Buried

Disclaimer: I do not own Grey's Anatomy or Supernatural.

Summary: Denny Duquette's other life just rolled into Seattle Grace in the form of two bloody, nearly dead brothers named Winchester. [Supernatural Crossover]

Notes: Re-writing. Because it sucks. Love me, plot is updating. Expect bi-monthly updates. Yell at me if not.

Timeline: Grey's Anatomy: Takes place after Damage Case and BEFORE 17 Seconds. Denny is 45 years old, and Izzie is 30 (she took a few years off to model).

Supernatural: AU more or less. The guys never found their Dad. So, place Caleb everywhere John has been in the series. Post: AU Devil's Trap. John is 45 years old. Dean is 27

and Sam is 23.


"Where were you when everything was falling apart?

All my days were spent by a telephone

Never rang and all I needed was a phone call"

Fray, You Found Me


Rolled In

Gazing out at the nurses chattering at the front desk, Denny smiled to himself. He had the perfect view of the entire hospital, watching the central entrance with a fire escape nearby, and even a good view. He had asked for it the first time he had come into the hospital, a condition of a multi-million dollar donation he made before being admitted for the first time, and he had kept the room.

It was a room for a hunter...

He shook the thought away, reminding himself that he was Denny, not the hunter. Not the man abandoned by his family for his choice of family, for marrying a woman of "poor breeding" as his stuck-up father had put it. No, he had been too fascinated with her long blond locks and bright blue eyes to care what his father said. Even if it meant losing his family, trust fund, and his name.

Mary was worth it – she had been worth it all. Until she died, burning so brightly even though her horrified face was engraved in his mind, telling him to run, get the boys out, save himself.

No cards had been exchanged, no phone calls – until over two years ago, when a stuffy lawyer left him a voicemail, telling him that the entire family fortune was left to him – the only surviving son of the Duquette family, along with his father's apologies. Too late to mean much more than a few words on a sheet of paper by a dying, lonely man.

He put the money in an account, waiting for a better time to use it. To explain it away to everyone.

Two weeks later, his chest began to hurt, and he passed out on a routine salt and burn, scaring ten years off this partner's life. He assured the boy that it was nothing, just a dizzy spell. When his chest began to hurt him a month later, he wasn't so sure.

Checking in under his original name (his real name!), he learned that he had a heart condition – that it was more or less failing.

He never got around to telling his family about the money.

Shaking his head from his thoughts, the heart-wrenching, gut-kicking thoughts, about his family, Denny picked up a magazine hidden beneath a newspaper and gazed at the stones that lay printed on the sheet of paper. His dark hazel eyes tried to find the one that he was searching for. A ring that would be perfect for her. One that he would forever search for until he found the perfect one, not matter the price or time. He had to find the right one.

Just like before...

He shook his head to dispel those thoughts almost immediately. This was a new beginning that he had been give almost two years ago. This was a beginning he had to embrace, no matter what lay behind him in the past. Or those he left behind.

Two boys, old enough to be called men, but never old enough in his eyes

...the youngest all arms and legs and the widest grins who argued with every decision he made, worried for his family, to loose what little he had to hold onto in this world…

..the eldest who worshiped the ground he walked upon and never questioned him, but stared at him silently, with accusing eyes asking why he had been the one to send the youngest away, to break the family apart....

"Damnit," he murmured , rubbing his chest in the manner he did nowadays. It wasn't that it hurt, physically at least. The wave of longing agony to see his boys again crashed over him, breaking his already broken heart into pieces. He had done too much, hurt them too much to take it back. It would save them. It had to.

"Denny? Oh God, is your heart hurting again? Nurse-!"

He glanced up, catching her frantic face that nearly bled worry. He tried to wordlessly reassure her, but she wouldn't have it, checking his vitals and charts before bring out her stethoscope to listen to the thump-skip-thump of his heart.

"Izzie," he stated, tugging in her stethoscope, making her look, really look, at him. "I'm fine."

Her face smoothed into quiet happiness. Her blonde hair bouncing as she placed away her stethoscope, and doe-eyes wide with relief and giggling before tugging on his arm.

"Don't you worry me like that Johnny. I swear, I almost had a heart attack." Her blue-grey eyes shining in relief.

He blinked away the memories (and the ghosts), and it was brown eyes, and not blue he was looking at.

Did you know, dear ghost, that it would be me with the heart trouble? Were you trying to warn me?

"Denny?" Izzie questioned, squeezing his hand and bringing him back to the world of the living.

"I'm fine," Denny assured her, acting as though he wasn't remembering Mary. It would do no good to bring up what was dead and buried.

Literally.

The doors leading out from the ER and to surgery swung open. Two bloody boys on stretchers rolled past the couple, a sight that Denny had, sadly, gotten far too comfortable with seeing. What made him pause was not the large amounts of blood gushing from the duo. Both looked like they had both been strangled, cut open and then gone through a car wreck. Nor was it Meredith Grey yelling for people to move out of the way as she wielded the first stretcher.

It was the stock of blonde-brown hair and glazed hazel-green eyes staring at him, unseeing and uncomprehending.

It was the gangly brown headed boy, who looked too peaceful to be alive.

His boys looked up at him, both exchanging looks but unwilling to ask the question he had to know was clawing at their lips, desperate to get out. His eldest finally screwed up his courage and said, "Dad?"

It was silent in the room. The boys voice cracking on the name, not from puberty but emotion.

"Hmm?" he glanced up from the papers before him, maps scattered haphazardly around, and books littering the floor.

"You'll never leave me and Sammy like Mom has, right Dad?"

He looked down and took in the frightened hazel eyes of his two boys, remembering the fire that consumed their house and lives. Watching as the firefighters tried to contain it, and knowing that his wife was burning so brightly that no one could stop her, as she turned to ash and dust and returned to Mother Earth.

"Never son. You and your brother will always have me. I'll always be there to make sure you won't be hurt."

Denny Duquette stared open mouthed at the two figures who rolled past him, ignorant to Izzie Stevens, the thump-skip-thump of his heart, and the beeping of his machines. His world stopped – pausing in his life.

And John Winchester roared back to life.

"Izzie, I need you to go and watch those boys for me," he asked – no, ordered. His tone was darker than usual, rough with inhidden emotions, the hunter side.

Izzie stared at Denny in shock, nodding before she even knew it. There was something in that tone that she knew she couldn't disobey; it was to commanding, like from a general to his subordinate. It would be detrimental to her health to not.

"Sure Denny. Do you know them?" She asked, curious of his abrupt change in manner.

Denny stared at the two stretcher wheeling into the elevator, on to surgery. Two boys balancing in between life and death – his boys..

"Not any more."