Title: Back from the Edge

Began: May 2010

Synopsis: Tag to Swan Song. Sam's still in Hell and Dean suddenly feels he can't live the cookie cutter life anymore. More than anything he wants his brother back as is…but what happens when his prayers are finally answered, and he received more than he bargained for. Freaked out Dean. Catatonic, psychic Sam.

A/N: I was so choked up at the end of season five that I decided to do an alternate ending. This little plot bunny just wouldn't leave well-enough alone, so yeah? What the heck! It's the usual…y'know, cruel and unusual torture. But it somewhat has a different spin on things. I really needed a brotherly moment after that episode, and felt that it shouldn't have left things the way it did. I'm sure I'm not the only one who thought that.

Just FYI, Sam is still in Hell for this story. He wasn't standing beneath that lamplight outside of Lisa's house for this. For reasons, you'll see why. This is me we're talking about, need I explain?

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

~o(Supernatural)o~

The night air was chilly, dewy, yet laden with a hint of honeysuckles. The sky was clear, freckled with countless dazzling white dots against a midnight blue veil, vast and unfathomable to the human mind. Life all around was inert, still, seemingly without a purpose. Perfect for the lonely soul wandering aimlessly in the wet anemic cemetery, laggardly dragging his heels, searching for the one and only spot he ventured to on a nightly basis.

Sometime later, the figure at last had found his place of sanctuary—the place that he felt kept and harbored the last remaining part of his soul—the one and only place he had left…his family. Strength failed in his quivering legs and his knees promptly fell into the sodden grass. Watery, beseeching mossy green eyes solemnly looked to the two tombstone slabs in front of him, and his face scrunched in distraught.

"Please…just give me back my brother," he said.

His eyes, scarred, dull, and lifeless as a testament of the hardship from the years, now found their way towards the twinkling stars.

The man hesitated, breathing fast. He licked his dry lips before saying out loud, "Please. I know I've asked and I know I don't deserve it. But…" his lip trembled, "Please. Just give him back."

Seldom Dean Winchester ever begged. Very rarely had he beg to anyone in the short span of his entire life; the one and only person being his little brother to whom Dean pleaded not to leave before he left for college. Begging was an act frowned upon in the Winchester family, classified as a substantial weakness. Weakness, even in the smallest form, was costly in the hunting realm, having irreparable and devastating consequences that no hunter was willing to risk. And Winchesters were never weak.

So it surprised even him to be out every night, at the same spot, on his knees, begging to the stars for the same thing. Constantly asking, praying, beseeching help to no one in particular but the Almighty himself, and yet the answer was still the same…silence.

He had a family waiting at home, several states away, probably pacing the floor, worried that this time he may not return. Never before would Dean leave them to come out for too long, but recently he hasn't been himself. Falling apart in booze and sleepless nights, unable to keep his job as the local mechanic, Dean eventually drifted away, surprisingly coming to the place where it all started…and ended.

"I tried. I really did," Dean's cracked and raspy voice whispered. "He made me promise and I've tried to do it. But…" he sighed, "The guilt is just killing me."

Dark wet spots formed at the base of his knees, soaking up most of his pant legs the longer he sat on the sodden earth.

"How could he think…why would he think that I would just move on like nothing happened, live the manicured lawn life knowing that he's in Hell. Suffering. Rotting away like me. And with the Devil? He's probably worse off than I was. I don't…I just...I don't even know what's happening to him, and it's all my fault."

Hot tears steadily began making their way down his leathery face thinking back to that horrendous day. He could remember like it was yesterday. It was a Thursday. Around noon in Stull's cemetery back in Lawrence. The sun was high, baking them all to a crisp, probably as a farewell knowing the Earth was doomed to die that very hour. There wasn't a peep from any living critter, except the once ominous caw of a crow. There were no songs or joys. There wasn't even wind…just death.

The fear and gut wrenching shock he felt in watching Sam give his consent for the Fallen Angel to possess his body, the anguish tearing at his heart in conversing with the man that no longer was his brother forever crippled his core. The suicidal blow to his soul in watching his baby brother sacrifice himself—having gained control back over his body— with arms fanned out like a swan fell backwards into the pit of Hell, locking away the Devil for eternity once more, thus saving the world from a horrible and fiery fate.

All of Dean's life had been ordained to care for his sibling—raise him, show him the ropes to life and adulthood, protect and shield him from the crazy and hazardous happenings of the chaotic humanoid world. He tried so hard, forever running himself into the ground, tearing himself into little confetti-like pieces in carrying out the impossible task…only to fail in that respect…ultimately letting down his last promise to his father.

Save him.

The moment Sam died, a part of Dean died too.

The world was saved. Lucifer and his brother Archangel Michael were trapped in Hell and the Apocalypse was averted. Dean had forever cursed himself in allowing Sam to take on the Devil, to make the choice of jumping in the opened doorway. It went against every fiber he had, and still he did nothing, in want of respecting his brother and the man he had become.

Now-a-days, Dean wished that he could take back the promise he made to Sam. It was killing him inside in attempting to enjoy the life he and his brother always wanted. Luckily for him, Lisa and her son Ben –the family that once stole his heart away, and since then has been the epitome of the life away from hunting-were, in fact, dumb enough to take him in. They allowed him in with open arms and have been his crutch in establishing a new life of his own.

Only now he seemed to have fallen again.

For three glorious years, it was nothing but baseball games, barbecues, and the one too many parent-teacher conferences about fighting. It was sweet while it lasted. Lisa, with that dazzling smile and florid cheeks, made him feel like a ragged dandelion on a bright and sunny day—liked and appreciated, despite its flaws. She even had helped him look into rehab about his drinking problem, idolized as the symbol of strength and support he needed during the times of sobering up.

However much he needed that sense of normality, that sense of stability…he knew it wouldn't last for very much longer. No one could live with the guilt he felt, with the things he knew.

Dean finally looked away from the stars and back to the rectangular tombstones, swiveling past the name "Mary Winchester" chiseled in the sand-colored concrete, before resting his gaze back on the coppery marbled one beside it, reading the engraved name "Sam Winchester—beloved son and kick-ass little brother", and the line below it "He really did save all us whiny bitches".

Figuring Sam would want his memory alongside their mothers, Dean, just months after Sam's death, went back to Lawrence and set up the most elegant, remarkable slab he could find, traveling three states away to buy it. Not long ago Dean reprimanded Sam about their mother's tomb, in how pointless it was to be visiting an empty grave. Now Dean understood, laughing at his own stupidity. With this, he had more than just a memory.

And he was glad for that. Having no other place to go, this was his home every night, his place of comfort. For several nights now, he found himself back at this same spot, asking for the same thing, wondering why he put himself through the misery in knowing that the answer will always be the same.

But the answer was blatantly obvious.

There was always that small smidgen of hope, tiny, hardly noticeable, that somehow remained with him, constantly driving him back…a small sense of foolish optimism that perhaps one day his prayers might be answered.

Dean sniffled, wiping off the wet stream on his left cheek. "I'm so sorry Sammy," he sighed. "I never even got to say goodbye. I know you're probably going to be mad at me for this, but you have no idea how I'm feeling right now."

He looked to the sky once more. He knew he had to try one last time. "God? Are you there? It's me, you know? Dean," he laughed. "Honestly I don't know why I keep asking. I don't know how to bring Sam back. But if I did, you know damn well I'd do it in a heartbeat. I mean, come on. It's been this long. He doesn't deserve this fate. After everything, please just cut him a little slack. Take me if you have to. Take my sacrifice for him. Let him out…please. I have nothing left."

Biting his lip, he waited. Waited for an answer. Waited for a whisper. He really hadn't a clue of what he was waiting for…for just anything.

…And as usual, there was no reply.

Clenching his eyes tight in sheer disappointment, Dean slowly clambered up to his feet. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Screw you," and began heading back towards his car along the paved roadway.

He was a good foot away from the driver door when a blinding flash and a heart-pounding reverberating rumble occurred and he whirled around in alarm. Glancing up, he jumped back as a flash of lightning hurled toward the Earth, splitting into a nearby tree, spurting out a wave of red-hot sparks. Dean threw an arm over his head watching the Cyprus burst into flames.

Next a howling ravaging wind struck up, stirring up all sorts of ground matter and detritus, bending over the rest of the treetops, and threatening to topple Dean over. He leaned forward against the hurricane-like forces, grabbing a hold of the Impala's side-mirrors, squinting to see what unnatural force was causing this.

A vast tremor began in the ground undulating beneath his feet, causing him to lose his balance, and he fell with a loud thud. The rest of the cemetery shook from the earthquake; tombstones tumbled over, heavily leaf-dressed branches from other trees crashed to the ground exploding into wooden shards and dust, the Impala's frame rattling sharply, her tires bouncing rhythmically. Dean glanced all around in consternation, struggling up onto his hands and knees.

"What the hell is this?" he screamed as another flash of lightning struck the ground, creating a geyser of dirt and rock to shoot up a mere yard away.

"Dean."

The deep-toned call to his name filled him with stomach-clenching relief. One look at the trodden trenchcoat, the navy business suit, and the doughy blue eyes was all he needed in knowing a good, somewhat reliable, friend had returned.

Castiel stood amidst all the chaos still and unaffected as though he were standing upon his own hovering cloud. The look upon the angel's face alerted Dean that he too was in a state of perplexity.

"Cass?" Dean stumbled to his feet.

"What'd you do?" came the reply.

"Me?" Dean exclaimed, now confused. "I haven't done a damn thing."

Cass approached him gracefully, placing a hand on his shoulder helping him stand. "What are you doing here?" he yelled.

The fickle Winchester gazed at him peculiarly, taking a step back as more of the ground rocked and waved. "Nevermind me," Dean hollered back, "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. Something isn't right…MOVE!"

In one arm-tearing-out-of-socket move, Cass flung Dean to safety as the flaming Cyprus had at last come to term and listed to the side, falling to the ground in a torrent of hot embers and heat. Dean had to admit the angel had some skills. Not only did he pull Dean out of harms way, but also simultaneously pushed the Impala back, safely and orderly, before the fiery hardwood had claimed his baby's life.

Dean breathed. "Phew! Nice save."

A pulsing roar then chorused causing both Dean and the angel to wince, Dean having to cover his ears, terrified at how roughly his body vibrated in tune with the thunderous noise. He looked all around trying to discern the source of the roar, horrified in learning it was generating from around the graves.

It was then the tremor in the Earth tripled and the ground before him began to splinter and crack, caving in, disintegrating into rubble. A flow of icy hot air circulated forming into a cyclone having with it a vacuuming suction, Dean's feet creepily sliding towards the falling dirt. Cass held onto his arm as his anchor and he looked on in seeing the ground crack with smoke unfurling from the edges of a deep dark hole.

"Dean, we need to move," Cass cried tugging him back.

Breathless, removing his hands from his ears, Dean stumbled backwards as the ground before his family's empty caskets continued to disintegrate. He stopped, the shock of leaving his family cramping up his gut. "No!"

Cass's expression widened. " Dean, we have to go NOW!"

"Wait…wait!" Dean wrenched his arm out of the iron grip.

"Dean NO!"

Ignoring the angel's call, Dean rushed forward just as both his mother's and brother's memory disappeared from view. "No," he cried, stopping at the edge of the abysmal hole. "Sammy!"

BOOM!

Everything went quiet. An explosion of white light erupted upward from the hole and Dean then felt weightless. The feeling only lasted a grand second as the aching pain of landing on his back shot through him like he was shot by a canon. He could've sworn he was deaf, as still no sound would produce.

And then it all flooded back in one agonizing, overwhelming stream.

The blinding white light died down, but the roaring, the wind, and the lightning all crashed down on his senses and he just wanted to curl away from it all, shell himself up, escape.

But as soon as that thought passed, it all stopped.

The sky was clear again. The ground no longer quaked. The air was still, and the flaming tree was now a dying pile of fluorescent ashes.

Dean sat up on his elbows slowly looking around, his jaw dropping in seeing that the hole was gone. Missing. The ground filled in, smooth and level like nothing had ever happened, except that the tombstones were now missing. Cass came back over, also observing the space, curious to the near cataclysm.

Dean looked to his angelic friend when there was a loud resonating crack, and suddenly something very heavy fell on top of him. Seeing what was crushing his legs, his jaw dropped, his body slowly falling into a state of shock. Nothing could describe the emotion that swelled within him in seeing what he cradled in his arms.

Sam.

Naked and limp, with wisps of steam rising from the lanky frame, his brother lied unconscious, unresponsive, his body hot to the touch. In denial, Dean smacked his stubbled jaw, rending the air with a cry of happiness that he was indeed awake and this was real. He tapped Sam's cheek as an added measure, feeling the damp supple skin, also confirming at what he was seeing was not some mental trick.

"He's real Dean. He's alive," Cass informed, kneeling by the two.

Dean gasped, not bothering to impede the tears escaping from their lachrymal prison. He began to rock, keeping Sam close. "How?"

Cass wearily glanced to the sky. "I don't know."

"Here," Dean said, taking off his leather jacket and covering his brother, in part sparing Sam some dignity. "Sammy?"

Still his brother was unresponsive. Dean filtered his fingers through the long dark damp locks, hoping to elicit a response. "Sammy, come on."

"Dean we can't stay here," Cass said ominously. "If this means what I think it does, then this place is a hotspot for demons and others alike. We need to leave."

"And go where?"

"I'll take you to someplace safe."

Dean nodded slowly in affirmation, caring not for the instant zap traveling, or the unforeseen place Cass intended to bring them, or the fact that his car bungeed a good two feet off the ground once Cass zapped them all back into existence. His only care was for the person still in his arms, the one and only thing that mattered to him, the last piece of the puzzle to his fractured soul.

The hounds of Hell and the meddling powers-at-be couldn't have separated him from his brother again.

Sam was back, and that's all that really mattered…no matter the consequence.

Hmmm, let's hope Dean is aware of the consequences. Well Sammy's free from Hell. Question is what freed him from there, and what other problems are going to arise from this? Trust me, lot's happening. Next we have a catatonic Sam, Cass trying to figure out exactly what is going on, and what this could possibly mean for them all. Plus Bobster's back!