whatever happened back there with you and your boyfriend -"
Sam didn't give the guy a chance to finish, but yanked his arm away and spat, "He's my brother, and it's none of your business!"
"Maybe not, but I know a thing or two about family," the guy persisted. "And it seems to me like you might benefit from a different perspective on things." His eyes twinkled with a disturbingly familiar light. "Trust me on this, Sam. If you keep your eyes and ears open, you just might learn a thing or two."
Shit. He knew his name. Sam opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the man snapped his fingers, and Sam's world dissolved in waves of unrelenting, wrenching pain. When darkness finally swept over him, he welcomed it and fell gratefully into nothingness.
He woke up, still hurting all over and more pissed than he'd been in a long while. Leaves rustled around him as me moved, so he guessed he hadn't been out that long since a guy his size usually wasn't left laying in the bushes for long. One thing was for sure, though - he was going to shiv that Trickster's ass as hard as he could the next time he saw him. Right now, though, he wanted supper - the smells coming out of the diner were heavenly, a lot better than he ever remembered a Biggerson's smelling, and it was making his stomach growl with eager anticipation. Okay, then. Food first, revenge second.
But something was wrong. He managed to get to his feet, but he was wobbly and off-balance, and the ground was way too close. His vision was messed up too - everything was in shades of gray. Sam opened his mouth to scream for the Trickster and demand that he put things right, but he didn't recognize the sound that came out. Not as anything human, at least. He'd heard it before, though, and his blood ran cold as he swiftly pieced the whole puzzle together.
The Trickster hadn't been satisfied with just knocking him out and dumping him in the bushes somewhere. No, he'd had to go and change him into a cat first. No clothes, no cell phone, no hands, and worst of all, no Dean to help him. What the hell was he supposed to do now?