The people of Pontiac, Illinois wondered about him. They weren't nosy, so they didn't ask. Pontiac was a small place, mostly rural, and didn't get a whole lot of visitors. So everyone noticed when, a few weeks back, a young stranger in a flashy black car pulled into town. And stayed. He stayed in a cheap motel and ate at the local diners. He was a nice guy, always tipped the waitresses and didn't make a total wreck of his motel room. But he was somber, never making light conversation or really any conversation at all. He almost always had a pile of books or his laptop. Was he a student? He was a little over the average college age, but it was certainly possible. He didn't seem to have a job or family here, and no one knew where he came from.

He had peculiar habits, too. Everyday he drove out of town, but he never went far; his menace of a vehicle could be seen parked along the stretch of road leading out of town. This was strange in itself, because there was nothing there but small woods and empty old fields. Yet the car would sit there for hours on end, until finally the man would emerge from the woods, carrying an armful books and the laptop.

Still, they didn't ask any questions. The stranger let the people of Pontiac let be, and so they in turn let the stranger let be.

Sam sat in the middle of a small, treed grove. It was quiet, left undisturbed by most of civilization. That was one of the reasons Sam had chosen it. It was actually on the outskirts of the town, surrounded mostly by unused fields and more woods, although there was a gas station about a mile down the road. Sam did his research here most days. Today was no exception. Books spilled over his lap, computer to one side, and a small black notebook atop a pile of old newspaper clippings and internet printouts.

He had been researching for weeks. Everything seemed futile, but there was no way in Hell he was giving up.

"God, Dean, could you have picked a more thorough way to die?" he asked in frustration. Perhaps it was rhetorical, but his question seemed to be directed to a small, wooden cross planted in the ground a few feet over. Sam exhaled, a small release of pent-up exhaustion and grief. Sam had tried everything, everything, to bring Dean back. First he had summoned a reaper; well, no, first he had ditched Bobby who would automatically say no to any of Sam's ideas. Bobby was a close friend of theirs, and a sort of surrogate uncle. Bobby cared deeply for both the boys, which is why it broke his heart when they made crazy deals and sacrificed themselves for each other. Bobby knew no good could possibly come from these sorts of dealings. Which is why Sam ditched him. Ditched Bobby without a word as to where he was going and what he was going to do next.

Next he had tried summoning a reaper. It had worked, too. Tessa, as she had introduced herself, was a reaper and an old acquaintance of Dean's. Sam had never met a reaper, and had been imagining someone a little more frightening then the pretty, petite young woman that stood before him. She had a calming influence, too, and had listened patiently to Sam's request. In the end, however, there was nothing she could do.

"Sam," she had said, "Look, even if I wanted to bring him back from the dead, I can't. A reaper is a being that takes the dead on to their next road, whatever it may be. Dean is on his next road, and I can't reach him there. I hate to tell you this, Sam, but Dean is gone." Her face had softened for a moment, and she spoke again. "There is a natural order to everything we do, Sam, and when someone dies, it's not because the reaper had it out for them. It's because it's their time."

Sam had swallowed, face hard. "There was nothing natural about Dean's death. He was chased down by hellhounds, sent out by a demon who did have it out for him. That's not exactly 'natural order'," Sam had said angrily.

Tessa's gaze had been firm and her tone cool. "Remember who made the deal, Sam. Dean made his decision; he knew the day would one day come. And that was natural, too. You guys hunt demons, demons come after you, you die, your brother makes a deal for your life, and then the bargain comes to an end. Dean's life is claimed." She paused, then continued, "And that's all natural, because throughout it all, you still were making your own decisions, even knowing the consequences. If Dean could come back, and this whole little story were to play itself out again, don't you think Dean would make the same decision all over again?"

Sam hadn't been able to answer, because he had known she was right. Sam knew his brother better than anybody, and Dean wouldn't hesitate to trade his life, or soul, for his brother's.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Tessa had said one more time, before turning away and walking into nothingness.

With her departure, it seemed all of Sam's hopes had crashed too. He felt like crying; during his entire conversation excitement and hope had bubbled just beneath the calm, collected surface he wore as a shield. When she left, Sam's shield began to crack, and he felt almost nauseous with disappointment and grief. And loneliness. Such loneliness. Sam was without friends, without family, and without any real course of action to be taken. Except for his few years at Stanford, Sam had always been under the guidance of his father or Dean. He had always had family, always had instruction. Now all he had was his dad's journal and a bitter taste in his mouth.

So reapers weren't an option. Sam was still convinced there was a way; firstly, because he couldn't afford to lose hope. Secondly, because he did believe there was a way. Most people, when a loved one died, that was it for them. But Sam had seen so much, these past few years in particular, so many intricacies of the supernatural world, that he really believed there was a way to raise Dean from Hell. Even if it meant going down to the pit himself and carrying his brother out.

"Do you really mean that, Sammy?" a cool, female voice purred out. Sam's spine snapped straight with shock, and goosebumps crawled all over his flesh. He hadn't heard anyone approach, and in the woods there were no lights to flicker or electronics to malfunction to warn him of a demon's approach. Sam got to his feet instantly. A lovely young woman stood before him, dark curls falling almost to her waist and seductive full lips. Sam wasn't fooled for an instant.

"Demon," he spat. He wished he had been more careful, and at least brought some holy water with him. He cursed Bela silently for robbing them of the colt, the gun that could kill just about anything, supernatural or otherwise. It was unusual for Sam Winchester to be caught off his guard; in a hunter's line of work this could be a fatal mistake. This demon, however, had made no moves toward him…yet. "What do you want?" Sam growled out.

She raised a dark eyebrow and lifted her empty palms, hands spread wide to show she meant peace. A funny gesture for a demon, especially, since this motion was mostly shown to mean the lack of firearms. A demon doesn't need a weapon to kill.

"To talk, Sam. Just to talk."

Hey, everyone, thanks for reading my story. This is the first chapter, one of maybe 6 or 7? I haven't thought it all that out much, which is a bad sign. It will take me a long time to update, probably because my goal now is to finish a story before I start publishing it. Sounds like a plan, right? But before I continue writing, I'd like some reviews with criticism, criticism, criticism. Rip my story to pieces, please. Because how else will I get better as a writer? Let me know if you think I should continue. If you have any ideas, those are always welcome too. And someday, I'd like someone with more talent than me to write this story, because I can see it all laid out beautifully in my mind, but putting it on paper is always the challenge. Thanks again.