Summary: Post Season 3. AU. Sam DOES find a way to snatch Dean from Hell. Now they just have to nurse him back to health and sanity. Hurt!Dean Caring!SamBobby plus a little bit of angst, philosophizing and scatological humour.
A/N: I've been having a tidy, and I found some story notes I made after the Season 3 finale. So I thought I'd write them up. Here goes...
Burnt Like Barbecue by frostygossamer
GONE
Sam's big brother Dean was dead.
Dean had been dragged down to Hell by a pack of slavering hellhounds, just as he and Sam had expected and feared for an entire year. Sam was inconsolable. His brother had died for him, to save his sorry-assed life, and now he was going to have to live with the guilt.
But he was damned if he was gonna leave it there. While he had breath in his body he would do what-the-hell-ever it took to get Dean back. Whatever it took.
One by one Sam tracked down each and every deal-authorized demon in the US. No one but no one was making deals that would get Dean free. Then he tried every goddamn way he could think of, every idea anyone could give him, to open any Hell's Gate, so he could march right in there himself and get him. No dice.
He was running out of ideas, and he was spending way too many nights staring at the bottom of an empty whiskey bottle.
Finally he tracked down a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, who it turned out had got shit, and he hit the low of all lows. Then, just as he was staring out his gun, and wondering if he should give the fast lane a try, Bobby rang and suggested one last name.
Sam didn't know it at the time, but the name good old Bobby had given him was just some old stoic guy, who Bobby thought would help him deal. It turned out way better than either would have expected. Eventually.
HOPE
Sam drove up north to see the guy, who went by the name of Guru Fenton. He was an impressively venerable-looking white-bearded old geezer. He talked a lot of eastern mystic-style new-agey stuff, deep with cod philosophy. Sam was a little dubious at first, but it turned out the guy had a sense of humour and a generous and understanding disposition that challenged his preconceptions a little.
Fenton listened to Sam's story. Sam wasn't hopeful, but after a lot of beard stroking and brow knitting, to Sam's surprise, the old Guru said there might just be a way. He gave Sam the names of two people that he thought could help. One was a shaman name of Ashman, and the other was an earth-walking imp who went by Bogart.
Sam was amazed that Fenton was advocating this one last attempt. He had actually expected the guy to try and talk him out of his hopeless quest. Fenton laughed and explained that, in his belief, life is a search for truth. Search until all possibilities are exhausted, all of them, then you can sit down and talk about what you have learned.
As he waved Sam goodbye, he told him he expected he would be seeing him again, when he was ready to sit down and talk.
PRICE
Sam first went to find Ashman. He found him in his little occult store in Montreal. Ashman's shingle claimed that he was a 'Professional Necromancer'.
"It's hereditary", he explained to Sam, over his desk in the back office. "And for me a calling. My papa, my granpapa, they were the same. I possess a great power over the dead. I can call them back to life, even from Hell, even against their will. Only thing is, I need someone to locate the soul of the loved one, down there in the pit. Then together we grab him up and, oop-la, pull him out. That is where my friend Bogart comes in. Bogart is a hell-spawn. He can sashay right on into Hell and find your brother for me, then voila!"
Sam wasn't entirely convinced but, at this stage, he was willing to try anything. Ashman wanted to be paid in dollars for his services, big bucks, but Bogart was an old style spirit and would, he said, have to be paid in hard gold. He had a few ideas where Sam could go look for Bogart. His usual hang-outs.
"The repossession of your brother's soul won't be easy", Ashman warned Sam. "It will be damn hard, and it will hurt everyone, not least the loved one. But it is possible. It has been done."
Sam tried hard to believe. Meantime he went and got the gold. It wasn't that hard to find, if you knew where to look. Suffice it to say that the drug lords of LA had kindova downturn that year. Then he picked up Ashman and they went to look for Bogart. They found him in Chicago running an illegal high-stakes poker game.
GAME
Turning up with a trolley case crammed with precious metal meant there was little objection to him joining Bogart's poker game. He proceeded to load the table with gold. Now if there's one thing no old-fashioned hobgoblin, leprechaun or imp can resist, it's bling. After loosing a few hands, Sam paid up and made to leave. Bogart felt deeply disappointed to see the back of such a juicy mark so soon.
"Why not stick around a while?", he suggested. "You could still win that back."
Sam shrugged. "Plenty more where that came from", he said, airily.
Bogart looked intrigued. "Maybe we could try another game? Baccarat? Snap?"
Sam sighed and sat back down at the table. "There is one little thing you could do for me", he said. "It would be worth tripling the pot."
Bogart grinned and leaned back in his chair. "So what do you want me to do for you?", he asked.
"Get a message to my brother."
"Your brother?"
Sam leaned closer. "Get a message to my brother, in Hell, on a certain date to be specified, and I mean your mouth to his ear, and I'll make it more than worth your time."
Bogart considered. "What kind of message?", he asked.
"Just this: 'Hang tight'", replied Sam.
The imp licked his lips. That gold was some temptation.
"My contacts are gonna need a little something to sweeten the pot", he said.
"Like what?", Sam asked.
"Something more in their line. A year or two off of your allotted lifespan, maybe?", Bogart suggested.
Sam hesitated briefly, very briefly. "Fine", he agreed. "What's a year or two of old age."
Bogart opened his mouth as if to contradict him, but changed his mind.
"Sure", he said. "Old age."
He spat on his palm and held his hand out to Sam, who grabbed it and gave it a very firm shake. When he let go, Sam felt the spittle on his palm sting like corrosive.
"Pleasure doing business with you", Bogart called to Sam's back as he walked out.
"Expect a call", Sam responded, closing the door behind him.
Next day Sam drove down to Bobby's and clued him in. The old hunter was only too ready to help, but he had his misgivings. It was great that Sam had his hopes back, but the chances of this working were slim to none. Bobby knew Sam couldn't rest until he'd done every damn thing in his power for his brother. This was the last resort, Bobby understood, and he would be there for Sam, when it failed.
DRAG
Sam had rented a cabin sequestered deep in the Wyoming woods, well away from human habitation. Bobby and he and the other two had furnished it, stocked it with provisions, and made sure there were no blades, no sharps, no weapons of any kind. They surrounded it with rings of spells, sigils, demon traps and alarms, both to keep Dean in, just in case he wasn't entirely Dean, and to keep the nasties out, in case they tried to grab him back.
Bobby, Sam and Ashman set things up for a seance. Bogart took leave of them outside. He couldn't go inside now, because he was an imp and the cabin was securely warded. He was off to Hell to locate Dean. He wished them luck.
At midnight Ashman began his ritual. He opened up a portal in the floor and called down to Bogart, who answered, and then Ashman reached down deep into the hole and grabbed something. He almost fell in. The cabin filled with sulphurous smoke, fire, steam and the harrowing sounds of horrendous screaming.
Sam and Bobby fought to hang onto Ashman, and Ashman fought to hang on to his catch. Then, with a pop, they dragged Ashman back into the room, and the portal snapped shut. The room was filled with fumes, and flames caught hold here and there.
Sam jumped up and stamped out the many small fires. Then, as the smoke cleared, he looked around the cabin. He helped Bobby onto his feet. Ashman was coughing violently and his arms were badly burnt. There were piles of ash and debris everywhere.
Sam yelled, "Ashman, we didn't get him. You couldn't pull him through", his voice almost breaking.
Ashman replied, wheezing, "I got him for sure. He's here", and he indicated a shapeless smoking pile that looked like something overdone on the barbecue.
"That's him", Ashman said, choking, "That's your brother. Or what's left of him."
TBC
A/N: Dean is back but in what state? Updating soon.
