Into Hell's Fires


Both brothers must face their ultimate nightmare - for where one is taken, the other will surely follow – into the very fires of hell if need be.


Those gorgeous men are not mine, if they were Sam would have been hospitalised, intubated and had CPR performed on him by now…and they most definitely would have hugged. Pimp the limp! You listening Kripke? We'll keep doing it till you do...actually we'll keep doing it anyway but have pity on us will ya?

Author's Notes

This is a birthday present for Catbeist – Happy Birthday my friend! Not to mention, her idea…but any flaws are my fault. Good idea, bad author lol! I apologise for anyone waiting for the next chapter of When Angels Fall – have been a bit stuck and had a confidence crisis, but hopefully should be updated soon. Oh and punctuation is my bad too…how the lowly comma trips me up every time…


Rated T for language - just can't really imagine 'darn' covering what I have planned for them in this fic…rubs hands evilly.



The graveyard was eerily silent. No breeze stirred the trees surrounding the cemetery, no sounds of life emanated from the sombre scene. The air was still, stagnant – a sour souvenir of a malevolent energy, now dispersed.

There was a taint in the rancid air, a remembrance of sorrow and memory, of something precious lost. No light existed in this moment. The pitch-dark night lacked moon and stars, ink-black clouds skittered rapidly across the sky, as if they too loathed remaining in this cursed place.

Evil had called here, called and stolen something cherished and beloved. A prize had been claimed, a cost exacted, and a light had been lost.

A figure lay at the base of a grave stone, crumpled and folded in on itself, like a marionette with its strings cut. Muscular shoulders, once proud and straight, now curved in on themselves, hiding from the weight of the world that seemed determined to reside there.

The man's handsome face was lifeless and still, his features lax and pale. The only colour, a trail of blood running down the left temple and pooling in his left eye, before continuing it's journey in an etching of crimson tears. One arm was stretched, reaching out towards the fresh grave, the fingers bloody and torn, but still outspread as if still desperately searching for something.

For one brief, precious moment, the moon found a break in the clouds and an all too cold and otherworldly light flickered across the man's face, bringing the shadows of pain and loss into sharp contrast. The indifferent light highlighting the man's shallow breathing, enabling a glimpse of a twitch of the fingers, an almost convulsive and instinctive flexing. As if the man once more was searching for that which was lost to him.

A dark form took flight across the otherwise deserted graveyard and came to rest on the smooth, granite surface of the gravestone against which the man now lay. A harsh rasping sound broke into the unnaturally calm air as the raven scraped its beak across the headstone, one, twice, three times…an unholy alarm call for the world-weary figure below.

Its caw echoed out and the man's brow creased in pain as he moved towards consciousness, the sound a distress signal that something was amiss. A memory crawled into the space between the then and now.

"Dammit Sam, can you for once in your life just do as you are told!"

"I'm supposed to be your partner, not some subordinate. I swear, Dean, you get more like Dad every day!"

"You could have got yourself killed, you stupid bastard. You left yourself wide open to attack. What the hell were you thinking, turning your back on the spirit like that?"

"Oh I'm sorry, here was me just planning on having you around for awhile. Probably because I'm a selfish bastard, right?"

"About time you admitted it." Dean gave his brother a hard smile.

"I'm not letting this one go. This is just one time too many." Sam spoke with earnest desperation.

"What are you talking about?" Dean's face was cold, rigid.

"The other spirit was standing behind you with a meat cleaver. Next time I'll let it chop your head off, shall I? I'm fairly sure you wouldn't care anyway."

"What the hell are you on about, Sam?"

"Ever since the Crossroads demon, hell ever since Dad died, you have been reckless, impulsive, and angry. Christ, Dean, it's almost as if you have a death-wish, and I will not stand idly by and watch you get yourself killed." Sam was terrified for his brother, he had kept quiet long enough.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Sam, apart from complete and utter bullshit!" Dean scoffed.

"Don't I? You knew there were two spirits - the EMF went off the scale, the temperature plummeted and I know you had to have seen that spirit coming - but you concentrated on firing at mine."

"I was protecting you, you ignorant ass!" Dean hissed in fury.

"I didn't need protection, I had it covered. You deliberately ignored danger, bro. And I could understand it if someone here was defenceless, but lately Dean, it's almost like you..." Sam hesitated.

"Like what, Sam?"

"Like you are deliberately putting yourself in harms way."

"Harm seems to know where we are just fine, Sam."

"Dean, you're going to get yourself killed – you're not focussed, you're rash, careless and out of control!"

"You are such a drama queen." Dean turned away from his brother, his temper rising at Sam's frighteningly accurate words.

But Sam was relentless, desperate. "Dean – please talk to me." His brother glared at him with badly concealed rage.

"Get out of my way, Sam. We still have work to do, bones to burn."

Sam fisted his hands in his brother jacket and dragged him back to face him. "Dean, please, we need to talk about this."

"No, we don't. You want to talk about this. And I am tired of what Sam wants, Sam gets. You're an adult, start acting like one."

"I am not letting this drop, Dean."

"If you don't, I'll drop you." His brother growled.

Shock and hurt passed across the younger brother's face, before determination hardened his features.

"Dean, do you want to die?" He held his breath. C'mon, Dean, deny it - tell me I am losing my mind, that I am being a melodramatic girl. I might even believe it.

"Go to hell, Sam!" Dean pushed his brother angrily away.

"I think I'm already there." Sam whispered at his brothers retreating back, blinking back at the moisture that burned his eyes.

A coarse and abrasive caw, made the elder hunter flinch as he stalked away, his hunters instincts causing his eyes to automatically seek out the source of the sound. He suppressed a shudder at the sight of the raven irreverently perched on a grave nearby. He waved his arms in a shooing motion, inexplicably relieved to see it fly away in the opposite direction of his brother. Like this family needs bad omens, or any more bad luck.


Dazed emerald eyes opened slowly, a vague ethereal light dancing across his vision before darkness called to him once more. He felt himself drift a moment, before something tugged at him.


His brother's voice, terrified and pained, sounding impossibly young in his need.

Dean, please, help me…

Green eyes blazed into consciousness…

"Sam" His voice was hoarse and cracked as an unnamed fear took hold.

An accusatory silence was his only reply.

"Sam!" The elder hunter struggled to rise, a cough working its way loose and wracking his aching frame.

The moon broke once more through the now scudding clouds; an invasively cold breeze seemed to spring up from no-where, causing the elder brother to tug his shirt around him, one hand patting the ground blindly while he frantically scoured the cemetery with his gaze.

His hand found the shot gun and his hand unconsciously curled around the stock in an almost comforting motion. He needed the familiar touch to keep him grounded, to prevent blind panic setting in.

It's almost like things are gathering here…Sam's words from earlier in the day, came back to him.

"SAM!" he called out again, no, no, no he had not lost his brother…againgoing to lojack the kid one of these days.

Another memory surfaced.

"This is the third time we have come back here, Dean. The first time werewolves, the second time a water demon, and now vengeful spirits.'

"Dude, maybe its convention season…"

"We must be popular then." Sam had grinned at him.

"Yeah, the insurance for their star guests must be going through the roof…"

"Sammy!" Dean had found his flash light and made a quick but thorough search of the graveyard. There was still no sign of his brother anywhere, though his words seemed determined to haunt him.

"I think there's more than just spirits here, dude."

"What have you found?"

"Obviously, we have the decapitated victims."

"Yeah, thought we had Gordy back for a while there."

"That had crossed my mind too…but no, he's still in jail." Thank god. "But there have been a few disappearances, no real pattern that I can see but they have vanished without a trace."

"SAMMY!" Don't you dare do this.

"Go to hell, Sam." His words now, mocking him, tormenting him. His pace unconsciously quickened.

"SAMMY!" Come on bro, I'll even apologise… His voice was becoming raspy from calling for his brother. He made his way back to where he had lain, a chill coiling around his spine as he saw the dark form on top of the grave stone. Unthinking, he raised his gun towards it. With a disdainful cry the bird took flight directly at him, causing him to duck in surprise and drop the flashlight, plunging him once more into the pitch-dark night. The moon once again hidden behind the protection of the worsening storm clouds.

Large drops of icy cold rain began to pelt at the older hunter as he crouched against the headstone, fingers fumbling in the ever increasing mud of the freshly dug ground.

"Shit..." His fingers grazed against the torch, causing it to bounce away from him, the beam lighting the engraved words.

Eyes widening in shock, Dean held out trembling fingers. Hands normally strong and steady, hands that had held his brother safe for 24 years, now shook uncontrollably…


His fingers traced the words that had stolen his breath from his body, lines that caused his heart to stutter and slam into his chest in terror. Words that in their reading destroyed his very world.


Here Forever Lies

Samuel Winchester,

1983 - 2007,

Beloved Son and Brother,

Taken too soon,

Lost but not forgotten.




A/N. – So…do you hate me?… lol….can't resist a cliffie….points at Beist – she made me do it…ha-ha!

Anyhoo…please read and review, let me know what you think…and no, I just don't do death fics…that would be too easy - mwa ha haaaa…ahem… beginning to think I just like to make things difficult for the boys, not to mention me who has to get them out of the pickles I get them into….


And for Catbeist...(and for anyone who told me that they like the Batman and Robin bits...)

"Holy Evil Cliffie, Batman."

"Yes Robin, it looks like Evil Fan Girl has returned."

"But Holy Granite Gravestone, Batman"

"You have to admit she has taste, Robin."

"She's killed one of the intrepid duo, Batman. We can't let her get away with this!"

"I don't think she has Robin – we know she has plans for Sam too."

"Who hasn't Batman?"

"One of these days Robin, we really have to talk."

"I'm talking about the YED."


"Yellow Eyed Demon- keep up old man."

"Phew for a minute there, thought that the Yodelling Evil Dog had returned…did you just call me old man?"

"No, Batman."

"Remember tight privileges can be revoked."

"Because we look so manly in them…"

"A damn sight better then your pasty white legs in y-fronts, Robin."

"Point taken"

"So, call Alfred and get the word out. We are on the trail of Evil Fan Girl once again…"