WinchesterHaunt: I blame this one shot on the plot bunnies. I swear! You throw carrots outside to keep 'em away, but what happens? They still try to get inside, because they'd rather have the carrot cake sitting on your corner… okay, I'm sorry, I'm getting weird on you guys. Umm, hope you like.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own our poor beaten, blooded up brothers or their father, or anything you could label Supernatural.

Summery: Devil's Trap Tag—This takes place right after the car wreck. Such a dramatic and dangerous event is bound to cause change. But can the gift of Intermundia bring a little closure to the Winchester family?

Intermundia

One Shot Tag

Remarkably, there was no pain, and it confused him. Even as Dean's head leaned against the backseat window, he wondered why there was no pain How could there be some much blood—itchy, dry blood—and not be any pain to accompany it?

An eerie silence filled the crumpled cavity of his now totaled Impala. Dean kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the horrors that he knew awaited him. He didn't want to see the bashed in side of his baby. But mostly, he didn't want to see his bashed in family.

A sorrow laced hiccup left Dean's throat. His body may not be in pain, but his mind was far from ease.

They were battered, beaten, and broken, but at least they were all here together. They had escaped with their lives from the Demon that had put their family through Hell for so long. They hadn't killed it, but they were alive. There was at least some solace in that. But whatever hope Dean had for keeping his beat to hell family back together had just been literally smashed in by a reckless trucker.

Dean didn't cry too often. He teared up every now and again, but brushed it off as being something in his eyes, just like any self respecting man would do. But as the eldest Winchester son sat helpless in the back of his car—his wounded head dripping constant from new blood—he gave into the silent tears. They mixed perfectly with the blood stained across his face.

"Dean?"

A breath hitched in Dean's throat as he heard a scratchy voice call out to him. It was enough to convince him to open his eyes, but when he did, he hadn't expected the sight that met him.

"Dad?"

Dean blinked his eyes to try and adjust to the endless shining white space that surrounded his car. It was almost like nothing else in the world existed; just his crumpled black car and the three men inside it.

"Dad," Dean croaked out again, "What's going on?"

There was a pause before a heavy sigh came from the back of his father's bloody head.

"You okay son? Anything hurt?"

Dean looked up toward the rear-view mirror. His father's head was turned toward the passenger window, but Dean could see the left side of the man's face. It was obviously the side that had taken the most damage. He could see a nasty gash on the older man's forehead and the blood that trickled out of it and covered his cheek in little red rivers.

"No," Dean's voice was gruff with pain he couldn't feel, "You?"

"No," John was quick to answer.

A struggled shifting noise came from his father's side of the car and Dean tried to shift from his own position to see what his father was doing.

"Dad—?"

"Can you see your brother?" John grunted before further elaborating, "Damn it. I can't move."

At his father's declaration, Dean realized that besides his eyes and mouth, he couldn't move either. Every muscle in his body was frozen. They were stiff and unresponsive. The only reaction Dean received for his effort was an irritated grunt.

"Dean."

John's voice was a reminder to the eldest son that the man was waiting for an answer. Dean ceased his attempts to move and averted his eyes to the seat directly in front of him. It was a good thing none of Dean's muscles were responsive, because the sight before him surely would've made his stomach muscles contract and lose his lunch.

The blinding white nothingness all around the outside of the car caused what parts of his little brother he could see to be surrounded by an eerie glow. It was odd. When he looked over at his father's body, he was not giving off the same shine. Dean chalked it up to having something to do with the different angles he was seeing them at.

Sam's neck was leaned back dangerously on the headrest. There was no way that any conscious individual would find that angle comfortable. Dean couldn't make out any major wounds on the younger boy's face, but he knew there had to be one. No way there was that much blood from any minor abrasion. The already damaged eye Sam had received earlier that day was no longer visible beneath the layer of thick blood.

"Sammy?"

"Dean."

John's voice was still scratchy but much firmer than the first time he had called for his son's attention.

"Yeah," Dean swallowed and glanced in the direction of his father, "I can see him."

"How—" John cut in immediately after Dean had answered, but paused for a second to clear his throat of its' rough grind, "How's he look?"

Dean looked back over to Sam and was glad his father couldn't see. Part of him wished he couldn't see, but he knew if he couldn't he being going crazy as he was sure his father was right now. Sudden Dean was thankfully he had been forced—with not much fuss—into the backseat. This way he had a bird's eye view of his two family members.

"He'll be okay," Dean croaked out and prayed it was true. He didn't like lying to his father, but if John couldn't see the two of them there was no needed to worry the older man.

His father didn't make any indication that he heard his oldest son, but Dean knew he had. The silence in the car was almost unbearable. With his father's sudden unresponsiveness, his brother's complete unconsciousness, and the radio's unwillingness to play, Dean felt as if he was losing the already weak grip he had on the small fractured family. He couldn't take the silence anymore but felt that starting up a conversation with his dad wouldn't be what he needed.

"Sammy?" Dean called out to the blood coated shaggy hair in front of him. He needed to talk to Sam; he needed to know that everything was going to be okay, and he knew that his little brother was the only one that could offer him that assurance.

John couldn't move, but Dean didn't need to see a movement from the older male to know that his undivided attention had shifted to his two sons.

"Come on sunshine," the eldest brother tried his best to put on his usual mask of good humor, but found it was harder now that there situation was so bleak, "no sleepin' at the wheel—" and Dean barely caught his joke before it ran away with him. 'You'll get us all killed' wouldn't have been the most appropriate thing to finish with. However, Dean's good humor did award him with something.

"I'm awake, Dean."

Had Dean not already cried away his tear reserve for the next five years, he probably would have started again. Those were the three sweetest words he had heard in a long time. Whoever said 'I love you' were the best three words in the world clearly hadn't heard his brother just then.

"Are you okay?"

Sam didn't bother to try and turn his head, and for that Dean couldn't tell if he was glad or not. He hoped that Sam was just having the same moving problem that he and his father were experiencing. The thought of his kid brother not being able to move because of an injury made him sick all over again.

"I'm fine," Sam's voice was as hoarse as Dean and John's, "there's no pain."

"Alright, then that makes all three of us feeling nothing after being bitch slapped by a semi," the fear for his family and the relief of them all being some-what okay had now passed and Dean was starting to give in to his confusion and frustration, "What the hell is going on here? And why does it look like someone just tossed us in a toilet. What the hell is all this white stuff?"

"I don't know, Dean—" John had started with a sigh but was cut off.

"We're in Intermundia."

There was a pause where Dean knew if he could move he and his father would probably be sporting the same raised brow expression.

"Intermundia?" Dean shifted his eyes to his father when he spoke and then adding his own comment.

"That's a new one on me. Mind filling us in here, Sammy?"

Dean watched as Sam finally opened his good eye and stared up at the concaved roof. The younger son swallowed thickly before rolling his eye to the side in an attempt to see Dean, but the action was in vain.

"Intermundia; it's a place between here and there. Where nothing exists. Not time, not space, nothing."

"So you're tellin' me we're stuck in some pot hole on the road Limbo?" Dean would've banged his head against the window in frustration when Sam answered with 'pretty much,' but figured his head had been banged around enough tonight to last him a life time, "Great. Why do I sudden feel like Kirstie Alley in Toothless?"

A snort came from the driver's seat, "You want me to find you a pink dress?"

"What?" Dean mocked an incredulous tone, "No wand?"

"That would explain why we can't move."

The good natural humor that Dean had unintentionally sparked was lost as John successfully veered them back to the situation at hand.

"If there's no time or space, then there's no us," John sighed as he frustratingly continued to speak to the side window, "We're not supposed to be here."

"Then why the hell are we here?" Dean growled and tried to move again, but his invisible binds held him fast.

"It's a gift," Sam paused in expectance of Dean and his father's disbelieving interjections, but was surprised when he was only met with continuing silence. He took it as a sign to continue, "Once we get out of this—this place, things are never going to be the same. This is our chance to—" the younger hunter paused again, but this time he was trying to find the right words to say, "—talk about stuff."

They weren't the most beautiful and moving set of words he had ever strung together, but what could he say? He was a guy who just got his intelligent brain shifted to the other side of his head; they couldn't expect more from him. But moving words or not, they still invoked a rise out of the backseat passenger.

"Intermundia, huh?" Dean frowned, "sure it's not the Hell for Chick Flick moments?"

Neither Sam nor John acknowledged Dean's very serious sarcasm. All three Winchester men welcomed the silence again as they each retreated into their own minds to think about what the youngest had said. Talking about anything besides the supernatural was a hard thing for their family, and it wasn't because they had nothing to talk about. On the contrary, they had enough things to discuss to keep the Jerry Springer show fueled for the next two years alone. It was just talking period that was the hard part.

"Dean?"

But not for Sammy. That big mouth of his always had something to say. It was like a cannon aiming for its' next target, and Dean was put out that he had been selected as the next victim of the deadly weapon.

"Oh God," Dean groaned, "I guess I'm first," the older hunter waited for another second, but Sam didn't say anything, "Well? If we've gotta do this then let's get it over with."

"Dean," Sam's eyes traced the dented lines of the roof before plunging forward, "about what the Demon said, you know, about us not needing you—"

"Awe come on, Sam"

"No, Dean. Just hear me okay? You don't have to say anything, just listen."

Silence seemed to being the growing form of confirmation between the three men, but there it was again. Sam didn't mind though. At least he would get to continue. He licked his dry lips before restarting.

"Dean, you once told me that demons messed with a person's head. That they read your thoughts and knew exactly how to use it against you," a soft smile twitched at the corner of Sam's mouth. He knew that his brother hated having his own words used against him. But the smile was gone before he could continue, "Me and dad. We couldn't do this without you. I—I wouldn't do this without you."

"Sam…"

"Do I need to tell you again that I'd die for you," the smile that accompanied his last statement was quickly replaced with a shaking exhale of air, "God, Dean. I'm so sorry. I wanted to move that gun, I really did. I just couldn't."

"Sam," and this time Dean was able to halt his young brother's steadily growing guilt trip. Dean let out his own shaky breath and closed his eyes, "I know, Sam. And no, don't tell me you'd die for me again… I know that."

"I just wanted you to hear it from me," Sam whispered and shut his eye.

Dean also shut his eyes, but his reason for closing them was to reinforce the flood gates that had already been damaged tonight. God! He hated chick flick moments, and this last one had been especially girly. But even so, Dean was glad that Sam had forced it on him. In a sense, he did need to hear it, but the words alone weren't enough to heal the hunter's wounded heart. But it was a start. The emotional bandage Sam offered him would hold him together for now.

"Dean."

"Oh God, Dad." Dean pulled a horrified face, "Not you too. What is this? Turn Dean into a woman Day?"

Another snort came from the head of shaggy hair in front of him and Dean glared at it.

"What, you think this is funny, geek boy?" Dean challenged, "Well laugh it up Sammy, 'cause you're next. I've got one for you."

"Dean."

The addressed boy grimaced and begrudgingly shifted his eyes to the rear view mirror, "Sir?"

The older male cleared his throat and briefly thought about backing out. A simple never mind would be all he needed to say for Dean to let him out of it. But he held his tongue and went for it anyway.

"I, uh. I should have told you this before; both of you. On more than one occasion," John suddenly stopped his choppy ramble and sighed in irritation. The older man cursed, but it was almost in a good natured tone; if cursing could even be described that way, "You know I hate these moments worse than you do, Dean. But if Sam's right, and this is our last chance to have this type of discussion, then I don't want you to think that I was never proud of you, Dean; proud of the both of you.

I know that I'm not the father I should've been. And I might not be proud of you boys for the same reasons that most parents are proud of their children, but it doesn't mean I'm not proud."

John paused to release a breath and to give them all a quick reprieve from the emotional onslaught.

"You boys have really put up with a lot of crap in your lives. Stuck by your old man," Sam knew that last part had been directed at Dean, but it didn't bother him. Dean deserved all the praise. It was probably even safe to say that he deserved more then he and his father could give him, "Any father would be proud to have either of you. 'You understand that?"

"Yes sir," was their unison—and somewhat sniffled—reply.

Dean sniffed and hoped it hadn't been too loud. He playfully glared at the back of his brother's head. His domineer had somewhat brightened, and it was all his little geek brother's fault.

"This is your fault, Sammy," Dean smirked but was quick to finish his sentence on the count that Sam might take him serious since he couldn't see the older boy's face, "next time you wanna talk about your feelings through a slumber party with all you girlfriends and leave me and dad's invites at home."

"Amen," the two sons heard their father mumble from the other side of the car.

A short bout of laughter came from Sam, "Alright, I get it. So I guess our bonding time is over?"

"Ah, no no," Dean tsked at the dark blood clotted hair in front of him, "You're not getting off that easy, Francis. It's your turn."

Sam grinned, "Fine, Dean. Let's hear—"

And suddenly there was silence.

Dean blinked his eyes as his brother's shaggy brown hair disappeared from his limited range of vision. A shocked puff of air exited his lungs as his eyes darted around the area of the driver's seat.

"Sam?" Dean tried but wasn't surprised when he received no answer from the empty air, "Sam!"

"Dean."

"Sam's gone, dad," the older son didn't waste anytime asking the eldest hunter what he wanted; he already knew.

"What?" John's harsh, but taken back voice was back in place now, "What do you mean he's gone.

"I mean he's not here. He disappeared," Dean snapped back. What else could he possibly mean by 'gone'?

"Don't give me your attitude right now, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to fire back, but the only thing that happened was a sharp intake of air.

"Dean?"

The eldest wanted to answer back, but the pain blossoming inside his head was unbearable. From the corners of his eyes he could see the white light of the void begin to come in on him as if it meant to consume him. He couldn't move away from the rapidly approaching wisps of white smoke and soon he felt himself fall back into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard was his father calling out to him.

He had heard enough to know that the ambulance and the police were here, and that the semi driver was no where to be found. Good thing for him, because if he were, Dean might've mustered up the last bit of his energy and kicked the guy's ass. And the sad part was the older boy wouldn't be able to kick anybody's butt for a long time.

He continued to fade in and out only being able to feel the hurried and jerky stretcher underneath him and the bits and pieces of conversation going on above him. By the time they had gotten him to the ambulance he had been able to piece together enough of their sentences to know that Sam had been taken out first and was already on the way to the hospital in the first ambulance. He had been taken out second while the other rescue team worked to free his father from the bashed in side of the Impala.

Sam was right. Things were about to change. And suddenly Dean realized that their short time in limbo land—as emotionally beneficially as it had been—wasn't a good thing like Sam had originally thought. True; it had brought a sense of closure for the three of them, expect maybe for Sam. But who needed closure from the living? The implications made Dean's stomach churn.

Oh yes. Change was about to happen, and Dean feared that it was only for the worst.

End

Sequel?