*AU, starts after season 3, so slight spoilers for that.
*All mistakes are mine and mine alone. I don't own anything.
Sam didn't save Dean from going to hell, and that was something he had to live with, for the rest of his life. Dean had been able to save him, after only a few days Dean had brought Sam back to life with the just the simple cost of his soul. Sam tried for a whole year to get Dean out of his deal and in the end, he failed him. He had to watch, as his big brother was ripped to shreds right in front of him, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Tears fell from his eyes as he held the cold, dead body of Dean, the one person he could always count on. Dean was dead and it was all his fault. He couldn't save his brother, like his brother had saved him, so many times.
The first 24 hours after Dean died was a blur. He was numb and distant. Bobby was there, being the strong one, taking care of Sam in a way that should have only be Dean's job. Sam was exhausted but he couldn't sleep, not when Dean was in hell. It felt like a piece of him had been ripped out, torn from his body with sharp claws that made him bleed and broken. When the sun finally made its appearance on the second day Bobby shoved Sam down and told him to shut his eyes, they'd decide what to do in the morning.
Sam shut his eyes as instructed and would have surprised himself at how easily sleep came if only he was conscious long enough to realize it. No sooner had Sam closed his eyes when he was thrown into a dark world of pain. He was suspended high above a black moving pit. The smell of burning flesh and sulfur came from below and seemed to wrap itself around him. He could feel, with each small movement the sharp metal of the hooks that had sliced through his skin and was now the only thing keeping him from plunging into that massive black hole. He could taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue as he kept screaming one name over and over. If it hadn't been for the pain and terror he felt Sam might have been confused why it was his name he was yelling, instead of Dean's.
The dream was a fleeting memory by the time Sam woke hours later. He sat up in bed, the last remnants of the dream fading away until all that was left was the nagging feeling in the back of his head that something was wrong. He shook his head, trying to clear it and looked around. Bobby must have been out, most likely getting food because Sam couldn't remember the last time he ate.
Fifteen minutes later, after a hot shower that didn't do much good except get him cleaned, Bobby came walking in, carrying two white paper bags. He set them down on the table, and looked at Sam. "You should eat something," he said. Sam sat down, but made no move to open the bags. He looked out the window, not really seeing anything and whispered, "I'm not hungry." Bobby sat down also, glancing at Sam, "Yea, I figured as much. Doesn't mean you shouldn't keep up your strength though."
Sam ignored him and he heard Bobby sigh. It was a tense few moments before Bobby cleared his throat before speaking, "Sam, we need to start thinking about getting De-"
"No," Sam's sharp tone made Bobby freeze for a moment. "Sam-"
"We are not burning him," Sam's tone left no room for argument. "I'm going to bury him. He needs a body when-", he cut off but Bobby could fill in the blanks just fine, and he didn't like where this was headed. There wasn't much he could do about it. Winchesters were a stubborn bunch and Sam could easily stop Bobby if he wanted to. Even if Bobby was like family to him, at the moment Sam would do just about anything to get his brother back.
They buried Dean in the middle of the woods, using a makeshift cross as a marker. There were no words spoken, not even glances at each other. Despite grieving Dean as well, Bobby couldn't imagine what Sam was going through. He would watch out for the kid as much as he could, but he wasn't all that surprised when, after burying Dean, Sam said a quick good bye, promising he'd call and left. Bobby was left alone, staring as the last remaining Winchester drove off down the road, no real destination in mind.
Sam knew it was smart to stay with Bobby, but he couldn't do it. He needed time and he needed to know that someone wasn't there trying to stop him. He had driven for a few hours when he saw a sign for a liquor store. He pulled in, knowing that at least for tonight, he'd get drunk enough that he wouldn't feel much at all. He was going to get his brother out of hell, if it was the last thing he did. He would visit every cross road in the country if he had to and kill as many demons at it took. And if he couldn't, that bitch Lilith was going to pay. He wouldn't stop until she was dead. It didn't matter how reckless he was, he didn't have anything left to live for anyway.
Sam pulled into the first motel that looked like it wouldn't ask questions, got a room and started drinking. A few hours later he was long past drunk and on the verge of passing out. He had had enough sense to lay down salt before he started and enough smarts, even when plastered, to remain inside and stop when the booze ran out. He flopped back on the bed, not even bothering with taking off his clothes and seconds later was unconscious.
The dream was much the same as the first one. Sam was no longer suspended, the hooks ripped free from his skin. Instead he was in a free fall, getting closer and closer to that black pit. There was nothing to stop his fall, and even though it didn't look like he was getting any closer he knew he was. The smells were stronger, seeming to seep into his skin. He was also starting to hear the distinct sounds of screams; thousands of voices coming together, getting gradually louder as he plummeted down. The feeling of fear overwhelmed him, made him want to crawl out of his skin. He had no clue what awaited him down there, but he knew, without a doubt, he didn't want to find out.
Sam woke up panting, his heart racing and his hair clinging to his sweat soaked face. He could remember the dream more now; see fleeting images if he closed his eyes. He blinked against the sun streaming through the crack in the curtains, telling himself it was just a dream. It made sense, with what happened the last few days and the amount of drinking he did. He got out of bed slowly, trying to stem the wave of nausea he felt and the dizziness. He staggered a little on his feet, grabbing the end table for balance. For a moment there it almost felt like he had been falling. He shook his head, quickly stopping when the pounding in his head protested the movement.
He made it to the bathroom before the meager contents of his stomach made an appearance. The dream was quickly fading, the images being erased in his brain. He started the shower and shed his clothes. By the time the pounding water was beating down on his back the dream was forgotten, the only evidence it had occurred was the small feeling of fear Sam felt in the far corners of his mind.
Thanks for reading!
