Hey everybody - me again! Here was the requested sequel to my story Little Dark Secrets. First and foremost, I would like to announce that however pleasant it would be to own Supernatural and have my very own Sam and Dean and all of their related characters at my beck and call, I don't. They belong to Eric Kripke. I'm just toying with them for a bit.
Secondly, this one will be told from the point of view of different characters throughout and written in present time instead of Dean's, which was kind of written in past tense even though he was supposed to be telling the story presently...
And if you're still with me after all that, remember: comments are love! Suggestions will always being taken under advisement and perhaps even mixed in!
It's been a week since Dean died.
Both Deans.
And Chase.
Everyone.
I had thought life would be hard when my brother was taken to Hell. His body left in a bloody mess right before my eyes, with no company but Ruby's lifeless form next to me. At that moment in time I'd thought that I wouldn't be able to go on, ever.
But then there was a phone call, and through the darkness that I'd allowed myself to fall into, there was the clichéd light. My nephew had been born that night, and his name was Dean Winchester, just like his father. Suddenly I wasn't as alone as I'd initially thought and I could push on, swearing to get my brother out of hell.
Funny how all I did was trade one Winchester for another. History repeated itself.
First John, then Dean. Now Dean for another Dean. It must be our way.
Or maybe it's just my way. Mom, Jess, Madison. Anyone I ever cared about? Dead. It always lingered in the back of my mind that I was Satan himself and I bring pain and curses on everyone around me. Guess the only real thing to do is go and pry Hell open and pull my nephew out.
"You about done or are you gonna have another one?" The blonde behind the bar I'm currently located in asks, both hands planted on the bar, smile lying on her lips. She's the type of girl either Dean would have paid close attention to; most times probably ignoring me in the process. It pains me to look up at her, the memories taunting me, and her smile softens.
She's pitying me. At one time I might've minded this. Now I know people do it because they don't fully understand what I've been through.
"I think I'll have one more." I reply, keeping my eyes down. She nods and pours another shot of whiskey and I down, barely feeling the liquor as it burns the back of my throat.
I'm going to get my nephew out of Hell and woe to they who stand in my way.