The idea for this story came from about twelve different things put together. I'll explain in the end author's note how everything started, if you want to read it. All you really need to know is that it came from a really cliché idea that I've used with other fandoms and completely failed at, so I worked really, really hard to make my OC not a Mary-Sue. Please let me know if I succeeded.

Other than that, I think that's all I need to tell you up here. I'm trying to decide what to do with this once I've posted it, so please let me know what you think. Should I keep it a one-shot, make it a two-shot, or make an entire AU multi-chap out of it? Please tell me what you think. I hope you enjoy this and please review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for what I own. Thanks to AngelRulesTheWorldWeLiveIn for beta-ing! Wouldn't have been able to post without her.

Hellbound Thoughts

Sometimes Dean wishes he had a sister.

"Hey, kid, time to hit the road!" Dean called out as he zipped up his duffle bag and lifted it off of the motel room bed.

"Again?" came the response from the adjacent bathroom, where the sound of a hairdryer blowing had been coming from for the last twenty minutes, finally having ceased. "We just finished this job!"

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his cropped hair, trying to figure out the best way to explain.

The girl came out of the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes holding a mixture of annoyance and concern (it was an expression Dean often wished he never taught her). She still held the hairdryer in her hand and only about half of her usually golden-blonde hair was actually dry, making it about twelve different colors. She leaned against the doorframe, her free hand shoved in the pocket of her "casually ripped" jeans, only most of the inhuman blood successfully washed out of her favorite Led Zeppelin t-shirt. "What's wrong, Dean? New Orleans food not good enough for you? You need to head back up North and get some good old bacon cheeseburgers?"

Dean rolled his eyes at her teasing, especially because he knew she liked bacon cheeseburgers and hated spicy Louisiana food just as much as he did, but even so he couldn't help the subtle quirking of his lips as he resigned himself to one more day of bad music and even worse food.

Dean tries to keep the fantasy's residual happiness in his system as he stares at the ceiling of Lisa's bedroom. Their bedroom, he has to remind himself, because he still can't quite force himself to believe that this isn't just some temporary thing. That Sam is gone, for good, and that Lisa and Ben are his only family now. A shudder wracks through him, but he clenches his teeth, not wanting to wake up Lisa, not wanting to lose his cool and start crying again. Not wanting to think of Sam.

Dean rolls over onto his side and resumes his fantasy, wondering what it would be like to have someone else—someone different, who wouldn't leave, wouldn't get possessed by the Devil, wouldn't stupidly jump into Hell, not realizing how much pain it would cause their family.

As far as Dean understands, girls just don't do that shit.

Dean had lied to her a few days back, told her he'd been in contact with Dad, and they'd hang in New Orleans for just a couple more days, then meet up with him somewhere with better food and fewer graveyards, as soon as Dad was done with his hunt. He felt horrible about it, sure, but keeping her happy for more than a few moments was worth the trouble.

Because he hadn't heard from Dad—not in weeks, and he was surprised she hadn't called him out on the lie yet. She could almost always tell when he was lying, much to Dean's annoyance. But she hadn't said a word about it, and now she was leaning against the doorframe in their cheap, surprisingly un-crappy motel room, watching him with that look mixing annoyance and concern.

"We're going up to California," Dean told her simply, not ready to fully explain just yet. "Palo Alto, specifically."

She frowned at him, one emotion taking over her gaze, although Dean couldn't tell which one. "Palo Alto? I mean, I get California—John's working in Jericho, right? But why so close to Stanford?"

Dean felt a pang in his heart, angry that she hadn't automatically made the connection, but not angry at her—angry at his brother, and more so at his dad.

"Look, kid…" he began softly, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't actually talk to Dad the other day."

The girl rolled her eyes—the same bright green color as Dean's, but wider, giving her a sort of innocence that had saved both their lives many a time. "Yeah, I kinda figured."

Dean didn't ask how she'd figured it out. He didn't have to. She just knew him that well. It was kind of creepy how well she could read him, actually.

"I haven't heard from Dad in weeks," he continued. "Which in this case isn't a good sign. I need to go find him... but we're going to get Sammy first."
Her expression became unreadable in half a second, and Dean squirmed uncomfortably, not sure how she was reacting to the news. After a minute that felt like forever, she shifted her weight to her other side and looked down at the floor. "You're going to get Sam…" she repeated.

Dean nodded, but then realized she probably couldn't see him. "Yeah."

She lifted her gaze to his face, looking—if anything—uncomfortable with the situation. "Think he'll come? Leave college just to find John?"

Dean turned away from her—unable to keep her gaze and not wanting to look like a wuss—and picked up his duffle, slinging it over his shoulder and starting towards the door. "He will. He has to."

"Why do we even need him?" she asked after a few seconds' hesitation, stopping him just as he reached for the door. "Can't we find John on our own?"

Dean sighed, having half-expected the question. "No," he said shortly. "No, we need Sam. Whatever took Dad out of commission can't be something normal, and definitely isn't something good." He slowly turned back to her, hoping to convey his thoughts as well as he could, with his eyes as well as his words. "I can't hunt this thing on my own, kid. And if it gets too dangerous, I can't have you in the way." Her face darkened, but she didn't interrupt—she knew what he meant by "in the way." He didn't want to have to worry about her. "We need Sam," Dean finished.

She nodded slowly, staying silent for a grand total of about two seconds, before bombarding him with questions again. "What if he says no?"

Dean paused, wanting to answer truthfully without completely destroying her last bit of trust in her younger older brother. "He won't," he finally said, but it sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself than her.

"But what if he does?"

She still had the hairdryer in her hand and Dean would've thought she looked damn ridiculous the way she was gripping it, like it was a weapon, (not that he was doubting that in her hands it could be) but it wasn't the time to let a sarcastic quip make light of the situation.

"He won't," Dean repeated, more surely this time. "But if he does," he added before she could protest, "then we'll figure something out. Just like we always do. Okay?"

At first she just stared at him, taking in everything he'd said. Her grip loosened on the hairdryer and she gave the tiniest of nods, conveying that she understood what needed to be done.

Dean nodded back in satisfaction and started to turn away again, but again she stopped him. "So… basically you're saying I have to spend 39 hours in your old but badass car, just to have Sam—who left us, remember—more than likely reject us again?"

Dean heaved a sigh, taking a minute to collect his thoughts before delivering his pep talk. "Listen to me, kid. Sam won't reject us—not this time. No matter how… not great his relationship is with Dad—," she snorted at the understatement, "they still love each other. Sam will help us find Dad, if only for our sakes. But whatever happens, whatever Sam does, whatever Dad does, I want you to remember one thing."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

Dean pointed at her, completely serious, and finished his speech dramatically, using her own words about the Impala against her. "The badass is the important part."

Dean wakes with a start, his own thoughts having turned into a nightmare without him realizing he had fallen asleep. He breathes heavily, thinking back to where the dream had ended—going to get Sam, to drag him back into the hunt, to damn him for good—send him to Hell.

Slowly and silently, being careful not to wake Lisa, Dean slips out of bed and pulls on his jeans, not bothering with a shirt. Imaginary sister or not, awake or asleep, he's trying not to think of Sam and that's not gonna be easy.

He sleepily makes his way to the kitchen and immediately gets a beer out of the fridge. He's glad Lisa let him start keeping them upstairs, telling him that as long as he doesn't get too drunk or give any to Ben, he can keep the alcohol out of the garage. But as he opens the bottle and takes the first sweet sip, he seriously considers getting completely and utterly wasted. He knows it'll give him a hell of a hangover in the morning if he has all six beers left in the fridge, and Lisa will be mad and maybe even kick him out for a day or two, but anything—even a headache and a woman's rage—is worth keeping him from thinking about Sam.

Dean slumps into a chair at the kitchen table and takes another sip of beer, letting his thoughts carry him away from reality. If Sam were here—God, if Sam were here, he wouldn't be trying to get drunk—but if someone like Sam were here, would he be trying to knock some sense into his brother? Or would he be getting just as wasted?

Dean manages a small smile as he drinks, thinking—just for a second—what a little sister might do.

"This is a bad idea," she said again as she lay on the motel bed, flipping through the magazine left on the counter.

Dean glared at her from the other bed, pulling his boots on and then checking to make sure he had all his weapons. "Shut up. It's a great idea."

She looked up at him from the fashion crap she was barely half reading, raising a suspicious-looking eyebrow at her brother. "Um, no. It's not. It's a horrible idea, because Dean—if you do this, you'll probably only succeed in getting really drunk and having sex with a stranger, and even then there's only a slight change you'll actually kill the monster we're trying to hunt. And then I'll have to do all the work. Again."

Dean rolled his eyes as he stuck up his jacket collar. "Whatever. I'll be fine." He stood and started towards the door. "Be back before three. I'll call on the way home. Something happens, you know how to hotwire. Doe, third hotel in the book if this room runs out." He tossed her the extra room keys and left without anything else even resembling a goodbye.

"Don't go getting yourself killed," she called, but she could barely even get the words out before the door slammed closed.

Dean smiles as he finishes his first beer and puts the empty bottle back on the table, hearing the soft thud of glass on wood. He doesn't want to think about what would happen next in his imagination, because she's smart, the way he's imagined her. Knowing himself, and knowing what his mind-self had in mind, Dean probably would have ended up getting drunk, having sex, and only maybe killing something. He doesn't need—doesn't want —to think of that, because it's just the same as it would've been with Sam. It's what would happen after that's important.

He lets his mind wander again as he gets up to grab another beer.

Dean stumbled into the motel room, half shutting the door behind him, and spraying salt everywhere as he tripped over the line in the doorway.

"Hey, kid!" he called out, laughing. "I ganked it! The son of a bitch is dead!"

She looked up from the book she was reading less than three feet away, some random collection of folklore she had picked up at the library (you never know when they come in handy), and raised an eyebrow. "Really? And… how many drinks did you have before this happened?"

Dean leaned his head against the door, shutting it all the way, and grinned at the ceiling. "Dunno. Lost count after seventeen."

The girl sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. Then she put her book down and climbed out of bed. "Come on, Dean. Time for bed."
He looked over at her holding her hand out for him to grab, and he grinned and high-fived it, then burst out laughing, falling to the ground like it was the funniest thing in the world.

She closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh, then opened them again and reached down to lift her brother to his feet. "What are you doing?" he immediately protested, the words much too slurred for her liking.

"I'm taking you to bed, Dean," she told him, grimacing at his weight—and she had to carry most of it, since he could just barely stay on his feet. "I haven't seen you this drunk since Sam left, and if that's evidence for anything, you need to get some rest before you puke and I have to explain to the motel people why their carpet's ruined and why I'm a 13-year-old girl with a 25-year-old drunk guy in my room."

Dean was gloriously silent for about thirty seconds before his slurred speech continued. "I only understood about half of that, but I have a feeling you made a good point."

She rolled her eyes. "Damn straight. Now, come on."

She half-helped, half-dragged Dean to the other bed, the bigger bed—only reason she hadn't just dumped him in hers—and practically threw him onto the mattress, where almost instantly he was asleep.

She sighed and shook her head, then went to go replace the salt line Dean had destroyed, loading and reloading all the hidden guns in the room, then finally heading off to sleep herself.

She needs a name, Dean realizes as he finishes up his third beer. He's starting to really enjoy thinking about her—imagining things that could've happened if she were real. But he's imagined himself drunk and vulnerable in front of her, made it clear they would care about each other, maybe even more than him and Sam. But before he can even dare to think that, she definitely needs a name.

Dean closes his eyes and rubs his temples, trying to think. What would her name be, if she were real? What would Dad have named her? And it would have to have been Dad, because Dean's imagining her so young that there's no way she's not adopted, and after Mom's death. So what would his dad, a grieving father with two young teenage boys, name a baby girl he took in as his own for one reason or another? What would Dean have named her, if he were in his dad's position?

And then it hits him.

And he wants to slap himself.

Because it is so. Friggin'. Obvious.

"Mary!" Dean shouted, his head pounding as he squeezed his eyes shut against the bright light of the motel room. "God. Mary!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she replied tiredly and Dean could hear her scrambling out of bed, grabbing the things he needed. "I told you, you know," she teased him.

Dean groaned. "I know, I know. I hate it when you're right. Now painkillers—give!"

Mary laughed and less than a minute later, Dean felt something cool being pressed over his eyes, and she put his hand on the wet cloth to keep it in place, then put a hand on his back and helped him sit up.

Dean was more grateful than he could say. He knew he shouldn't have gone out last night—should've figured out another way to kill the monster. Or at least he shouldn't have had seventeen drinks—or was it twenty-seven? He couldn't remember, and didn't really want to—because now he was paying for it.

Mary handed him a couple pills and a bottle of water and he immediately swallowed the medicine and chugged half the bottle before the pain in his head lessened fractionally.

He lay back on the bed again and opened his eyes, but kept the cloth on his head, blocking out most of the harsh light.

"Need anything else?" Mary asked, looking annoyed and exhausted as she sat at the edge of the bed, but only sounding concerned.

Dean managed a small smile. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks, kid."

Mary returned the smile and stood up, barely making it to her own bed before collapsing. Dean watched her for a moment, but he knew she was awake and fine, just tired and not in the mood to move any time soon.

"Hey, Mary?" he asked softly.

She groaned. "What?"

Dean hesitated, then asked, "You miss Sam?"

Mary seemed to stiffen for a second and she didn't answer for a long time. Dean started to think she'd fallen asleep, but then she nodded.

"I don't miss him and John fighting all the time," she elaborated, sounding quiet and sad, vulnerable. "But I miss the three of us being together—you, me, and Sam. And Sam ruffling my hair like I was a little kid, and making his little bitchface whenever you called him Sammy." She chuckled nostalgically before continuing. "I miss when you guys played pranks on each other, and he'd get you cake instead of pie and you'd only pretend to be mad. I miss him… but I don't. Because I still can't really believe he's gone."

Dean is shocked out of his thoughts as he realizes that's exactly how he feels. He misses Sam more than anything he's ever missed in his life, but he really doesn't because as far as he's concerned, Sam's not really gone…

Dean stands from the table and discards his half-empty bottle, the image of him with a hangover suddenly making him really not want a hangover. As he slowly makes his way back to the bedroom, the unbearable sadness that's been crushing him since Sam jumped into Lucifer's cage starts to lessen. And as he crawls into bed next to Lisa and feels her curl up into his chest, he realizes that he's really okay. Because, yes, Sam's in Hell, probably enduring worse torture than Dean's ever was, but Dean's not alone. He doesn't miss Sam, and he's got Lisa and Ben to help him when he does, and Mary in his head to take him away from reality, and all in all he knows everything's going to be okay. Eventually.

THE END

A/N: Don't quote me on this, but I think that was the longest one-shot I've ever written, possibly even the longest chapter. It was 18 pages in my notebook, 6 typed up. Anyway, I hope you liked it. Here's the inspiration story.

So my friend and I were writing this epic twelve-way crossover about a girl who uses a machine to transport herself into fictional universes. She has to go through the different universes, all to end up in the Supernatural 'verse using different portals in each world to get to the next one. In each world, she has a cover story—a way that the characters think they know who she is, even though they don't really. Originally, my idea for the Supernatural 'verse cover story was that she was Sam and Dean's adopted sister. I figured she'd be the daughter of a hunter whose parents died on a job and John took her in. I played with that idea for awhile, but then we decided that the character would die in the Sherlock world and end up in Supernatural in a coma, becoming the subject of Sam and Dean's latest case. That became the official cover story, and the sister idea kinda died.

But I really liked that idea, I'm ashamed to say. I've written multiple stories with that same idea of giving the main characters a sister, and all it's given me is way too many Mary Sues. So I daydreamed about this character, who was originally named Savannah but I figured Mary made more sense in the context, but I decided not to write anything with her for fear of creating another Mary Sue.

Then, about a week or so ago, I spent all day reading Supernatural sickfics, and wanted to write one of my own. The only sickfic I'd successfully created an idea for involved this sister character, so I decided to hunker down and at least write something involving her, just trying my best to keep her and the people around her in character. That's when I had this idea: the only way to keep Sam and Dean's sister from becoming a Mary-Sue was to decide two things: 1. she's adopted and 2. she's a figment of Dean's imagination. From there, this story was born. It continued as I figured he'd make up this sister while missing Sam during Dean's time with Lisa and Ben. Then I realized I could flash back and forth between the present (written in present tense) to Dean's fantasies, many of which I'd already created the scenes for.

So anyway, that's that. It's a long story I know. Thanks to anyone who actually read all of it, and especially everyone who read the fic. Now, I just need you guys to tell me what to do next: Should I leave it like this, as a oneshot? Should I write a sequel/second chapter that actually has Sam in it? Or should I write an entire AU fic about the Winchesters' preseries adventures with Mary? Please review and let me know!