Title: And Then He Woke Up
Rated: K+ ?
Disclaimer: I don't own Sam, Dean or Bobby...sadly.
Speaking of sad, that's what this is gonna be... ONE SHOT...unless I decide I can't possibly leave it this way... Also: I'm not gonna proofread this. Sorry if there's typos and whatnot ;)
Dean woke up. It wasn't an altogether unfamiliar sensation, waking up knowing he was on the ground. But as for where he was, that took a bit longer to figure out.
He pushed himself up, with a grunt, taking in his surroundings. It was night. The air was musky and a bit dry. Once he was standing, it only took a moment to know where he was. A crossroad. Not just any, either. It was one he stood in on a few occasions. But one, in particular, stuck out pretty well in his mind.
"What the hell?" he said to himself. The Impala was parked off in the distance; headlights still on. He looked every which way for signs of anyone else; anything else. But saw nothing. "What the hell am I doing here?" He tried to wrack his mind for the answer to why he'd come here. But the more he thought about it, he wasn't quite sure what had happened in the last couple of days.
Running out of ideas, he thought to drop to his knees in the center of the road, and began digging. Surprisingly enough, there it was; his box. It was the one he'd buried years ago to make the deal to save Sam. But that box shouldn't have been there now. Had he come here to make another deal?
Dean pulled the box from the hole and opened it. All the contents were pretty identical to those he used back then, but that wasn't very surprising. He reached into his pocket, briefly confused at the model cell phone he found there. He hadn't had one like it in a while. But he didn't have time to even think about that. He quickly scrolled down his contact list and dialed Sam's number.
Dean stood, taking the box with him as he put the phone to his ear. The phone rang as he walked toward the car. "C'mon, Sam. Pick up," he murmured as he opened the trunk and put the box into it.
"You've reached Sam...I can't pick up the ph-"
"Damnit," he hit the end button and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Then he slammed the trunk closed and made his way to the driver seat. But right as he was about to open the door, he noticed two large dents on it. "Damnit, now I'm really pissed," he knelt down to survey the damage. "Who hurt you, baby, huh?" he ran his fingers over the crevices. Then he stopped, mid-stroke, as a memory flashed in front of him...
After Sam had been stabbed in the back...once Bobby had made his way back to them and helped Dean get him to the car, and they'd laid Sam in the back seat and closed the door... Dean stood there for a few long moments, looking into the window at his lifeless little brother. He'd been angry...frustrated that Jake had gotten away. But killing that bastard wouldn't bring Sam back; wouldn't make anything okay...ever again.
The anger had boiled out of him and he'd screamed out at the sky, then heaved his boot into the door of his driver's side, twice. He couldn't give a damn less about the damage...
But Dean had fixed those dents...after he'd gotten Sam back. A sickening realization came over him. Was he somehow...back there? "No..." he said under his breath. He quickly stood, swinging open the door and getting in behind the wheel. The engine was started before the sound of the door slamming closed could be heard. He sped off, toward the house...
This was supposed to be the part where he burst into the house to find Sam standing in front of the mirror, trying to see the wound on his back. This was when he was supposed to hug him, happier than anything in the world to have him alive again...
But Sam wasn't in front of the mirror. He wasn't up. He was how he'd left him, before going to the crossroads. He was dead; lying still and stiff on the bed, just as he'd left him...
"This isn't real..." Dean shook his head. "Can't be..." he turned and walked out of the room, glancing at the table piled with untouched take-out food that Bobby had brought... Bobby...
Dean pulled out his phone again and dialed the older hunter.
After a few rings, the other line picked up, "Dean, you okay?"
"Bobby, what's goin' on? Why am I back here?" Dean gruffed.
"Back where? Where did you go?"
"I have no freaking clue, Bobby! But suddenly I'm back at that house...back before I made the deal to bring back Sam."
"Bring back... Dean, what in the hell are you talkin' about? What did you do?" there was panic in his voice.
"The crossroads deal, Bobby, c'mon. Keep up!"
"Boy, I don't know if you've gone and snapped, or what. But I'm comin' back to get you."
"I haven't snapped! Damnit, Bobby, you know about the damn crossroads demon!"
"I'll be there soon as I can. You stay put, ya hear? Don't be an idjit!"
The line went dead and Dean yelled out in frustration, before throwing the phone across the room. He turned back toward the room, hoping that maybe...maybe he'd just gotten back too soon. Wishful thinking...
The sight of Sam so pale and lifeless was just too damned real for his nerves. This was like...someone's sick idea of a cruel joke. Had to be.
Dean went over to the bed, carefully lowering himself to sit on its edge. The feelings of loss came flooding back to him like it'd felt that day... Complete and utter helplessness. A sadness he couldn't possibly put into words. Hopelessness. Desperation.
But that desperation had led him to get rid of the rest of those feelings, then. He'd gone and done something to bring his brother back. What did he have now, though?
Bobby came rushing into the house at the sound of Dean's yelling. The younger hunter was pacing the floor, face pointed up at the ceiling as he called out, "C'mon, man! We need you down here!"
"Dean!" Bobby's shout stopped Dean in his tracks, and he met his eyes.
"What the hell are you up to?" he was afraid to walk any further into the room.
"Tryin' to get Cas to get the hell down here," he told him, then looked back up, "Cas, c'mon! I've been prayin' for hours! I know you're there! Even if we are actually in the past."
"I think we should go, Dean."
"I'm not givin' up!" Dean shouted.
"Callin' out to imaginary friends ain't gonna fix a damn thing..."
"Castiel is an angel, Bobby. You may not get it right now, 'cause you're obviously from an earlier time..."
"Boy...I think you really have lost it..." Bobby was wide-eyed as he took a few steps toward the younger man.
"You don't understand," Dean shook his head. "He can save Sam. Maybe that's why they sent me back. Maybe it was to avoid the crossroads deal; get Cas to help instead. Maybe this changes everything..."
"You're in shock," Bobby concluded. "Damndest kinda shock I ever saw, but that's what this's gotta be. Dean, there's no such thing as any of this stuff you've been talkin' about."
"I don't care what time we're in right now, but you should damn well remember the crossroads demon!" Dean stepped up to him. "The hellhounds...you don't remember any of that?"
"No. I don't. Because there's no such damn thing, boy." Dean shook his head, but didn't look away from the older man. "And if there's such a thing as angels, I sure as hell doubt they make many visits to bring people back from the dead. This...Cas fellow hasn't come. I think you need to sit down and think this through."
"I don't need to think anything through," he gruffed out, with a bit less bite than he'd been targeting for.
"You need to sit down. Ya need to eat something...it's been days. You're in shock, and you're undernourished, and you're startin' to shut down. Can't you see that?"
Dean's brows were so pinched, they'd begun to ache. Everything ached, come to think of it. Nothing was clear. Maybe Bobby was right; maybe he was losing it. Could he have simply imagined that this had worked? Had the last few years of his life really not have happened at all? Was it just a product of his mental breakdown?
His face took on a more incredulous look, and he turned away from Bobby. His gaze fell back to the bedroom; back to Sam. And suddenly, he was walking there to him. That's when everything hit him...like some phantom train that had been holding onto everything he'd been holding back with that sliver of hope that he could make anything different.
"Sammy..." his voice cracked as tears fell shamelessly down his cheeks. Dean lowered himself into the bed, lying beside his brother, facing him. He rested his chin on the top of Sam's head, putting his arm under the cool skin of his neck and wrapped it around, settling his hand in Sam's hair. His other arm draped over Sam's chest and hugged him.
There was no warmth in Sam's body, but Dean didn't notice, because there really wasn't any in his either. Tears flowed freely to the flattened pillow beneath their heads, as he subconsciously rocked back and forth. "I dunno what to do, Sam..." he whispered; his eyes closing tightly. "I dunno what to do..."
A/N: Told you it was depressing.
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