Welcome to Bound By Blood
This story wouldn't be here without three awesome women. Jenjoremy fixes my booboos, corrects my bad sentence structure, and sees the little things the story needs. Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 own this story just as much as I do. They help outline each chapter and give each completed scene the seal of approval. They are the best.
Chapter One
Dean felt the air touch his hands, cool and real, and he forced them apart, dragging himself upwards. As his head broke the surface, he drew deep, gasping lungfuls of air. It wasn't enough though. He could still feel the earth around his chest, constricting. His fingers clawed at the grass and dirt, and he dragged his way free, not stopping until his feet scraped the rim of the hole. Then he collapsed on the dirt and turned his head to the side, to the air. His lungs worked like bellows and his head swam from the sudden influx of too much oxygen, but he couldn't stop himself; he had thought he would die in the dirt.
Die again.
The thought stopped the breath on its way in and he coughed. That was what had almost happened. He had almost died again.
He struggled to his knees, and then after a moment's pause to let his swimming vision settle, he stood, swaying slightly. He turned slowly, taking in the destruction around him. He was standing in the center of a circle of fallen trees. It looked like they had been ripped out by the roots. There was a roughly hewn, wooden cross behind him. His grave marker.
He gagged.
He'd known since he woke in that box what had happened to him, but he'd not wanted to believe it. Seeing the cross had forced his mind to accept it. He had just dug his way out of his own grave. He had died. Hell hadn't been a sick nightmare. It had all been real.
So how was he here?
Sam!
He knew at once he was right. How else could he have been saved if not by his brother? How had he done it though?
Do you really need to ask?
He bent over, hands on his knees, and vomited bile onto the grass.
Sam had made a deal. Of course he had. He was a Winchester. That was what they did. How he'd managed to find a demon that would deal, Dean didn't know, but he must have. There was no one else he could think of who would have had the power to bargain with a demon or determination to save him.
So where is he?
Nothing could have kept Sam away from Dean if he'd known he was coming back. He would never have left him to dig his own way free. There was only one thing that could stop him from coming when Dean needed him most.
"He's not dead!" Dean growled the words to the empty forest.
Sam couldn't be dead because that meant it was all for nothing. The deal, the year they'd spent fighting it, the blood, that last horrific night when they'd faced Lilith in that poor child's body, everything Dean had suffered in Hell, everything he had done… it would mean nothing because Sam was gone.
He couldn't be gone.
Sam was out there somewhere, waiting for Dean. He just had to find him. And then, when they were together again, Dean would save him. They would work together to undo whatever mess Sam had got himself into.
You think you can save him from Lilith?
Lilith! That had to be it. Sam had almost had her in that school. He'd been so close to taking her out. He must have found a way. Perhaps he'd killed her. Perhaps he'd dealt with her—her life for Dean's. That was a deal she'd make, surely. It was the only explanation Dean could think of that didn't mean Sam was dead, and he clung to it.
Sam was fine. Dean just had to find him.
His first job was to get out of the forest. He picked a direction and set off walking, stepping over the fallen trees and then weaving his way through the ones still standing. He had no idea of how long he spent walking, his watch had stopped at midnight, but he didn't stop to rest, not even for a minute. He had an overwhelming need to get to his brother and that made things like his parched throat and aching legs feel like nothing.
Eventually, he heard the blessed sound of traffic, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was almost out. When he saw the lightening of the trees, his staggering steps became a jog.
He almost ran straight into the road. He skidded to a stop at the very edge of the asphalt with his arms pinwheeling. Someone drove past leaning on the horn. Dean raised a hand in salute, not caring about the driver's irritation. He was out. He was on his way to Sam. Nothing else mattered.
He took a moment to catch his breath and then moved closer to the road and held his thumb out. He watched every car approach, his heart pounding with hope, only to be disappointed when they drove right past. He had begun to walk along the side of the road, thinking that if no one stopped he would walk all the way home, however far that turned out to be, when a truck honked and slowed. Dean grinned as it came to a stop a dozen feet away from him and the driver gestured him forward from his cab. Dean hurried forward and pulled open the door.
"Which way you heading?" the driver asked.
"Uh, that depends," Dean said. "Where am I now?"
The driver laughed. "Man, it must have been a good night. You're in Montana. This is I-90, a few miles out of Garryowen. Where do you want to go now?"
Montana. That meant he hadn't been moved far after his death. He needed to get to Sam, to The Roadhouse, but Bobby was closer. If could get to him, he would have access to a car to get him the rest of the way.
"I'm trying to get to Sioux Falls," he said.
"I'm going as far as Rapid City. That okay for you?"
"More than okay." Dean replied. "That'd be awesome."
"Good to hear. I'm Jay, by the way." The driver gave a friendly smile as he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.
"Dean."
"So, Dean, how did you come to be standing on the side of the road, no idea where you are, looking like you've been rolling in the mud?"
"I got drunk with some old college buddies last night, and I'm guessing they thought it would be a good idea to dump me in the middle of nowhere."
Jay laughed. "Good friends you got there." He took a bottle of water from the cup holder and held it out to Dean. "If you were drinking last night, you've got to be pretty thirsty by now."
"Thanks," Dean said gratefully, unscrewing the cap and gulping at the water.
Jay transpired to be a friendly man who liked to talk. Dean chatted with him about inconsequential things like Jay's job driving cross-country and his family. Dean told him a little about his life, the censored version, how he had a brother and used to be a social worker before taking some time off to travel.
All the time he was talking, he was also thinking, thinking about Sam and Bobby, Ellen and Jo, and how good it would be to see them again. Sometimes thoughts of Hell tried to overwhelm him, but he forced them away. He wasn't going to think about that now.
He watched the road slip beneath the tires and the miles tick past on the dash until they were within sight of Rapid City. Just outside town, Jay pulled into a gas station and they came to a stop. Dean reached for the door handle, already saying his heartfelt thanks, when Jay caught his arm.
"I have a feeling your buddies didn't leave you with a wallet," he said.
"No, they didn't," Dean said awkwardly.
"Thought so. Here you go." He held out a fold of bills to Dean.
"You don't have to do that," Dean insisted even while thinking of how much easier things would be if he had a little cash on his side.
"I think I do," Jay said, putting the bills in Dean's hand and wrapping his fingers over them. "You take care of yourself, Dean."
"Thank you," Dean said sincerely. "I really appreciate this."
"Welcome."
Dean climbed out of the cab and wandered into the station. He made straight for the coolers and pulled out three bottles of water. Despite the fact Jay had given him some on the journey, his throat still felt desiccated. He carried them over to the register and returned the young female cashier's smile.
"Anything else?"
"Can I get some change for the phone, too?" he asked.
"Of course." She counted out his change and tipped it into his hand.
Dean thanked her and carried the bottles outside to the payphone. He drank one and set the others on the shelf before taking a deep breath and picking up the phone. The dial tone came through clear and he fed the slot several coins before he dialed the number from memory.
It didn't even ring once. He just heard a recorded voice saying, "We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected."
Dean put the phone down and stared in shock at the keypad. He never imagined Sam wouldn't be waiting for him on the other end of the line. He'd expected to hear his brother's voice, expected him to be anxiously waiting for his call, but instead he'd gotten that hateful message. He knew there were more numbers for Sam, but he didn't remember them. They were saved on his cell phone.
There was another number he could try though. He fed the slot again and dialed. A familiar voice answered, but it was not the one he needed. "Roadhouse. Doctor Badass here. What can I do for you?"
"Ash?" Dean said.
"Yeah. Who's this?"
"It's me, Dean. Look, I need to speak to Sam."
He heard a quick indrawn breath. "Listen, asshole, I don't know what you think you're doing, but this is not cool. You stay away from us, understand? Stay the hell away from Sam!"
"Ash, it's me," Dean said desperately.
The only response he got was the click of a disconnected call.
Dean slammed the phone onto the cradle and groaned. What was he supposed to do now?
There were two more numbers he knew by memory but only one that could maybe help.
He drew a deep breath and dialed again.
Bobby was standing by the window, staring out at the yard and thinking of Dean. It had been four months to the day since his boy had died and nothing had gotten any easier. He still felt the same burn of loss that he had when he first saw his body in that auditorium. He still felt the same waste of a life. He was still desolate.
He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the counter greedily. He wanted a drink. He needed a drink. But he'd made a deal with himself that he'd only drink at night. He could drink all day and all night and it wouldn't be enough, so he limited himself to drowning his sorrows in the hours the sun was down. To do otherwise, to lose himself to liquor, would be disrespectful to Dean. He probably wouldn't approve of the nighttime drinking either, but Bobby needed something to help.
He wondered if Sam had made any such deal with himself. He had been a big drinker before Dean was gone. He had to be so much worse now, now that Dean was….
His phone rang then and he turned to it. It was his local number. Not many people had it, and he thought he knew who it would be.
He slowly walked to the wall where the phone was, in no hurry to hear Ellen's pleas for news of Sam or to hear her own lack of news in return. "Bobby Singer."
"Bobby, please don't hang up," a voice begged, a voice he thought he knew.
"Who is this?"
"It's me, Dean."
"That's not funny," Bobby growled. "Whoever you are, whatever you are, you call me again I will put a bullet in you and chop off your head for good measure."
"Bobby, please!"
Bobby slammed the phone down onto the cradle without another word.
He stood staring down at it for a moment, wondering if it had really happened or if he had finally lost his mind.
The phone rang again.
This time he didn't manage to get a word out before the voice babbled, "You're Bobby Singer. You cried at my college graduation even though you swore blind you didn't. You've been my family since I was four years old. I am begging you, Bobby, just help me find Sam."
"Dean?" Bobby whispered.
"Yes!" the voice replied emphatically. "I'm out. Sam got me out, but I can't get hold of him. Bobby, help me, please."
Was it possible? If Dean was back, the first thing he would do was look for Sam, that was true, but how could he be out? Who else would be so desperate to find Sam though? It could be among any number of fuglys. Sam had been killing them all his adult life. It was entirely possible that the ones left behind would want revenge.
And demons… Sam had to have pissed off a bunch of demons, and they would know Dean well enough to know the connection Dean and Sam shared. They had him in Hell. They could have extracted those memories from Dean with ease if they were to…
Bobby shuddered at the thought.
He had to know. He had to be sure. He needed to see him.
"Where are you?"
He heard the relieved sigh. "Rapid City. There's a Gas-N-Sip on Black Hawk Road. I'm there."
"Okay, I'm on my way. Stay where you are. Be careful."
"I will, but, Bobby, where's Sam?"
"We'll talk about that when I'm there," Bobby said evasively.
"But…"
Bobby hung up. If it was Dean, and that was a huge if, they needed to have that conversation in person.
He gathered the things he would need, grabbed his keys from the dish by the door, and made his way outside, hoping desperately that his fears were unfounded and that it really was Dean.
Please, God, let it be Dean.
The drive was long, too long. It was dusk when Bobby finally spotted the gas station in the distance. He slowed slightly, nervous of what was going to happen next and what he was going to face.
On the ride down he'd thought over the possibilities. He thought that—if it was a monster and not Dean—it was a revenant, demon or shapeshifter. He was capable of dealing with any of them, though he hadn't given up hope that he wouldn't need to.
He stopped at the side of the building and climbed out of the Chevelle, the flask of holy water clutched in his hand. It was time. He was there.
Dean, or the thing that looked like him, stepped around the corner, wide but slightly tense smile in place. "Bobby."
It looked like him. It sounded like him. Bobby's heart stuttered in his chest.
Dean looked down at the flask in his hand and smiled slightly. "Let's get it over with then," he said a little sadly.
Bobby walked forward until they were a few feet apart and then splashed the water on Dean's face. There was no reaction. Dean merely shook his head, sending droplets into the air.
"Better?"
"Not done yet," Bobby said.
He pulled the silver knife from his jacket and gestured to Dean to hold up his arm.
"Can't I do it myself?" Dean asked.
"You think I'm handing you a weapon?" Bobby said, almost amused.
Dean sighed. "Fine." He rolled up his sleeve and held out this arm.
Bobby held his breath as he brought the blade of the knife down to Dean's forearm. He was desperate for proof that it was Dean, that his boy was back, but he was scared to believe before he saw it for himself.
He cut through Dean's skin, and a small trickle of blood ran from the wound to the ground. There was no reaction.
"Dean," he said, stunned.
Dean rolled his sleeve down, covering the small wound, and nodded. "Told ya."
"Dean," he said again.
Dean looked up and smiled at him. "Hey, Bobby."
Bobby closed the space between them and threw his arms around him. Dean's hands came up to return the hug and Bobby just felt for a moment, felt the warm heavy weight against him and the amazing relief of Dean being there. Dean alive. Dean free. Dean back.
He pulled back and wiped at the tears in his eyes. "Damn, boy. It's good to see you."
Dean wiped a hand across his own face. "You too," he said hoarsely. "Bobby, where's Sam?"
Bobby sighed. He didn't want to have to give the only answer he could. "I don't know, son."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked tensely.
"I mean I haven't seen him since the night you…" He shook his head, shaking away the images that sprang to his mind. "After, he just left. He took your… He took off. I tried to follow, but you know what speeds that rolling iron goes at. That was the last time I saw him. He went to my place first, I know that, but I don't know where he went after."
"The Roadhouse?" Dean asked hopefully.
"Not according to Ellen. They've been trying to track him, but there's no sign. Hasn't been for four months now, all the time you've been gone."
"Where else would he go?"
"I don't know. Dean, there's more. He left the Impala behind and went off on your bike."
"That makes no sense," Dean said, shaking his head. "What about the weapons? He needs them."
"I guess he disagreed. The only thing I can tell is gone is the demon knife. It looked like he left everything else behind."
"I need to find him," Dean said weakly. "I need to see him."
Bobby patted his shoulder. "I know you do, boy. We'll find him. If you're right, and he was the one that saved you, he'll be looking for you now. What better place to look than back home?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. The Roadhouse. We have to go to The Roadhouse."
He started off toward the car without another word. Bobby took a breath and followed. He had Dean back, and that was amazing, but it wasn't the end. They hadto find Sam now.
It was late. Ellen had closed up less than an hour ago, and she was wiping the tables when she heard the car approaching. She was so attuned to the sound of that engine she knew at once that it was the Impala.
Her mind whipped back through the years. One night, what felt like a lifetime ago, she had heard the sound of that engine and John Winchester had arrived with his devastated son. That had been the night things changed for her and Jo. That was when Sam joined their family.
She hadn't seen Sam since he and Dean walked out of the bar a day before the deal came due. She hadn't even spoken to him. She had tried everything, they had all tried, but they couldn't find him. His phones were dumped and disconnected and was the Impala was abandoned.
Was abandoned.
Ellen could only imagine three people ever sitting behind the wheel of that car. Two of them were dead. Did that mean Sam had come back or had Bobby Singer brought it back for her? Why would he? Surely he would know how much it would hurt her to see it in her lot every day, knowing its owner was lost to her.
It had to be Sam, didn't it?
Ellen dropped the cloth down onto the table and walked on shaky legs to the door. Outside the car had stopped. She drew back the bolts and opened the door a crack. Her heart was pounding.
She had no expectation that the man she was about to see would be the same as he had been the last time he'd walked through this door. He would be distraught without his brother, just like he had been the first time, and he would need her love. She would have to be very careful though. He'd been away four months. She didn't want to drive him away further by pushing him to feel too much. She would let him lead; she'd do and be whatever he needed.
She drew a deep breath, tried to calm her racing heart, and opened the door.
It wasn't Sam.
Bobby Singer was crossing the parking lot to her, leaving the Impala parked in the shadows.
Ellen had only seen him once since Dean's death, and that had been the day after he died when he came to tell them the news. He had been devastated then, a man balanced on the precipice of outright despair. He had wept as he'd told them of Dean's fate, and Ellen had wept with him. He wasn't weeping now though, or devastated, or even mourning. He looked tense but happy. More than happy, jubilant even. His eyes were shining with some inner light.
"Bobby? What is it?"
"Dean," Bobby said with a kind of fervor. "Dean's back."
Ellen took a step away from him. "What?"
"He's really back. All the way back. Human. I checked. Someone sprung him."
Ellen felt warm wetness trickle down her cheeks that cooled quickly in the night air. "My God. Are you sure?"
"Positive. Ellen, he's here."
Ellen walked forward, past Bobby, and looked at the Impala. There was someone sitting in the driver's seat. She could see the vague outline when she focused through the darkness. The figure moved and the door opened. Ellen watched, awed, as Dean unfolded himself from the seat and walked forward.
She wasn't aware of moving, but the next thing she knew she was across the parking lot and Dean was in her arms. His laugh whispered through her hair. "Hey, Ellen."
She held him tighter for a moment and then pulled back and cupped his cheeks in her hands. "Dean?"
"Yeah, it's me, I promise."
"Oh, honey, I missed you so much," she said.
'Missed' didn't seem the right word, but she could hardly say she had 'grieved' him so much, even though she had. Dean's loss had been hard for all of them, especially as they'd never really prepared themselves for it. They'd all believed Sam would do it, save him.
"Me too," he said. "You have no idea."
She blinked away her tears and sniffled. "Come in, come in. I'll get you something to drink. You've got to need it."
"Actually," Dean said, "there's something else I need. Ellen, where's Sam?"
Ellen grimaced. "I don't know, honey. Come inside. We can talk."
Dean followed obediently and Ellen led him into the bar to a table. While he sat down and looked around with an almost wistful expression, Ellen collected a bottle and three glasses from behind the bar. When she joined them at the table, Dean had lost the wistful look and had become intense.
"What's happened to him?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said. "I haven't seen Sam since I last saw you. The day the pair of you walked out of here was the last time I saw him. We've been trying to reach him, but his numbers are all disconnected. Ash can't even find him. He's not using any of his old credit cards or aliases. There's no mention of him anywhere."
Dean looked stricken. "How do you even know he's…?"
"Alive?" Ellen shook her head. "I knew because you were gone. Sam would never have let himself go down before he got you back."
"He did it," Dean said fervently. "No one else could have. But where the hell is he?"
Ellen had an idea, but it was a horrible, painful, detestable idea. Dean was back, Sam wasn't with him. Had it been another deal? He had tried hard enough before to do it. Was it just a case of him finding the right demon to deal with or had something else happened? Had he exchanged himself in some other way? Was Sam gone so Dean could be here?
"We need to find out how he did it," Bobby said gruffly, and Ellen could tell from the tightness in his eyes that he was wondering the same thing she was. "Someone has to know."
"A demon?" Ellen asked.
"Can't think of anyone else to ask," Bobby said. "There's a summoning spell I've been wanting to have a go with."
"Ruby," Dean said quietly. "She'll know."
"Who's Ruby?" Ellen asked.
"She's a demon. It's a long story. Can you call a specific demon, Bobby?"
"Works better that way, to be honest. I'll need a few things that I'll bet Sam keeps in the trunk. Give me ten minutes and we'll have a demon to chat with."
Dean chewed his thumbnail as Bobby set the last of his spell up. They'd cobbled together what they needed with the contents of the trunk, gear Jo had left behind when she went on her latest hunt, and Ellen's cupboards. There was a bowl filled with ingredients, seven candles placed strategically on the table, and Ellen was handing Bobby a box of matches.
Dean had mixed feelings about seeing Ruby again. A small, selfish part of him was worried she would allude to their time together and their relationship—he thought Bobby would have an aneurism if he knew—but the larger part of him was afraid of what she would tell him about Sam.
He had much more respect for her now, knowing where she came from. She had come out with her humanity intact. Dean knew just what a challenge that would have been for her given what he'd suffered and done there. He'd been there a matter of earth months, years of Hell time. She would have been there centuries. To come out the way she had was a true show of strength.
"Ready?" Bobby asked.
"Yes," Dean said stiffly and Ellen nodded.
Bobby chanted some Latin and threw a lit match into the bowl. Flames flared up and died down as fast as they'd come. Then she was there, her long blonde hair flowing down her back, her lips parted in shock and her eyes wide.
"Dean?"
"Hello, Ruby."
"How?" she breathed.
"We were hoping you could fill us in on that," Bobby said stiffly.
Ruby shook her head. "I know nothing about it. I don't have the juice for something like this."
Bobby started to talk but Dean spoke over him, asking the question he needed answering. "Where's Sam?"
She gave him a sympathetic look. "I don't know."
"You've not seen him at all?" Dean asked.
"I didn't say that. I saw him a few days ago."
"You did! Where?" Ellen asked
"Texas."
Bobby's eyes narrowed. "What were you doing with him if you weren't busting Dean out?"
"I was helping him look for a way to get Dean out of the pit."
"You found a way," Bobby said. "How? Was it a deal?"
Ruby shook her head, looking darkly amused. "You think Sam made a deal? You think any demon was stupid enough to even try to give him what he wanted? Believe me, he tried, but there was no chance. All demons are sworn off Sam."
"Then how did he do it?" Ellen asked.
Ruby shrugged. "I have no idea. This"—she gestured to Dean—"isn't a demon thing. No demon has the power to bring someone out of the pit, not even Lilith. The only way out is to scratch and claw your way free as a demon. Obviously, Dean didn't do that, so something else was involved."
"Something stronger than a demon," Bobby said. "What the hell is stronger than Lilith?"
"Nothing I've ever seen," Ruby said, staring at Dean with an intense look in her eyes, as though she was trying to communicate something with him. Whatever it was, he didn't know.
"Okay," Ellen said. "Putting aside Dean's return for a moment, let's focus on what we can do. You said Sam's in Texas. Where exactly?"
"Austin," Ruby said. "But there's no point you going there though. It's too late. He'll have moved on already. He never stays after I've seen him."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked.
Ruby sighed. "You've got to understand what he's like now. He's not the man any of you knew. He's… dark. He calls me up once a week or so when he wants me, and I go to him. We go over things and then he sends me away again."
"You must have a number for him though," Dean said.
"Nope. He calls from motels or payphones. I only know where he is the moment he wants to talk to me, and then, when I've seen him, he moves on. I hex-bagged him at first to keep track, but… well, let's just say he wasn't happy when he found it. I've not tried since."
Dean raked a hand through his hair. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Wait for Sam to call Ruby again and then go to him? From what Ruby said about his calls, it was at least a few days before he would call her again, and Dean couldn't wait that long. He needed his brother now. The question of what had brought him back was a sidebar compared to that need. He barely cared. What mattered was Sam.
He turned downcast eyes on Ellen, and saw the same sadness in her that was in him. "What do we do?" he asked.
"I don't know, honey. I guess we have to…" The phone behind her started to ring. Seemingly automatically, she reached over the bar and picked it off its cradle. "Roadhouse. Hello… Is anyone there?" He eyes widened. "Sam? Honey, is that you?"
Dean crossed to her side in long strides and held a hand to out for the phone. She handed it over wordlessly. "Sammy?" He heard a quick indrawn breath on the other end. "Sam, it's me."
The voice that came back to him was full of malice and hatred. "Stay away from my family," Sam snarled.
"Sam, it's me. Really. I swear."
"No, that's impossible. I don't know what you are, but I will kill you, you bastard," Sam vowed, and then there was the sound of a disconnected call.
Dean set the phone down and turned back to the room. He felt the wetness on his cheeks and he swiped it away. Sam was alive!
"Dean?" Bobby asked tensely. "What is it? Was it him?"
Dean nodded. "He's alive. He's coming."
"How do you know?"
Dean smiled grimly. "Because he's coming to kill me."
So… After the heartbreak of the finale chapter of Brothers in Arms, this was a joy to write. The boys may not be together again yet, but Dean's is out and Sam's on his way. I mean, yeah, he's coming to kill Dean, but… Hmm… Not evil. Promise.
Thank you for sticking with me this far. I am grateful for each and every one of you. If you enjoyed—or if you didn't and have something to say about why—please leave me some feedback. I love hearing from you.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx