Better Out Than In

Author's Note:

I completed chapters one and two after the s3 finale aired (way back in the mists of time) and the awful hiatus that followed, but the story as it was got backed up, saved, and was never finished. Found it the other day, dusted it off, and decided to finish it. Ooh, that's a nice path, let's see where it goes, shall we?

.


.

ONE

Don't Go That Way - Never Go That Way!

.

Dean patted at his t-shirt urgently, finding it free of blood, rips, tears and in fact any sign of Hellhound abuse whatsoever. He blinked, looking up the vast open space in front of him. Everything appeared to be a dull orange colour. There was no sun in the sky and yet everything had tiny, ominous shadows.

It clicked.

"So this is Hell," he mused, looking around the wind-swept, barren rock.

The shorter girl at his side, her long red hair blowing around her, put her hands behind her back slowly. "It is for you," she shrugged.

He jumped slightly and looked down at her. "And who are you? The doorman?"

"Kind of," she allowed with a smile.

He studied her for a moment before looking back out at the scenery. "Why does it look like a scene from South Park?" he asked, confused. "Aren't there supposed to be like nine circles or something? Screaming, flames, torture, yadda yadda yadda?"

She smiled. "Oh, we don't need that. You'll see," she said smugly.

"What's that smell?" he asked, putting the back of his hand to his nose and trying to breathe in something that didn't try to strip the organs from his insides.

"Hell," she shrugged.

He turned and looked at her. "So we get to keep what we look like?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "Think of it as a nasty kind of Matrix."

"Oh you mean part two? Well I managed to get through that pile of bullcrap, so this should be a walk in the park," Dean snorted. She smiled, but said nothing.

He turned and looked out over the view, something nudging at him to take notice, but he just couldn't take it in. One minute he had been looking at Sam and giving him his best confident smile, squeezing his shoulder and telling him to look after the Impala, to carry on like the wayward son he'd always taken him for, and the next minute he had been shredded quite painfully by Hellhounds. He had screwed his eyes shut, determined to go out like a man - but it had hurt so much, and not just physically. Then he had opened his eyes and found himself here.

'Here' was a rock plateau, dark red and warm, small spirals of steam appearing every now and again from around him. More rocky outcroppings splayed about them in strange patterns, warm air draughts busying around them.

"So… where's the big guy?" Dean asked gingerly. He noticed for the first time that his jacket and heavy shirt appeared to have lost their way on his journey down here. He put his hands to his t-shirt again, pressing at his front to confirm his earlier discovery that he was no longer in ribbons. The warm air slid over his bare elbows slowly, tickling and making him shiver despite the rather pleasant temperature.

"Who?" the girl asked, interested.

Dean looked at her. "The guy that runs the place," he said deliberately slowly. She smiled.

"Oh he's not here. No-one's actually seen him - but you know that, right? So let me make one thing clear for you - just cos the boss isn't here, doesn't mean the inmates can raise Hell. Well, not in our sense, anyway."

"Right," Dean replied flatly, looking back out over the huge landscape, apparently endless. "Let me get this straight - the boss is out to lunch and yet there's some kind of command structure anyway."

"Whoever told you that?" she giggled, and he looked at her, non-plussed. "There's no-one in charge down here, Dean. No-one and nothing. That's why…" She wandered closer to the edge of the rock, nodding down at the precipice. He walked up next to her and looked down.

Bodies, hundreds of bodies, all crawling, struggling, fighting, tumbling over each other… Screaming and shouting, baying and snarling… Women, men, little boys, smaller girls… All of them desperate to break free of the crowd and get purchase against the slippery wall of a pit.

Dean swallowed and looked up again.

"That's why no-one escapes. Well, unless they're particularly adept at fitting in here. There are ways to find a small crack, ways to beat the traffic and find an off-ramp that no-one else knows about," she smiled.

"Uh-huh," Dean said non-commitedly, looking back down again. "And what's your job in all this?"

"I smooth your transition to your place in the struggle," she smiled, looking over the edge.

You mean you make sure I start at the bottom of that pile down there, he realised. "Think you've done your job, lady," he said firmly, as she turned to look at him with a supercilious expression that grated on his nerves. "Thanks for your help. Don't let the door bang your ass on the way out."

And he put a hand out and shoved.

She gave a shriek as she slipped off the edge and tumbled over the side. She grabbed at the edge and managed to get a hold with both hands.

"You can't do this!" she spluttered.

The silhouetted figure she knew to be Dean Winchester looked down from his much higher vantagepoint, his head tilted slightly in what she took to be amusement in her frightened state.

"Really? You said there was no command structure," he said flatly, "so you're no higher than I am, bitch. And with you down there, I'm free to find my little off-ramp. Be seeing you." He began to turn away.

"Wait!" she called desperately. One hand pulled free and she whimpered suddenly. "Wait! Dean!"

"What?" he asked harshly, turning to look down at her.

"This isn't fair! You can't just push me off like this!"

His face melted into rage so fast she reflexively gripped the edge much, much more tightly.

"You want to talk about fair?" he accused, pointing at her with venom. "I ain't supposed to be here! After the crap I've been killing, stabbing or torching for how many years I do not deserve this place! I wasn't even supposed to be dealing with you black-hearted skanks but you left me no choice! So don't you dare tell me what's fair and what's not, when you people put me down here in the first place! You got a problem with that? You take it up with Azazel! Oh, I forgot, you can't, cos I friggin' shot him. Any other gripes you got?" he demanded at full volume.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and suddenly the look in his dark green gaze chilled her all over.

"Wait! Please! What if I - what if I helped you!" she cried.

"How?" he scoffed.

"I can – I can help you stay ahead of the pack! More of my kind will come for you, to push you off to start your struggle!"

"How many?"

"Endless!"

"Then how do I get back out?"

"I can't - can't--"

"Then you're not part of the solution, you're just part of the problem." He turned away again.

"The door!" she called quickly, her hand sliding slightly. She yelped in fear. "The door you can't see! That's where you can get out," she squealed.

He kept his back to her. "Thanks," he said, blinking in surprise.

"So get me up!" she cried.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because we could be on the same side!"

"Never," he growled through gritted teeth. He turned back to her and slammed his boot down on her hand.

She screamed and her hand came away from the rock. She plummeted the steep fall. He looked away quickly before he could watch her connect with the mass of writhing people underneath. He heard her screams and shivered, turning away from the edge quickly.

He closed his eyes, remembering the small flash of inspiration that had strengthened him enough to go through with pushing her off and finishing the job: Her or Sammy. Her or Sammy.

He repeated it to himself as he backed away from the edge, and then a new mantra entered his head.

'So close, no matter how far, couldn't be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are and nothing else matters.'

.


.

"Hey Sam," Bobby said cheerfully, walking in the motel room and plonking the paper bag down on the wooden table under the window. "You still cleaning?"

Sam didn't look up from his bed in the small room, his hands working away with the guns and cleaning rags masterfully.

"Yeah," he said faintly.

"That's, ah… good," Bobby said, nodding. His face fell as he watched the young man focus all his attention on the nickel-plated Colt 1911 currently in pieces in his hands and over his knee. "Look, ah…" He paused, frowning in upset. "Look, Sam… Put that down. Please."

Sam, with the longest, shaggiest hair Bobby had ever seen him sport and a chin so unshaven it would have put the fear of mortality into an entire box of matches, simply put the rag and pieces down, looking up at Bobby slowly.

"You ok?" the last surviving Winchester asked innocently. "You look tired."

"I am, son. I am," Bobby admitted, walking to the other bed and sitting wearily. "Look… I know you're probably wondering… I said I wouldn't get in your way, these past six months. And… and I know you've done really well, going through that whole gang of demons by yourself like that. But there are loads more still to bag and tag, and… look, I'd like to hang around, if that's ok with you. I just think there's safety in numbers, is all." He clasped his hands together and waited.

"Safety in numbers?" Sam asked slowly, his voice dull.

"Just that. Knowing you've got my back, and I've got yours," he said firmly.

Sam looked at him for a long moment, and Bobby feared he was about to start shouting and swinging again. Sam had done a lot of that in the last six months. The six months after his brother had smiled and told him to be strong. The six months after Sam had had his heart broken in the worst way.

"Sure," he said lamely. "If you want."

Then he bowed his head, his opera house curtains of brown obscuring his face admirably, and went back to cleaning his late brother's favourite handgun.

.


.

Dean had no idea how long he'd been climbing, how long he'd walked and slipped, jumped and stretched, scrabbled and wrenched himself up cliff faces.

'The door you can't see', she said. Well I'll be damned if I'm going to let her try and pull one over on me, the lying bitch. There's got to be a door or exit sign here somewhere, I've just got to find it.

He found a flat space beyond his incline and climbed onto it gratefully, panting hard and deciding here was as good a place as any for a re-con. He crouched quite comfortably, resting his forearms on his knees and his back against the rock wall. He got his breath back as he surveyed the scenery.

He let his eyes wander over the vista, thinking not for the first time that it was decidedly laughable without any flames. He turned his head, his vision gradually sweeping over the expanse in front of him with such attention to detail it could have been a Ridley Scott production. Then he blinked, his head tilting as he stared at a singular patch of rock off to his left. He covered one eye and looked again. He transferred his palm to his opposite eye, blinking ostensibly at the area of rock in confusion.

The door you can't--

"Wow, you've done well," said a loud voice.

"Thanks," he said cheerfully, getting to his feet and looking straight ahead to see a squat, thickly-built older man watching him with his arms folded. "Come to wave me off?"

"Just where do you think you're going?" the man asked. He blinked, his eyes black marbles of intent.

"Wherever I want, pal, wherever I want," Dean said smugly, his arrogance and bright smile making the man's arms loosen and fall to his sides.

"I don't think so. You'd have to get through me first."

"Yeah? Well I suppose I could spare you one minute of my precious time."

"Time - that's a good one," the demon said suddenly, flashing a smile.

"What?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Time doesn't move much down here. Or it might move too fast, I can never tell," the man shrugged. "Doesn't make much difference unless you pop out into the real world one day. Which you aren't doing, cos you're never going to find the door," he added.

"Oh I've already found it," Dean said with a maddening smile.

"Really?" he scoffed, taking a step toward him.

Dean watched him, then moved slightly to his right to keep his distance, his eyes narrowing. "You've never seen it, have you?" he asked mildly.

"Me? Yeah, course I have," he said defensively, blinking his black eyes in defence.

"Nah - if you had, you wouldn't be here now," Dean pointed out. "You want to know where it is? We could both leave," he said slowly.

"Oh trust me, once you've left, you're not getting in again."

"Suits me," Dean shrugged.

The demon smiled, a small ripple of amusement at first, then it spread into a huge grin. "Oh really?" he asked. "That's what you say now. But it's all academic anyway - you're not leaving. Cos you don't know the way out."

"Sure I do - it's right there," Dean said easily, pointing to the thin air to his left.

The man looked over quickly, then shifted his gaze back to the quasi-human. "Nice try. There's nothing there."

Dean grinned. "Oh trust me, it's there. You're just not looking at it right," he said knowingly.

The demon fumed. "It doesn't matter what you think you can see - you're not getting past me."

Dean advanced on him quickly and the man put his hands up to defend himself. He made to grab at Dean's fist aimed at his head. So he caught the knee straight in the groin. He doubled, felt an almighty smash to his temple, and keeled over.

"Shame on you," Dean grinned, standing back and wiping his hands together. He chuckled loudly. "You're supposed to be a demon. Dude, you really ought to look into learning how not to get your ass kicked."

"You bastard!" the demon heaved, still squirming on the floor to get his breath back.

"Don't you--" Dean began, booting him in the face, sending him over backwards, "--dismiss my dad like that. He made me what I am."

The man coughed and spluttered, managing to writhe round to watch the younger man walk away from him.

"And what are you now, Dean? Have you looked recently!" he called after him with vitriol.

"Every damn day," he muttered to himself. "But what I am now is home free."

He stopped and looked at the thin air between him and the rock face. He put his hand out, turning his fingers to the left. They disappeared and he grinned. He spun his hand to the right again and they re-appeared.

"The old camouflaged-door-in-the-stone-wall trick, Labyrinth style," he chuckled. "Mmm… Jennifer Connelly."

And then he walked round the wall.

And disappeared.

.


So here we go, another one! :) If anyone gets where the chapter title comes from (which shouldn't be too hard!) I'll be smiling all week.