AU for season 3 for Jus In Bello – Hendrickson follows through and the boys end up in a Maximum Security prison. Sam gets life; Dean gets lethal injection. No demon deal, and no demons attacking the police station as in the episode. JIB is one of my favorite episodes, but I wanted to explore the idea of the boys being separated and Dean facing the death penalty.

–

Angels Watching

–

"Take a good look at your brother, Dean. You are never going to see him again."

Sam hadn't seen Dean in three months, and, as his brain was so helpful to remind him multiple times a day every single day, he was never going to see him again. Not unless something miraculous happened, and Sam didn't exactly believe in miracles anymore.

He knew Dean was still alive as of now, but the days were winding down on Dean's sentence. Sam would never forget the moment the gavel swung down and the judge declared Dean guilty. Guilty of everything Hendrickson and his team had acused him of, including the St. Louis murders. Dean hadn't pleaded guilty, but there was nothing he could say to the accusations, or the "evidence" stacked against him that anyone would believe. So, in the end, he didn't say much at all. He stood, pale, but hanging on to the last threads of his give 'em hell attitude until the court's decision was declared and he was hustled away, his eyes meeting Sam's for the last time with that small, reasurring smile that Sam saw right through.

Guilty. Death by lethal injection.

Sam had the date set for Dean's death sentence constantly hanging in the back of his mind. The time left was getting shorter and shorter.

Sam had received life in prison, since they couldn't prove he had been anything more than an accessory to Dean's 'killing spree'. He spent most days wishing the judge had found enough on him to share Dean's sentence. The thought of living the rest of his life here, alone, was enough to make Sam wish his own sentence had been stiffer. He hadn't done anything wrong – neither of them had, or at least, not the way Hendrickson and the jury thought. They helped people. Saved lives. Killed monsters before they had a chance to rip into more lives. For that, Dean was going to die, and Sam would spend the rest of his life alone, wondering where it all went wrong.

The day dawned and Sam couldn't get out of bed. His heart raced and his mind itched with the need to do something. To help Dean, or at the very least to simply be there for him in his final minutes, so that the last memories his brother had would be of his family, and not the cold faces of his executioners. But there was nothing he could do. Criminals of his caliber didn't have those kinds of rights. Dean was going to die alone.

Sam lay with his face to the wall, not even trying to calm his aching, heavy heartbeat anymore as it thumped too fast in his chest. He had never felt so helpless and isolated, and in a mere matter of minutes, it would be worse. He had exhausted every single avenue he could think of, and Dean was still on the proverbial chopping block.

"Winchester," The guard's voice made him flinch even though he was expecting it. He pushed himself to a sitting position facing the bars.

"You wanted to know when it was done." the guard said, his voice not without compassion. "Your brother was declared deceased five minutes ago. It's over. I'm sorry, Sam. His personal items were sent to a Mr. Robert Singer in South Dokota."

Sam nodded slowly, feeling his entire body go cold. He heard the guard's footsteps move on, but his world had narrowed. He brought his knees up tight to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, letting his head drop low as tears poured from his eyes.

"Dean..." he whispered.

–

Sam knew he was dying. He knew Dean would be disappointed in him for giving up, but he couldn't make anything work anymore. For a while, he had tried to eat, and sleep, and even get out of bed and walk around his cell, but after throwing up several times, he stopped eating altogether, unable to stomach food now that Dean was gone and he was truly alone in the world. Two days ago he had stopped drinking. It wouldn't be long now.

Last Winchester standing.

Every time he fell asleep he woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares and his cell mate threatened on more than one occasion to beat him to death if he didn't stop waking him up, as if he could just flip a switch in his subconscious and make the ache stop.

But even the nightmares toned down as Sam's body grew weaker. He knew that soon they would bring in a doctor and make half-hearted attepts at saving his life, but they wouldn't be able to do it in the end. Sam didn't want to spend the rest of his life here. And now, with Dean dead, there was no hope of anything else. He had no control over anything in his life anymore, except his own slow death sentence. They could keep him alive with tubes and wires if they wanted, but as long as he didn't have to face what was left of his miserable existence, he no longer cared.

Another long night wrapped around Sam as he lay in the dark, staring listlessly at the wall. It wasn't quiet exactly, it was never quiet in a prison, but his cell mate was snoring obliviously, and the lights from the hallway showed shadows when the guards passed, making their rounds.

Then the lights flickered.

Sam didn't notice it at first. His brain wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders lately, but the second time it happened, it got his attention. Two of the guards had been murmuring a conversation as they walked the halls, but their voices rose in confusion a moment later as the entire block went dark.

Sam's breathing sped up and his heart stuttered. It had been doing a lot lately in response to sudden movements and noises as his nervous system slowly fried itself. Apparently you couldn't send your body a memo that it wasn't supposed to care or try anymore.

He pushed himself weakly to a sitting position. Power outage? Vengeful spirit? Or... demon?

With everythin that had been going on before Hendrickson had caught up to them, Sam shouldn't have expected the universe to just leave him alone.

The dark suddenly exploded in white light. Faster than Sam could process, he felt soemthing lightly touch his forehead. The air around him became thick and warm. Sam's ears rang with a high-pitched sound that he quickly tried to muffle with his hands.

It was all over in mere seconds and when he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly with the after-effects of light and sound and warmth, he was no longer in the jail cell. He was sitting on a bed and his brother was standing beside him with his back turned.

His brother.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, unable to stop himself, or think about how.

"What the fu – " Dean yelped and leapt backward, going for his gun on the opposite bed and whirling to face Sam. His eyes widened.

"Sammy?"

"Dean, how – " he choked off the words with a groan. As soon as whatever-it-was let go of him, the welcome warmth and light had gone, leaving Sam just as weak, if not moreso than before. His beart was slamming against his chest again, but this time it was with elation and confusion. More than his body could handle in its current state.

"Whoa, whoa, hang on." Dean said, laying the gun aside as he stepped forward and eased Sam down against the pillow, green eyes wide with as much confusion as Sam felt. "God, Sammy, what did they do to you?"

"Are you... Dean, how are you alive? They told me you were dead. Its been almost a week." Sam's voice was raspy and he was shivering. Funny how he only began to feel how bad off he really was when he was looking at the brother he never expected to see again.

Dean slid a hand into the space between his shoulder and neck, comforting as a full-on hug, and Sam decided he didn't care if he was dead or dying. Dean was here, somehow, and that was all that mattered.

He didn't realize he had passed out until his eyes slid open again and Dean was sitting on the bed next to him, a hand on his other shoulder, keeping contact. Seeing Sam's eyes on him, he slipped off the bed and knelt down at eye level. He seemed calmer, but no less concerned.

"You died." Sam croaked. "They said you died."

Dean reached up to the night stand next to them and brougth down a water bottle. He helped Sam sit up enough to drink.

"I did." Dean said quietly.

Sam frowned in confusion. "You did die?" he had been hoping Dean would contradict that stemement, but so far they seemed to agree on the point of Dean's death.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, man. I remember all of it. Big, cold room, shot to the arm and then... light's out." Dean's gaze grew distant. "I woke up here. I thought it was a freaky dream, or a vision or something, but I still felt like crap, and I could see the injection sites and everything. He rubbed absently at his arm as he spoke, clearly shaken up, despite his matter-of-fact account.

Sam felt his heart clench with all the grief and uncertainty he had experienced over the past three months, culminating on the day of Dean's execution. To his dismay, he felt tears roll out of his eyes. His hands began shaking as well, and the more he tried to shut it down, the worse it got.

Dean noticed, but there was no teasing.

"Damn, Sammy. You're in bad shape. You should be in a hospital."

"Sorry. I don't know why... why I'm – " Crying. Why am I crying?

"You're nervous system is a wreck, jackass." Dean said, crawling up on the bed next to him again. He carefully slid behind Sam and shifted his younger brother's shaking shoulders onto his lap and helped him drink more water. "You know, I was the one on Death Row, but you look look a hell of a lot worse than happened, Sam?" he asked softly, almost like he didn't want to know, or already suspected the answer.

"You're really here? You're... ok?" Sam asked between breaths. His head was beginnign to ache fiercely on top of everything else. Days without food or water would do that, he supposed. He didn't want to tell Dean that he wasn't sick because of anyone else. He was sick because he had given up after Dean had died. There hadn't been any reason to keep going. Not without Dean, and not with a life sentence. There was still part of him that was afraid to believe his brother was here, safe, alive, holding onto him like he was five years old all over again. The thought that it might all be a vivid hallucination of the dying brought more tears and he angrily bit his lip, trying to get hold of himself.

Dean pulled him closer and squeezed his shoulder. "Yeah, Sam. I'm really here. I don't know how, but something pulled me out of there. You too, thank God. Or, you know, whatever. Hendrickson will be on our asses even more after this stunt. If he even saw it. He was there, you know? When they uh..." he gestured vaguely, but Sam understood. Hendirckson had been there for Dean's execution. Probably wanted to call the time himself and make absolutely certain that the notorious Dean Winchester was well and truly dead this time. "I was out. Gone, I think. I don't know if it happened there, or after, maybe in the morgue. I haven't seen anything about it on tv or on the net. I've been laying low. Trying to find a way to get you out, Sammy. I don't know if they're still looking for us or not."

Neither of them knew what had happened immediately after Dean's death, but Sam was surprised that Special Agent Victor Hendrickson hadn't followed his brother's body to the burial sight and watched them fling dirt over his corpse. Sam shuddered. He really wished his brain would stop going there.

"If he does figure out that I'm not dead, and that you got out, he's gonna be pissed." Dean paused thoguhtfully. "We should probably move to Canada."

"We can't move to Canada. "

"Why not?"

"You'd have to leave your car, or they'd catch us trying to cross the border."

"Oh. Right. Guess that plan's a bust."

Sam felt a small smile tug at his lips and something loosened in his chest. The tears slowed, even though his body was still on edge.

"Wait, Dean?" Another horrible thought ran through his mind. "You're not a... a spirit, or a revenant or anything, are you?"

Dean laughed. "I probably would have noticed. Soon as you're back on your feet, you can run all the tests, ok? I ran them on you while you were out."

"Christo."

Dean raised his eyebrow. "I said when you're back on your feet."

"It doesn't take any energy to say 'Christo.'" Sam argued.

Dean shook his head fondly and reached down beside the bed, bringing one of the duffle bags up next to them, knowing Sam wouldn't be able to fully relax until they hashed this out. While Sam watched, he dumped a package of table salt over his hand, before flicking the remainder over Sam's hair as any good big brother would do, took a hit of holy water from the flask, and then held the blade of a silver knife against his bare skin.

"Ok?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed. "Ok."

"Think you can eat something?" Dean asked, putting their tools away.

Sam's stomach clenched at the thoguht. His head ached to the point of nausea. But Dean was here. Food, sleep, and the rest of life seemed important, or at least doable again.

"I'll try."

"Atta boy." He helped Sam get comfortable and then went to the kitchenette. Sam watched as he tugged the paper lid off an instant soup can and added water.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think it was? What pulled us out? Do you think it was a demon?"

Dean looked at the floor, trying to hide the spooked expression that moved across his face. It was going to be a while before they got past this one, Sam's weakened physical state aside.

"I don't know, Sam. And honestly, I'm not looking this one in the mouth."

The microwave beeped, cutting off whatever else might have been said. Dean piled pillows behind Sam and transferred the soup to a sturdy mug so he could help Sam drink it without having to spoon-feed his brother.

Sam got through half the mug, another water bottle, and two aspirin before he was forced to stop. He felt better, but it would be a few days before his body figured out how to function again.

"Why don't you sleep for a while." Dean said, setting the soup and water aside. "You look like a zombie."

"I do not. And I don't want to sleep."

Dean looked at him closely, narrowing his eyes. He saw it written all over Sam's face. The fear that if Sam went to sleep, he would wake up back in prison and this would all just be a fever-dream. "Sam, you need to sleep. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Sam looked at him and felt his eyes filling again, anxiety and weariness vying for supremacy. If his damned nervous system didn't heal up soon, Dean was going to quit giving him free passes in the crying department. Sam was embarrassed about it, but he was too tired and shaken up to care that much.

"You need a hug?" Dean asked, only half teasing.

Sam shook his head even while he leaned over and wrapped his arms tight around Dean's neck and leaned on his shoulder, finally feeling some of the tension leave his muscles. He didn't have the energy to say what he wanted, and they had both nearly died. What the hell.

Dean snorted and returned the hug, at first only to oblige Sam's need for physical reassurance, but then to take the opportunity for himself to fully realize that Sam was back with him after three whole months. He didn't want to think about what would have happened. How close he had come...

–

"Your orders were to rescue Dean and Dean only."

"I know, but – "

"Sam Winchester is an abomination. He should have been left to rot in that prison."

"Dean would not have stopped trying to get his brother out. He would have died trying. He will never do anything we want of him unless he knows that Sam is safe. I've watched them their entire lives. I know them better than you, Uriel."

"You made a decision based on emotional attachment."

"I made a decision based on what I know of Dean. His bond with his brother is strong. It is what makes Dean Dean."

"Yes. It is. Tell me, what is fated to happen if the hell-spawn, Sam Winchester dies?"

"He will go to hell. He is an abomination, as you said."

"If you had not meddled, Sam would have died, gone to hell, and Dean would have followed him. He would have shed the blood of hell itself to bring back his brother."

"Yes, but I assumed Dean would be better able to focus on his duties if he was not distracted by Sam's death, and foolhardy attempts to bring him back. Beisdes that, he asked. He prayed. Over and over again after I rescued him, I heard his prayers for Sam. Dean does not pray unless it is about Sam. We could have revealed– "

"You assume too much, Castiel. Some things are fated to happen. One way, or another. Your interference has set the time frame behind what it should have been."

"Time frame for what? Uriel, I wish to be shown the same revelation that you received. It would help me to be clearer about my mission."

"Your job is to follow orders. As is mine. Everything will play out as intended. Have faith."

"I do. I only wish I knew what exactly will play out as intended. I am... uncertain of what it is that we want from Dean Winchester. You spoke as if his attempt to march into hell, after his brother was a good thing. I do not understand how that could possibly be a good thing."

"You do not need to understand! Only obey and all will be shown in time. Watch over Dean Winchester. Leave the other to his own fate."

"I will do as you say. I will watch over Dean Winchester."

I cannot watch over Dean without watching Sam as well. I will not interfere again.

But I will watch.

–

Author note: Dear readers, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I noticed this story was getting a lot of 'follows' and I was confused, because it is meant to be complete, and I thought for sure I had labeled it as such. But somehow, I had not. It is fixed now. This story is meant to stand by itself, though I might write more in this little 'verse as ideas come to me. Again, I'm so sorry for leading you on! Believe me, it was unconsciously done!