Synopsis: Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found.
Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?
Legalities: Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world.
NO SLASH. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe. Brotherly moments only. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier.
Chapter 1 – Man Out of Time
~October 2008~
Crisp night air that should have smelled of earth and the woodsy scent of pine reeked only of death with slight overtones of the decay of flesh. The nice autumn evening was completely destroyed by the stench. But really, was that so unusual for a cemetery, or to be more specific, cemetery adjacent?
Over the years it had become a familiar smell, one that meant a job well done. Or run like Hell because something was chasing you intent on your death! But it also meant the completion of a case or a soul laid to rest leaving it in peace, however one chose to look at it. And yet the young lanky man staring down at a freshly covered grave, appeared to have no peace at all. His broad shoulders seemed to bow heavily under the weight of his apparent loss.
Cemeteries had become almost a second home throughout his short life. But at this moment, staring down at the freshly disturbed earth he could find no peace in it because he knew that the soul he'd just buried would find nothing but bitter pain on the other side of the veil. It made him physically ill just thinking about it and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to walk away.
Sam Winchester couldn't tear his gaze from the fresh grave marked with a single handmade wooden cross. It was the final resting place for the last remaining member of his family and the only one that had placed Sam's future ahead of their own. The young man had been so deluded that he'd honestly thought that he could save his brother; the same way Dean had saved him. But in the end, Sam had been helpless to change a destiny he wanted no part in. He'd been forced to watch as a Hellhound had ripped open Dean's chest like a Christmas present. He shuddered at the horrific images that thought evoked and his heart clenched painfully inside his own chest.
A small part of him wondered if this was the devastation that Dean had felt when he'd been unable to save Sam from the yellow-eyed demon. If it was, then Sam could understand his brother's decision to trade his own soul to bring his only family member back. Because at this moment if a crossroads demon had offered him a deal, Sam would have jumped on it like a starving man at a Vegas Buffett. His eyes burned as the tears welled beneath his closed eyelids.
A tear dripped off the end of his nose as he threw the last of the moist earth onto the lonely grave.
Staring down at the grave Sam was forced to admit that return of his brother had life torn apart the life he'd been building and over the last three years he'd lost the love of his life, buried his father, and watched his brother spiral out of control. But none of those losses could compare with the soul-wrenching pain of throwing a handful of fucking dirt across Dean's cold, lonely grave. His brother deserved more than this; he deserved what Sam couldn't give him, a life.
When Dean had died Sam had folded in on himself. He'd sent Bobby away in an attempt to come to terms with this latest death, but no amount of time spent with the eviscerated body of his older brother had prepared him for the reality he now faced; he was alone.
Digging this grave before covering Dean's physical body with rock and dirt amid empty acrid silence had broken something inside him. It was here in this field of blood that Sam finally understood why his brother had risked his immortal soul to save him, because Dean couldn't live with Sam dead. He gulped down the rising emotions before they choked him and he joined his brother. Biting at his lower lip, the same way he had in that godforsaken house as he'd wrapped his arms around the bloody corpse of his older brother, he allowed the full breadth of his emotions to sink into his gut. And now as he stared at that fucking grave he finally understood what it was to be alone, to truly be alone, and it hurt in ways he couldn't quantify.
If this were how Dean had felt, as he'd down at Sam's own corpse he couldn't begrudge the choice his brother had made as a result. Because it had been a choice made while in the thralls of overwhelming grief and it had caused Dean to trade his own soul in order to bring his brother's back.
Glancing up, he heaved a heavy sigh, ignoring the way his chest ached as he allowed his gaze to drift around the small clearing of trees. It was peaceful, quiet, everything that Dean had never had during his hunter's life. A slow smile tainted with pain worked across Sam's lips when he thought of Dean's likely reaction to his final resting place. His snarky older brother would have hated it, hell the guy had hated all forms of silence, always had. But Sam had wanted a place away from people or the creepy crawlies that might think it funny to desecrate the body of a Winchester. So he was left with this clearing in Indiana where no one would ever know the small cross-marked the grave of Dean Winchester.
This desire for silence was one of a million ways they were different, he and Dean. All Sam had ever wanted was a normal life. One that included a white picket fence, maybe a dog in some nice quiet neighborhood where everyone celebrated the 4th of July with barbeques and beer. The reality of his holidays sent another pang of regret surging through him because he'd never hear his brother singing to patriotic songs in an off-key way again.
Oh God Dean, this hurts too much. He wrapped his arms around his stomach like he was desperately trying to hold himself together. I don't think I can do it alone.
An image of Dean leaning against the Impala, a cold beer in one hand and a sparkler in the other, sent an avalanche of emotions crashing down on him. Sam stumbled under the weight of his losses and landed hard on his knees as unrelenting waves of anger mixed with regret washed through him. He didn't know how long he knelt before his brother's grave, tears streaming down his face, shoulders shaking uncontrollably, but his eyes were gritty and sore before he was again aware of the passage of time.
Oh God…Dean I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough to save you. I should have been. You would have been. I swear I won't give up not until l find a way to save you. He sent that promise out into the ethos, routing it inside his very soul. But this was something that he would have to do alone. As much as he didn't want to be alone, Sam wasn't willing to involve anyone else he loved, so he'd severed contact with Bobby.
The bitch demon Ruby had been trying like a freaking maniac to get Sam's attention. So far he'd been able to avoid her repeated attempts to get some face-time with him, but that wouldn't last. However, Sam wouldn't risk the only person left on earth that had known Dean as well as he had. So the old hunter was out as far as Sam was concerned. Bobby had been as close to them as their father had been distant; losing the old man would shatter what little was left of Sam.
The only way he could honor his brother's sacrifice was to do what Dean would have done and there was no way that the elder Winchester would've talked to a demon. At least not one that wasn't able to make a deal. The thought burst into his head and he shook at the memory of his brother's deal.
But if Sam saw that black-eyed bitch right now he was fairly certain he'd kill her outright. It didn't matter if Ruby had been in on Lilith's plans or not. She'd known about Dean's deal and she'd kept that from him. It didn't matter if she'd known what would ultimately happen to Dean; Sam wasn't ready to allow a demon into his life, not after everything those lying bastards had done to his family. But at this moment, revenge was the last thing on his mind.
Once he figured out how to live without Dean maybe then he could think about revenge, but not right now.
Sam knew what was coming, he wasn't a fucking idiot; it was only a matter of time until the inconsolable rage and the all-consuming need to make every damned demon pay for his brother's death, took over his rational thought. But this wasn't the time for that, not yet.
With an effort the felt herculean in nature, he hauled his lanky body up before turning toward the waiting Impala, the sight of the sleek black car shining in the moonlight choked off his air as pain hurdled through him.
The expected emotions at seeing his brother's beloved car pummeled at his self-control and he moaned in response. Taking a deep breath, he allowed the woodsy scent to mix with the smell of death and it created an odd mixture that was more comforting than disturbing. Wrenching back control of his wayward emotions, Sam stalked toward the car before pulling the backdoor open and removing his brother's pearl-handled 1911 Taurus. With shaky deliberate steps, he turned back toward Dean's small grave as his vision blurred, again.
It was done in moments, burying something that felt like an extension of his big brother was almost as difficult as burying Dean, and he wanted to sob. His eyes burned, but he no longer had any tears left to shed. He turned back toward the car and slowly closed the distance while at the same time increasing the distance between himself and Dean's body. The moment his fingers closed around the cold steel of the handle, the one on the driver's side, he felt disgustingly, disturbingly wrong. Because sinking into the leather after sliding into the seat, that his brother almost exclusively occupied for the majority of their lives, felt like a betrayal on the deepest level.
XXXX
~Exactly Two Years Later~
Sam pulled off the narrow two-lane road near the edges of what had once been an empty lonely field in the middle of nowhere USA. He stared up at the houses that surrounded the grove of trees at the exact place where he'd buried his only remaining family. Fear rocketed through him at the realization that they could have dug up Dean's grave and not even known until the coffin tumbled out onto the soil.
But as he stared at the final resting place of his order brother he breathed a sigh of relief as he noticed that the grove hadn't been disturbed. The only thing that had changed was that there was now grass planted over the spot where Dean had been buried. Swallowing thickly he climbed out of the Impala and made his way into the park.
He couldn't count the months that it had taken for him to finally accept that he couldn't bring his brother back. He had tried everything. Talked to crossroads demons. Tried to barter with the Gjinn. Summoned the spirits of the dead in order to learn more about his brother's fate. But no dice, nothing had wanted to deal with a Winchester.
For that reason he hadn't been back before now and his last hope of resurrecting Dean had been blown to smithereens seven weeks ago and now the only thing that he had left…was revenge. So he'd come to talk to his brother and this was the place he felt closest to the person that had raised him.
The youngest Winchester had known what would happen once he slipped into the life he'd struggled to avoid. And he knew there would be nothing he could do about it once it happened. He would fight the things that go bump in the night, but he would do it completely alone. In fact he hadn't even talked to Bobby in more than a year.
The demon, Ruby had tried every play in the demon handbook to get his attention. She'd even gone so far as to possess a woman that looked distressingly similar to Jessica. That little stunt had nearly landed the Kurdish demon-blade directly in her black heart.
Sam had spent months researching every version of a demon deal, desperately searching for something that would give him an advantage over the twisted demons. He'd held out hope of finding anything that might offer him some way of saving Dean's soul. But no matter where he looked or which rituals he tried, he'd had no luck, and it killed him a little more each day.
At this point, Dean probably wouldn't even recognize the man Sam had become in his single-minded pursuit of breaking his brother out of Hell. Sam had made his brother a promise…a silent promise on the day he'd buried him.
He'd promised that he would return to this grave before doing anything monumentally stupid and Sam was on the verge of doing something so incredibly stupid that he knew he had to return. He could not break the promise he'd sworn at Dean's graveside, not for anything in the entire world.
The problem with learning some of the darker lores was that he was made aware of what was really being done to his brother in the fiery pits of Hell. Sam had been very careful not to ask about Hell. He'd known that he couldn't handle that kind of truth; not after watching his brother being ripped open, Dean's blood had still stained his hands as he'd thrown dirt onto the grave.
But as it turned out, reading about something doesn't hold a candle to seeing it in live action and vivid Technicolor in his dreams.
In Sam's misguided attempts to save Dean, he'd invoked some really nasty spells, the first one had left an indelible impression that he couldn't turn off or control. Initially he'd thought that the dreams were his own subconscious seeking absolution by forcing him to witness what he thought might be happening in Hell.
The dreams had started that first night following the spell. Sam finally gotten a cheap motel room and too exhausted and emotionally eviscerated to go on, he'd sought the abyss of sleep. Ha-ha, the joke had been on him. There was no abyss dark enough for a Winchester.
He hadn't yet buried his brother's body and he couldn't leave Dean in the Impala all night, so Sam had brought him into the motel. With shaking hands he'd taken great care to clean the blood from Dean's clothing before washing it from his brother's body. Then he'd painstakingly sewn the ragged flesh together before hauling the flowered comforter over the cold body of his brother. As he'd sat there staring at the unmoving body, he'd completely lost his fucking mind. Sam had pulled out a spell that he'd discovered weeks ago, one that was supposed to swap his and Dean's souls. Turns out witches can't be trusted. Bitch hadn't given him a swap-meat spell; she'd given him a linking-spell. It had permanently linked Sam's subconscious mind with Dean's.
While it was blurry at first and the spell took some time to fully connect them, eventually Sam saw everything, he knew the pain and the suffering his brother was going through and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. After that he'd drank himself into a stupor to try and avoid the dream-state. Sometimes it actually worked.
Turned out Sam had never realized just how much he loved his big brother, not until he'd lost him. The night he'd started dreaming of Dean, dreaming of the sheer Hell that his brother was being subjected to, well, it had been worse than anything Hell could've done to him.
At first Sam hadn't remembered the specifics of the dreams. But oh dear Gods the time came when he remembered every detail and he was pretty sure that his mind fractured a bit with the realization.
Sam had been forced to watch as every horror movie that Dean had loved got the experience in Hell totally and perfectly wrong.
The one exception was Hellraiser. That fucking flick must have been written by a demon because it had actually gotten everything right. The reality of that had nearly sent Sam over the proverbial edge. Because torturing a soul was so much more than just indescribable pain, and holy-mother-of God was there was plenty of that, it was tearing down everything that made the soul human in the first place. No, truly destroying the human soul was about ripping away the essence of what made it human, it was about shattering what made Dean, Dean.
Over the last two years Sam had been forced to bear witness to his brother's utter destruction. But none of it happened in real-time because, apparently, time was different in Hell. Every single thing he was forced to witness had already happened and there wasn't a fucking thing that Sam could do to change it.
He'd watched with a sinking heart as the humanity had slowly drained away with every drop of blood that splattered beneath the rack. Sam had seen the changes in Dean with every strip of flesh that was repeatedly torn from the bones of the one person that did not deserve it. That very first morning, the one after the spell, Sam had stumbled from his bed, barely making it to the small bathroom, before he'd thrown up everything he'd eaten for the last week and that hadn't been much. He'd retched until there was nothing left but the bile burning the insides of his throat, and still he couldn't stop the violent tremors inside his body.
The second month was more of the same, but it was on the seventh month that he'd been truly terrified. When a white-eyed demon, he still hadn't caught the son of a bitches name, came waltzing up to the rack wearing an exact replica of Sam's face. Sam had been forced to watch as what little fight Dean had had left was crushed the moment he'd laid the blade against his brother's skin. The will to fight had drained away the same way his brother's blood had gushed from the wounds not-Sam inflicted. Over and over again. Because that was the exact moment when Sam knew they'd found the key to breaking his brother. It wasn't the pain or torture of the past months; it was when the blade had been wielded by the youngest Winchester's doppelganger that there had been no hope for the broken soul strapped to the iron rack.
For the firs time Sam wasn't sure what version of his brother he'd get back, even if he succeeded; which he hadn't.
TBC…
Author's Note: This is a complete rewrite of a previously posted story (which is no longer available). I wanted to take this idea and turn it on its head with some of the things that have happened since it was originally written (in 2013). A lot has happened in the last 5 years and I think I found a better story than the one I'd originally posted. There are elements of that story throughout this one, but it is an entirely new spin. The good news is that the bulk of the writing is done and I'll be posting a new chapter every Wednesday and Sunday (or sooner if I have time).
Here's snippet from the next Chapter:
"He isn't in here, Sam Winchester."
A deep voice commented, interrupting the introspection that had been happening inside his head. Sam scrambled up to his feet, spinning around as he simultaneously pulled his Colt 1911 from the back of his jeans. The shiny barrel rose instinctively as Sam aimed in the direction of the voice.
A man that he'd never even heard move was standing less than ten feet from him."
End snippet-
Please let me know if you're interested in reading the re-written version of this.
