Dean had a list. Well, it couldn't really qualify as a list. It only had two things on it. Release Benny. Find Sam
He kind of wished the order was reversed, but that couldn't be helped. Benny's soul or whatever was burning his arm up.
"Here we go," he grunted, slashing his arm open. A quick bit of chanting, and Benny was back in the world of the living. "Welcome back."
Benny grinned sideways. "Well, I owe you one, Dean Winchester. What are you going to do now?"
"Find my little brother."
Benny nodded. "Stay safe."
"You, too. Hey, stay in contact, all right?"
"Will do."
Dean watched as Benny strode off, away from civilization, while he turned back to it. First objective, done. Now to find Sam.
A couple hours of walking, and Dean made his way into a town, stealing a car and a cell phone. He nearly got caught—he was pretty rusty.
Dean sank back into the uncomfortable seats of a very very old Ford truck, already anticipating seeing the Impala again, and dialed.
"This number has been disconnected."
Dean frowned. So. Back-up phone.
"This number has been disconnected."
He swore under his breath. Of course it wouldn't be easy. Because, you know, that would make everything easy.
Well, still, they had plans for this kind of thing. Emergency locations. Drop points. Back-up emails. One of them had to work, right?
Only apparently, Sam had forgotten that plan; the nearest safe house looked as if it hadn't been used in a year.
For the first time since he had been dropped into Purgatory, Dean considered the possibility that Sam had died. They had been battling the Leviathans. Sam had been left in the aftermath.
Dean didn't allow himself to think about it too long. Sam was a survivor. He was alive. He was.
"Excuse me, miss. Could I borrow your laptop for one second? I just need to look someone up." Dean used his most charming smile on the college student.
She gave him a quick once-over, suspicion giving way to indifference. "Sure. You break it, you buy it."
Dean didn't waste any time, checking Sam's email in hopes of a message. Nothing. Nothing at all, actually, except for some advertising emails from ammo stores and some other spam.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Dean began hunting down articles on the whole Dick Roman fiasco.
"Hey, I heard about that."
Dean flinched at the girl's voice as she leaned over to glance at the screen. In Purgatory, that slow of a reaction would have gotten him killed. "Uh, what do you mean?"
The girl pointed at the computer screen. "It was all over, how they captured that serial killer and he got charged with all of that mess."
Dean paled. "Yeah?" he managed to say.
The college girl smirked. "Where have you been living for the past year?"
At another point in Dean's life, he would have rebounded with a witty comment, but it had been a long year. "What happened to the guy?" he asked.
The girl shrugged. "In prison, I guess."
"Right," Dean responded numbly. He did a quick search for Sam's name and came up with a huge amount of articles. This was . . . fantastic.
"Uh, thanks for letting me use—" Dean vaguely gestured at the girl's laptop and beat a hasty retreat.
He had a brother to break free.
Sam wasn't in a prison. Well, he was, it just wasn't a prison prison. It was a prison for crazy people. Which was good in some ways—it meant that Sam hadn't been given the death penalty. It did mean that he was locked down tight, however.
Dean may have been rusty, but that didn't mean he couldn't make do.
A distraction in the form of an explosion, a quick hack into the computer system to unlock the necessary doors, and Dean was golden.
The hallways were empty aside from a few orderlies as Dean made his way into solitary, dressed in scrubs himself.
"Careful as you go in. That one's violent, sometimes," one called. Dean nodded tersely, not trusting himself to speak as he undid the lock on Sam's door. Once the coast was clear, he let himself inside.
"Sam?"
"You Leviathans lack imagination." Sam rolled over in his bed, only barely hindered by the restraints on his wrists, brandishing a bottle of Borax.
Dean held up his hands. "Whoa, Sammy. It's me, I promise, dude. Look, spray me. I'm not a Leviathan."
Sam's red-rimmed eyes stayed narrowed at him and he splashed Dean with the chemicals. Dean gazed at him expectantly, waiting for the shoe to drop.
"Oh. So, Lucifer, then."
Dean blinked. "Wait, what?"
Sam flopped back down. "Figures. Though it's been a while. I suppose you want my answer?"
"Answer?" Dean was bemused.
"Yes. You told me that you would want one. And it's yes."
"Dude, you're not making any sense." Dean moved forward and began working on Sam's restraints.
"Uh huh. So, will it be fire this time?"
"Sam, snap out of it." Dean worriedly took in Sam's alarmingly unhealthy appearance.
Sam squinted at him. "What's the point of all of this? I gave my answer, and you promised that you wouldn't pretend anymore."
"Sammy, c'mon. I'm back, you know. No welcoming, no tears?"
"I hate it when you pretend," Sam muttered.
Dean gripped Sam's shoulder. "Sam. I'm not . . . pretending. I'm back. We're busting out of this joint."
Sam smiled at him, almost whimsically. "Okay."
"We don't have time for this," Dean growled. He yanked Sam to his feet, startled to feel Sam's ribs through his hospital clothes. "Let's go, Sam."
"Sam, where's the Impala?"
"Hid it by the place with the Leviathans," Sam muttered vaguely.
"Uh huh." Dean steered Sam by his bony upper arm. "Let's go then."
Sam was like a ghost, following him silently. Dean managed to use their back-up funds to get them a motel room far away from the mental facility.
"Shake a leg, Sammy. Early morning for us, we have to get my baby back."
Sam slumped down on the first bed, which was supposed to be Dean's. "Stop taking so long. I get it, more games. But you never liked drawing it out this long."
That was enough of . . . well, whatever was going on in Sam's messed up head.
"Sammy. Look at me. It's really me. Whatever you've gone through in the past . . . well, however long it's been up here, that's all over now. I'm back. I got thrown into Purgatory, but climbed my way out. You following me?" Dean said softly.
Sam blinked at him before laughing bitterly. "Sure," he said in a barely tolerant tone. Like he thought Dean was Lucifer, maybe. "Sure."
That was it. Dean drew back and hit him in the face, just enough force to snap Sam's head back and hopefully get him out of this. "Sam, that's enough," he snarled.
Sam's eyes were full of tired acceptance. "I suppose you'd like me to take off my shirt now."
"What? Why?" Dean stuttered, feeling like he was always two steps behind.
"You know. Burns this time, or whips?"
Dean shuddered, forcing himself to breathe. "Sam, take your shirt off."
Sam did, and Dean nearly choked. Sam's whole torso was brutally marked, long scars, purpling bruises, oozing infections.
"Sammy," he breathed. "What happened to you?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You were there. Don't you know?"
"For the last time, Sam, I wasn't. I was fighting monsters in Purgatory. And the whole time I thought you were safe, and . . ." Dean trailed off, the weight of his guilt pressing him down. He had even forgotten to think about Sam sometimes.
"Dean?"
Something in Sam's voice had changed, and Dean looked up hopefully. "Sammy?"
If it was possible, Sam looked even more fragile than he had before. "You . . . you're not dead?"
Dean shook his head, and had about a second's warning before his arms were full of little brother.
"Hey, easy there, Sam. It's gonna be okay."
Sam was shaking with sobs that were unnatural for his little brother's strength and his once-stoic front. "You were dead, and gone, and I thought you weren't coming back, I gave up, I'm sorry, Dean, I'm sorry."
"Dude, nothing to be sorry for. Kay? Just . . . just breathe, Sam," Dean said, half-desperate to stop Sam's breakdown.
Sam's bony fingers were spastically gripping Dean's back. "Don't leave. Please, not again."
"Promise."
Sam's whole body relaxed at the one word, and Dean was left holding up his brother. His broken little brother.
"Sam, who did this to you?" he asked quietly.
"Leviathans weren't too happy with me," Sam mumbled into Dean's neck.
Dean pulled him just a little closer. "To think, I thought you had it better than me," he whispered.
"You . . . you were in Purgatory?" Sam asked.
"Uh huh. Monster killing fest, pretty much."
"Oh." Dean tried to pull back to get a better look at him, but Sam wouldn't let him. "And I'm not in the cage still?" Sam's voice was so small.
"Why would you think that, Sam?" Dean choked out.
Sam's eyes were dark and reflecting the dim light. "Could never be sure. Lost my stone number one, just had the memories. That's why I said yes."
"Yes to what?" Dean whispered, not trusting himself to say anything else.
"I was deciding, whether I was in the cage or not."
"So when you told me yes . . ."
Sam shrugged in his arms. "You coming back out of the blue like Lucifer did, I thought that meant it was for sure."
"This is messed up, little brother," Dean sighed.
Sam rolled his head back and cracked a small grin, allowing Dean to see a ghost of his old Sam. "I hear ya."
They were silent for a moment.
"Figures, I only just get back and we're already having a gigantic chick-flick moment. I suppose you won't let me get out of this with any dignity and sleep in the other bed?" Dean finally asked.
If it was possible, Sam's grip became even tighter. "Nope," he slurred.
"Thought so," Dean grumbled, mostly for show. He shifted slightly. "We should get you fixed up, Sammy."
"It can wait."
Dean knew he should insist on patching Sam up, but the itchiness of being alone that had been under his skin since Purgatory was sliding away into a comfortable weariness. He was back, and he had Sam. Everything else would come later.
A/N: Just another option for what could've gone down after purgatory. And I found it very very odd that there was no backlash from the Leviathans. Or that the remainder didn't go after Sam. So, you know, I came up with this. And added a bit of some crazy!Sam for fun. Let me know what you think! (or some other theories for what could've happened instead)