![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Started in My Fic407 class. Discarded for something better.
(crossroads demon picture/sandy mccoy with sam pointing the gun at her)
The gun he pulls on me comes as no surprise. The anger rolled off of him the moment he stepped out of that shiny black Impala. He came to MY crossroads expecting me to just fall at his feet when he points a gun at my head? I don’t think so.
“Give me back my brother’s soul,” He says, the gun steadily aimed.
I was here before with his brother, not three months ago, and he wasn’t so lucky. I don’t fear a gun pointed at me, ever, even if the person holding it has nothing but contempt and a steel gaze behind the barrel of a Colt revolver.
“Your brother came and gave freely, Sam. You can’t take that from him even if I could give to you.” The hammer of the gun cocks, but his hand waivers in the slightest. “He gave his soul to me so that you could live, Sam. Do you really want him to know that you’re forfeiting his sacrifice?”
“Shut up!”
Seventy years I’ve been doing this job. People come, they bury their most treasured personal effect, a necklace, a piece of bone, and I appear to give them the deal of their life. Ten years for whatever they wish, and then I collect. Sam knows this, his brother knew this. Why both of them come to me asking for things I can’t easily give, I’ll never know.
(crossroads demon picture/sandy mccoy with sam pointing the gun at her)
The gun he pulls on me comes as no surprise. The anger rolled off of him the moment he stepped out of that shiny black Impala. He came to MY crossroads expecting me to just fall at his feet when he points a gun at my head? I don’t think so.
“Give me back my brother’s soul,” He says, the gun steadily aimed.
I was here before with his brother, not three months ago, and he wasn’t so lucky. I don’t fear a gun pointed at me, ever, even if the person holding it has nothing but contempt and a steel gaze behind the barrel of a Colt revolver.
“Your brother came and gave freely, Sam. You can’t take that from him even if I could give to you.” The hammer of the gun cocks, but his hand waivers in the slightest. “He gave his soul to me so that you could live, Sam. Do you really want him to know that you’re forfeiting his sacrifice?”
“Shut up!”
Seventy years I’ve been doing this job. People come, they bury their most treasured personal effect, a necklace, a piece of bone, and I appear to give them the deal of their life. Ten years for whatever they wish, and then I collect. Sam knows this, his brother knew this. Why both of them come to me asking for things I can’t easily give, I’ll never know.
