Disclaimer – I do not own Dean or Sam and if I did hmmm the possibilities. The characters are the property of the CW and Kripke.
Radio Nowhere
By Elissahara30
Neither prosperity nor empire nor heaven can be worth winning at the price of a virulent temper, bloody hands, an anguished spirit, and a vain hatred of the rest of the world. -John Milton
The rain poured down in heavy torrents making a tink, tink sound like the staccato of gun fire as it hit the side of the metal building. The cracked windows were dark, cold air creeping in at every opportunity like long sharp fingers digging into the skin. The night felt different, harder, darker and lonelier. Dean Winchester sat in the corner with his sawed off shot gun resting in his lap next to the bible at his knee. The salt lines unbroken against the door and what remained of the window.
Little protection from what waited out there and out there was the unknown. Not that Dean was afraid of the unknown it was part of his job one that he had been trained his entire life to do. Dean had learned a lot from his father and among those lessons was how to survive. He sat waiting for day break, but even in the daylight there was no guarantee that evil couldn't touch him. Because sometimes it still found a person no matter what you did or who you were in the world. But nighttime seemed to amplify how screwed you were, and Dean knew he was thoroughly screwed.
He remembered telling Sam that what was dead needed to stay dead and he was relieved in a way that he only had one year to live before the demons came for his soul. Dean had lived past his expiration date a long time ago. First when he was electrocuted and Sam had taken Dean to the faith healer who had a Reaper on a leash. And than again when his father had made his own deal with the devil in order to prevent Dean from dying again. Yeah Dean knew he needed to be dead and burning in hell.
Hell. Dean briefly closed his eyes as the nightmare flitted about his memories. As he sat in the dark abandoned warehouse his heart started beating faster and faster and his body shook. He swallowed convulsively as he tried to clear out the phantom thirst as he remembered screaming, the fear and the soul deep pain. But here he was alive again. He had only the cloths he was buried in and what the hell was Sammy thinking in not burning his corpse. It's what you did to avoid angry spirits. If it wasn't for the way he could still bleed and the way hunger licked at his stomach, and his heart beating in his chest told him that he was really alive. When he first woke up in the coffin he was almost afraid that Sam had tried to conjure him up from the dead.
Dean had tried to contact Sam, dialing his phone but the number was disconnected. It wasn't until he got to a closed gas station did he find out how long he had been gone. One year and the world had changed without Dean and all Dean can think about was his brother was gone. Dean had tried to get in contact with Bobby without any luck.
It wasn't long before an angel from God had come to him. The man who had stood before him didn't look like an angel at least not from any book. Missing where the white angelic wings and glowy halo. No benevolent speech or gentle smiles. Instead stood a man in a suit and tan trench coat, all dark plains and shadows that reminded Dean of people who had been possessed by demons. The angel declared his name was Castiel and that he had reached down into the pits of Hell and dragged Dean's soul out.
"Why," Dean had asked. After all Dean thought his destiny was to become a demon himself like all the other lost souls sent to hell.
"God has plans for you Dean," Castiel had told him.
"Yeah and what plans are those?" Dean demanded, because from where Dean stood God had let Dean down a long time ago.
"I will be to see you again." And Castiel had disappeared.
That was seven days ago.
Dean had never felt so lost and alone his entire life. Before he died he had his father, brother and Bobby. They were his constants in life, now they were gone and he was alone. Dean had never admitted to anyone how much he needed his family, and how far he would go to protect them and keep them alive. All his life he knew he needed his family more than they ever needed him.
And a vicious part of him wondered if his brother ever mourned his passing or celebrated being free of him again. Dean leaned his head back against the cold wall and breathed in a shaky breath.
"Damn it man this is not getting me anywhere," Dean said to himself. Dean reached into his leather jacket and pulled out the stale candy bar he had lifted out of the gas station and tore it open. "I am so getting tired of this shit," he grumbled around his bite of caramel and chocolate.
"Do you often talk to yourself?" said a voice coming from the shadows.
"Fuck," Dean said as he raised his shot gun and looked around himself.
A figure moved around the dark room and stood before the broken window, Dean raised his hand because the glare was so bright he couldn't look at it straight on. With a final burst of light that hit him square in the chest Dean fell into the blackness.
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