A/N As I write this, I haven't seen "Lazarus Rising" yet. I've heard about it because my boyfriend (who saw it) is just cruel enough to tell me that I'll flip over the episode. I know, he's evil. Because of that, this goes AU after NRFTW. I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this story, only that it has been bugging me for a few months now and that I don't have a choice but to put it down. My muse is a fickle bitch over whom I have no control whatsoever.

Day 2

I'm twenty-four years old, and I am an orphan. Strange how I never felt like one until my brother died. With my mother dead over twenty years, and my father gone two years, I never felt alone. Now I do. Somehow, I never completely realized just what Dean was to me until I held his cooling body in my arms. Until I felt his blood on my hands, until I looked into green eyes turned blind, and saw only myself. Only then did the world stopped. My life is now separated into chapters, much like the books my brother always teased me about. There's the Pre-Stanford years, the Stanford years, the Dean years and now, now are the Hell years. The ones I'll spend without my big brother around. There's a whole new calendar that started yesterday. And as much as I treasure the time I had with Dean, I doubt if I'll ever be able to look back on those years on the road without regrets.

"Sam." Bobby stood in the doorway, his eyes on the last remaining Winchester. Sam was hunched against the wall, his gaze fixed on the body on the bed. To Bobby, it was a scene out of the past and when he met Sam's eyes, what he saw made him shiver. The look was eerily reminiscent of the one another Winchester wore a year ago, just before the fool sacrificed his soul in exchange for a life. A sacrifice Bobby was determined to see honoured, even if he had to beat Sam into submission.

Still, it was creepy the way this all felt like déjà vu. So even though he knew the answer he would get, Bobby said, "Sam, you know it's time, we have to burn the body, son."

"No." Sam straightened away from the wall, and started pacing, eyes on the floor. "All this time, and I never looked for a way to get him OUT of Hell. I only searched for a way to keep him away from it. There has to be a way to get him back, Bobby. And he'll need his body. There must be a spell, something that will keep him from decomposing. Can you hit the books? I'll patch him up." Suddenly, Sam was a flurry of movements. With his new mission set, he didn't intend to waste any time.

Bobby looked on as Sam started cleaning and bandaging wounds, as he stitched dead flesh together and as he applied antibiotic cream to lacerations. When Sam made to reset broken limbs, Bobby turned away, feeling slightly green.

As soon as the well-meaning mechanic was out of the room, Sam dropped his head, hands resting lightly on Dean's body.

"I know. He's only trying to help me. But I can't let you burn Dean, I just… I can't. Not you too. Mom, Jess, Dad. They all went up in flames. And I know you're in Hell, you probably have more than you share of fires, but… I just can't. I meant what I said to Bobby. I will find a way to get you out of there. I told you I would save you, and I will. Even if it's the last thing I do." His voice breaking on the last words and eyes already filling up again, Sam sighed.

With tender hands, he smoothed the stark bandages. He knew it was useless, that most likely, he wouldn't be able to get Dean out of Hell, but just in case he could… His brother would come back to a body as whole as he could manage it.

For maybe the first time ever, Sam really looked at his brother. Gone was the energy that was almost bigger than life, and with it, the cockiness that was all Dean, the charisma that attracted people to his brother. The face he knew as well as his own was suddenly alien to Sam in a way it had never been before. The freckles were standing out on skin made too pale by death, and there were suddenly a myriad of scars. It came as a shock to Sam that he didn't know the story behind all of them. His eyes took in the body of a warrior, one that had been broken and put back together more often than it should have. How had Dean gotten the scar that ran along his collarbone and how about that bullet hole on his tight?

As revelations often happens, out of a quiet mind, Sam suddenly realized that this man, this brother who had been father, mother, protector, was a mystery to him. That somehow, Dean had managed to hide himself even from his little brother.

A/N Story title is from a poem by Robert Frost while chapter title is by William Blake. Go read the Blake poem, I can't help but think of Dean when I read it…I'll try to update soon, but I can't guarantee anything. Some Feedback would be greatly appreciated!