Not sure where this came from, just a little idea. I hope you like it!

The brief conversation between Sam and the stranger was inspired by the real life event of Stan Laurel pretending to be Oliver Hardy shortly after he died when a shop keeper approached him recognizing him but not knowing from where.


The bar was heavily flooded with people -middle aged men mostly- but the air was not filled with the usual excited chatter and vibrant energy. The air smelt of smoke that wafted about the ceiling, and rock music crackled from the jukebox in the corner. The sound of snooker balls colliding softly rang besides the murmurs of conversation. The wooden walls were barely decorated but this bar did not exist for appearance, nor socialising, nor happiness.

By a bunch of tables scattered with mismatching chairs, Ellen, Bobby and Sam sat. Bobby and Sam leaned forward on the table, their heads close together as they spoke, but Ellen was leaning back on her chair listening and chipping into the discussion occasionally.

"I just can't believe it about Dean. It's so hard to believe," Ellen breathed with awe, "you're not joking."

Sam glared up at her. "You think I'd joke about something like this?"

"Sam..." Bobby warned.

Ellen said apologetically, "No it was the wrong to say. It's just...Dean. I never thought..." she trailed off.

Sam tried to understand her disbelief at the events, but it was pulling him back to the memories of Dean lying dead before him. He found himself reaching for his almost empty beer, and downed the rest of the contents. Bobby watched with concern but said nothing.

He slammed it back on the unsteady table and wiped his mouth. "We've got a long road ahead of us."

"Yeah. We have." Bobby said, clapping him on the shoulder affectionately.

They had been sitting near the bar top, the conversation died whenever someone would stroll up to the bartender and order another drink. At this point a man staggered forward, briefly turning his head to the three. He did a double take and leaned forward, narrowing his eyes to get a better look at the tall, seemingly uncomfortable one. Sam noticed the man staring his way, he held a rugged look but it did not stand out in a place like this, and appeared to be around his father's age. He felt a pang in his heart. He frowned as the stranger stepped forward, not even hiding his heavy observation.

"What?" He said irritably.

"I know you." The man exclaimed.

"What do you want?" Bobby asked.

"Everyone knows you! The hunts I've heard you tackle, is it true you took on thirty demons cornering you in a police station?" The man gabbled, moving over to where they sat.

Sam started to pat at his hair, hiding his face with his hands and looking down shyly. This wasn't the first time he had been recognized by other hunters, but it didn't get any easier. "Er..."

The man pointed at him. "You are one of them aren't you! One of the Winchester brothers, Dean, right?"

Sam froze.

"Yeah, you must be the older one you're huge!" He confirmed himself. Ellen's remained silent, her eyes flickering between the ignorant stranger and an unreadable Sam.

Bobby cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "Uh, look not meaning to be rude but we're kind of in the middle of something here."

The hunter nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I just, I heard you had been killed so I was surprised to see you here! Say, what ever happened to the other brother, Sam?"

Before Ellen or Bobby could speak up, Sam cut in.

"Him?" he replied solemnly, "He went completely crazy."

Sensing something was wrong, the hunter backed away. "Oh. Well... it's good to see we've still got some strong hunters out there."

Bobby nodded. "Good luck."

Sam stared at the ground, the man's echoing footsteps drilling into his mind along with what he had said. He leaned over and put his hands over his head.

Trying to swerve the mood, Ellen commented, "This place sure reminds me of the Roadhouse. You know I was thinking of finding another place when the time comes."

Sam groaned, dismissing the useless conversation. "Dean should be here."

Ellen sighed and scooted her chair over and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. "Sam it's going to be alright. You can explain everything to all the other hunters when you're ready." She said soothingly.

"I know." He muttered.

Bobby nudged him. "Come on. It's late you should get back to the motel."

Sam sat up and said slowly, "Yeah. I need to sort everything out."

Bobby nodded encouragingly. "Hey, this isn't easy but you still got him, you know that right?"

Sam stood up, blinking as if opening his eyes for the first time at his situation. He smiled, and this time it met his eyes. "Yeah... yeah I do!" He turned to face Ellen and Bobby. "Thanks, both of you..."

Bobby pushed him softly. "Go on, get out of here."


It was raining outside. It had been spitting when Sam had entered the room but driving back to the motel was tricky, water splattering the windows violently. Over the hum of the engine Sam could hear thunder in the distance.

It was the usual motel. Rundown, Shabby, quiet, but not so dangerous that Sam wouldn't be able to sleep in fear of drug dealers or addicts breaking into his room to rob him, or crazy psychopaths kickin down the door simply because they had issues. He had enough trouble sleeping as it was.

He still couldn't quite accept it.

Turning the key in the lock of the thin door, Sam stepped into the motel room, lit by the small lamp in the corner.

Green eyes looked up, opening and closing sleepily.

"Hey Sam."

"Dean..."

"Have fun with Bobby and Ellen?"

Sam stood there longer than he needed to, just taking in Dean's features. His tired face, his messy, sandy hair. The clothes too big for him that he had borrowed from Sam.

He shut the door hard. "You should have come. It took me over an hour to convince them that I wasn't crazy and you really were alive."

Dean laughed at his moody brother, but it didn't seemed forced and held no real humour as he flopped back down on the bed. "Well excuse me if I didn't feel like spending my first night back at some run down bar with no chicks and a bunch of questions thrown at me that I wouldn't be able to answer...I needed quiet, I needed peace!" He placed his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling, listening to his brothers movements.

Sam clumsily shifted about the bedroom, removing layers of clothing and changing for the night. "How come you stayed up this late?"

"Maybe 'cos I'm not eight." Dean scoffed. "...I couldn't sleep." He then admitted.

Sam sighed sympathetically. "I'm not surprised. I mean, after everything..."

Dean shook his head. "Don't."

Putting his hands on his hips Sam looked down at his brother.

Dean held his arms out questioningly. "You got something to say?"

A hesitant pause.

"No...it's okay, don't worry."

"Damn straight."

Sam sat on the bed opposite Dean, he clasped his hands together.

Another pause.

"What's going to happen?" He asked, sounding like a lost child.

Dean shifted his head to face Sam. He sighed. And then he shot up, throwing a pillow at Sam. "You're gonna go to sleep, that's what."

"But Dean..."

"How much have you slept while I've been in Hell?"

Sam found himself snorting at the question. "You're concerned over my sleep... while you've been in Hell!" He said the last word harshly and with volume.

Dean stared at him insistently.

Sam scratched the back of his head. "Er, two hours a night."

Inside Dean was etched with concern, but on the outside he simply raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. It shows."

Sam shook his head. He had come into this room fully prepared to finally talk with Dean, but not about himself! It was typical, even after all his suffering Dean was still managing to stir the conversation to Sam's troubles.

Sam tried again, "Look..."

Right on cue, Dean abruptly switched off the lamp, plunging the room in darkness.

"Dean!" Sam spluttered.

"Yeah?" Came the casual voice in the dark.

Sam wanted to persist with his questioning, he couldn't bear the thought of Dean keeping all those memories of Hell to himself. But he knew how determined his brother was to leave it for now and so Sam knew there would be no chick flick moments tonight.

He decided to make it easier for Dean.

"I-I'm not even ready for bed yet!" He argued like a child.

"Too late. I gave you lots of chances!" Dean replied amusingly. "Remember when you were afraid of the dark?"

"Shut up."

"You used to hide under the covers 'til you could barely breathe!"

"You're an arsehole."

"I'm only talking! Bitch."

"Well you're talking shit. Jerk."

Dean covered his face, overwhelmed with talking to his brother again. They hadn't talked in so long...

But for now it could wait.

"'Night."

"'Night Dean."


Was it a twist, that Dean turned out to be alive? I hope so 'cos it was meant to be that way!

Did you like it? If you did you could check out the sister oneshot First Night!

Thanks for reading x