Better summary: They couldn't break the deal. Two months after Dean's bloody death Sam is a wreck and spends every waking hour determined to find a way to bring his brother back. Meanwhile, Dean manages to escape the pit and possess the body of a coma patient as demon. Will Dean be able to find Sam and warn him before a bloodthirsty hellhound can claim both their souls first? And even as a demon, is Dean really still Dean? RATED FOR: Angst, gore, language, violence and minor torture.
This is my first Supernatural fic. Please be nice. No flames please. No, it does not contain any slash or Winsest. The next chapter will be up soon. Yes, this story is based off the song Move Along by The All-American Rejects. This song always reminds me of Supernatural for some reason.
NOTE: I wrote this first chapter BEFORE "No rest for the wicked" aired. This is my take on how Dean may have died.
Move Along
Go ahead as you waste your days with thinking
When you fall everyone stands
Another day and you've had your fill of sinking
With the life held in your
Hands are shaking cold
These hands are meant to hold
Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong
Move along, move along like I know you do
And even when your hope is gone
Move along, move along just to make it through
Move along
Move along
So a day when you've lost yourself completely
Could be a night when your life ends
Such a heart that will lead you to deceiving
All the pain held in your
Hands are shaking cold
Your hands are mine to hold
Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong
Move along, move along like I know you do
And even when your hope is gone
Move along, move along just to make it through
Move along
(Go on, go on, go on, go on)
When everything is wrong we move along
(Go on, go on, go on, go on)
When everything is wrong, we move along
Along (along), along (along), along (along)
When all you got to keep is strong
Move along, move along like I know you do
And even when your hope is gone
Move along, move along just to make it through
(Go on, go on, go on, go on)
Right back what is wrong
We move along
Sam Winchester never dreamed that this day would actually come.
He dreamed about graduating from Stanford with Master's degree in his pocket and the bright smiling faces beaming with pride from his family, as he walked across the stage. He dreamed about getting down on one knee at a low lit dinner table as he proposed to Jessica, a stunning young blond that would leap into his arms with delight at his request. He dreamed about standing at the alter in some over-priced monkey suit grinning like an idiot and gawking dreamily at his beautiful bride flowing down the aisle. Sam had even dared to dream that maybe one day Dean would pick up something other than a hundred year old Metallica cassette tape. Maybe even a CD or an Ipod. Sam had many wonderful plans and dreams that he had secretly kept quiet to himself over the years of werewolf slaying, body burning and demon exorcising. But this was something that Sam never would have dreamed of in his wildest nightmares.
This would be the day that Sam Winchester would watch his over protective, emotionally challenged, egotistical, anal retentive older brother finally be dragged down to the very deepest, darkest corners of hell.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Dean wasn't supposed to die such a cruel and dishonorable death. He was supposed to go out somewhere fifty years from now in the front of his 1967 Chevy Impala with Black Sabbath roaring in the background as he sped away from one of his ex wives cursing him to hell. He wasn't supposed to actually go there. It should have been something easy like a heart attack or a stroke, heck even a bloody car wreck would have been better than this. Dean wasn't supposed to die so young and so painfully. But then again, Dean also wasn't supposed to have known how to shoot a .45 at the monster under the bed at 10 years old either. Dean's life was anything but what it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to have pulled his baby brother out of a flaming inferno at 4, dig up a rotting corpse from a graveyard to salt and burn the bones when he was 12, or slice the head off a bloody fanged vampire with one of his Dad's machetes when he was 16. But Dean definitely wasn't supposed to cut his life short and die for a lost cause like saving his pain- in- the- ass little brother from the pit.
Dean wasn't a saint or anything. Not even close. But he was a hell of a good brother and had practically raised Sam since birth. Sam had looked to Dean for nearly everything ever since he could remember. Dean was his role model. Dean was the kind of guy that still looked cool with half a salami sandwich stuffed in is mouth, and Sam had grown up to have a healthy respect for his older brother. Heck, he would even say that he was proud. Besides, he didn't know too many other older brother's that would attend every elementary school Christmas play, wake up at the crack of dawn so Sammy wouldn't miss his favorite episode of Scooby Doo, or ride his ten speed bike all the way across town in a rainstorm just so Sam wouldn't have to walk home without an umbrella. Dean was a one of a kind sibling, but still, as noble and protective as he was, he was still a true hunter at heart. And Sam didn't know how many happy endings came to hunters.
Even with the kind of life Dean had, he wasn't supposed to go out like this. It had all been a horrible miss turn of events. Dean wasn't the kind of guy to believe in all the destiny crap, but Sam did. Sort of, anyway. Enough to know that he shouldn't have even had a destiny. Technically, he wasn't even supposed to be breathing right now. He should have been rotting away in the ground with worms crawling into his eyes and devouring his corpse.
It should have been me. Sam never thought that those five little words could have haunted his mind for so long. Reciting those words became a daily ritual for Sam. He greeted the day knowing that he wasn't supposed to have even seen the morning sunrise. Knowing that he shouldn't even be in this world anymore. Knowing that the day loomed when Dean would burn eternally in the fiery pits of hell all for Sammy. It was all enough to relentlessly torment Sam's dark, restless mind for over a year now. Days without a decent night's sleep turned into weeks, then months, and now somehow, time had evaporated before Sam's eyes into a year. A solid 365 days had slipped away before he even had time to think. One year since the day Dean had been emotionally driven over the edge and begged for a deal with the crossroads demon. His soul, for Sam's life and a single year of grace. Dean didn't even need to hesitate. He would have traded himself in right then and there if needed be. There wasn't anything Dean wouldn't give for his baby brother. That was his job. His sole purpose for living. Without Sam, Dean wouldn't have even allowed himself to see another sunrise. Without Sam there was no reason to. Without Sam, Dean wasn't allowed to live. So he made the deal without question.
Since that day Sam had silently swore to himself that he would find a way out of the deal. A loophole. He ran over every possibility. He read his father's journal cover to cover six times over, been to every hack paranormal website on the internet, over every scrap of ancient lore and every bogus urban legend, desperately hoping to find something that would let Dean escape from his deal.
But he couldn't.
Even Ruby told them straight up that there was no way to save him. Dean was going to hell and that's just the way it was. But that wasn't good enough for Sam.
It had been two weeks since Dean had heard the first low, snarling growl in the middle of the night. Immediately alarmed, Sam insisted that they leave. They'd been driving for two straight weeks, only stopping for a few hours of sleep at a time. Dean didn't want run. He wanted to face the inevitable, that's what he said at least. But Sam knew it was bullshit. Even without the few moments of weakness Dean had over the last year, admitting that he was truly afraid of his doom to the pit, Sam could sense his brother's fear. Maybe Dean was ready to stop running, but Sam sure as hell wasn't. He wasn't buying Dean's tough ass facade. Nobody wanted to go to hell.
So they drove. Day and night. 8 to 10 hours without stopping. Sam wasn't entirely sure where they were going, but at least they weren't just sitting with their thumbs up their ass waiting for death to come knocking. But it didn't matter how fast or far they went. Every few hours, Dean's face would turn a pale ghostly white and his entire body would freeze stiff and Sam would know that the dogs had caught up with them. Sam had once referred to them as demonic pit bulls and that was no better way to describe them. Once they caught the scent of a soul in debt there was no letting go. The hellhounds were on their trail and there wasn't a single corner of the world that they could hide.
"Sam."
Sam remained motionless. Feet firmly planted on the ground, knees trembling and heart pounding, he raised his sagging, bloodshot eyes towards his older brother's horrific stare.
"Dean, don't move! Just stay inside the salt!" Sam's throat strained to holler over the endless thumping and clawing outside the dingy motel door. He cursed himself silently. No more than 40 minutes in the room and they had already caught up. The door was throbbing out from the intense thrashing and tearing.
"Sam...they're here." Sam had never seen Dean like this before. He'd been on edge ever since they started running but he was still the same arrogant prick as usual. But he seemed different now. Sam had never seen Dean look so hopelessly terrorized before in his life. "They're gonna get through." Dean's voice trembled as a panicky whisper.
"Just stay inside the rings, Dean! They can't get through!" Sam reassured his brother forcefully. "They'll go away if you just stay in the salt!" Keeping Dean calm was one of Sam's main priorities. It was strange to be in this position. Usually it was the other way around for the Winchester boys. Sam could recall numerous times when Dean's cool nature and quick thinking had saved Sam from so many other close calls. But Sam hadn't seen that side of Dean in the two weeks they'd been running. Fear had taken over him now, which forced Sam to take control.
Okay, Sam's eyes darted wildly off the drab walls of the tiny, overcrowded, shabby motel room. Windows, vents, door... Every possible entrance was surrounded by two thick rings of powder, one white for the salt, and one dark for the Goofer dust. Dean stood squarely in the middle of the room at the foot of two queen beds also enclosed by the two powdery circles. There wasn't anything else Sam could do but keep his brother from doing anything stupid until the hounds backed down. Without the colt they were helpless, but even if they did have it Sam doubted that it would do much good now.
"Sammy." Dean mouthed breathlessly. "It's getting louder."
Sam's ears were deaf to the thirsty rampant growls and the sharp sheering claws carving madly at the door. But Dean heard everything. Every deep slobbering snarl and every haunting morbid howl made his stomach lurch and his heart pound furiously. He could hear the blood pumping through his ears and his chest was heaving heavily as a few beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. Dean's throat tightened with a bowling ball sized lump caught in the middle. This was the sound of death. He was suffocating under the thundering chaos around him. The roaring ferocity from the yowling hounds grew deafening and Dean placed his hands over his ears in a desperate and futile attempt to block out the blaring uproar of pandemonium surrounding him. His fingers twitched uncontrollably and his mouth had gone bone dry. Dean's eyes became entranced on the door expecting it to burst open at any moment.
There was sudden eruption of rumbling fury hammering against the door grabbing Sam's attention with a skip of his heart. "They can't get in, Dean! Every entrance is blocked they won't cross over-!" Sam cut himself off when he caught his brother's mesmerized stare at the door. "Dean, look at me!"
Sam's command snapped Dean out of his captivated trance and he met his eyes with sharp glance of panic. "They can't get in!" Sam emphasized every word with a stern sense of assurance and a deep confident tone, as if he knew it were true. Dean gave a slight nod of response but said nothing. Truth be told, he didn't really believe it either.
Sam's busy eyes buzzed around the room looking for something, anything they could put up to barricade the door. This wasn't going to work. They couldn't just stand there and hope for a miracle. His frantic gaze caught his brother's mirrored stare. Dean had almost made it, Sam mused silently to himself. After an entire year of snide remarks, relentless pride, and crude humor towards his highway to hell, Dean had finally collapsed under the intense, gnawing pressure brought on by his impending doom. The razor bladed fangs of horrific terror and gut wrenching inevitable fate had somehow managed to pierce through his solid exterior. Fear had been slowing chewing away at his emotional sanity for months now. It wasn't long after Dean met with the crossroads demon that his slumber became haunted by night terrors. He had been trying to emotionally close himself down, preparing for this moment, so that he wouldn't loose grip in front of Sam. But even Dean wasn't strong enough to keep his grasp when facing a sentence of eternal torment in the farthest depths of hell.
Right. They can't get in... Sam wiped his forehead with his sleeve brushing his chocolate brown mop of hair out of his eyes. Iron, devil's shoestring, rock salt, shotgun... He'd been preparing for this moment a long time and he wasn't about to take any chances. He'd taken all of the necessary precautions because frankly, Sam wasn't sure if it was only the hellhounds they were running from. He needed to be prepared for anything at this point. In one hand, Sam's hot sweaty palm clasped a thin, long fireplace rod made out of pure iron. In the other was Dean's shotgun loaded with thick homemade bullets of rock salt. And even Bobby was on his way, only about forty minutes out of town, Sam had called him the second the dogs hit the door. Everything that could be done was done. Had he more time, he would have drawn one hundred symbols of the Key of Solomon around the hotel. But the devil's trap itself probably wasn't strong enough for what was coming.
"Sam." Dean called out suddenly putting a jolt into Sam's guarded stance.
"What?" He spun around towards his brother just before noticing that the violent thumping and thrashing against the door had slowly but surely began to grow softer.
"They're...backing off." Dean's voice cracked in disbelief. "I can hear them...starting to..."
Dean's distant whisper trailed off as his eyes went wide at the door. He voice was followed by an immediate cease of the rebellious clambering at the door. Sam swallowed thickly. The door had stooped shaking. All signs of commotion had swiftly vanished into the blue. It was replaced with an eerie silence that hung heavily between the two hunters. Sam could only hear his own racing heart and Dean's hollow, rapid breathing in the background.
"Dean." Sam said in a low murmur. "Where did they go? What do you hear?" When only silence remained Sam turned around for a reply. "Dean, what do you-" Sam's breath caught up in his throat when his eyes traced down to the floor where the two rings around Dean's feet had enclosed him in a perfect circle were supposed to be. But each shape had narrow sliver scraped through the powder. The circles were broken.
"They're here, Sammy." Dean's faint voice hushed. "They're right here."
Sam's heart jumped up into his throat when the door blasted open and he gazed down in horror at the uncountable pairs of claws that suddenly carved through the hardwood floors. He didn't waste another second. Sam sprang into action aiming one step ahead of every claw mark at the floor and firing several futile shots at where he had hoped the hounds were. "Dean! Run! Get out!" Dean barely had time to react and Sam watched his brother collapse to the ground without warning. Something was on top of him.
Sam was practically shooting blindly. His shots skimmed just above Dean's chest where he could only guess whatever was crushing Dean to the floor had been standing.
"Sam!" Dean moaned out in a breathless call. "It's..." Dean choked as what creature restrained him to the ground applied pressure on his chest. "It's on me...Sam!"
"Hold still!" Sam raised the iron rod across Dean's stomach. His arms cut sharply through the air as his swing was just about to collide with the beast, Sam felt the rod forcefully fly out from his fingers and hurl backwards into the wall behind him. Before his mouth even had the chance to drop in astonishment Sam felt his feet suddenly rising from the ground and his body fling back joining the iron rod against the wall.
Sam let out a painful groan as his body collided with the drywall. His arms and legs became frozen stiff and pinned against the wall. Unable to even move his fingertips from the intense solid force trapping him against the green and yellow striped wallpaper, Sam's eyes traveled again to the ground where Dean lay helplessly squirming and struggling under the weight of the creature. This was more than just a black dog. No hellhound had this kind of power. Sam didn't dare even try to imagine what sort of hellish creature Dean locked eyes with.
"Dean!" Sam hollered hopelessly. "Dean, I can't...I can't move! You've gotta get up!"
Dean yelled out a horrid agonizing scream of white hot pain that made Sam cringe in fear. Long, streaming scratches of blood suddenly tore through Dean's flesh like paper with each cut ripping deeper and deeper into his chest. Blood leaked down the sides of his body, soaking his clothes as he continued to wail. Only seconds later Dean was lying in a pool of his own blood. His entire body appeared as if he had been dunked into a red vat of tomato juice. Sam looked away. He was focusing every fibre in his being to fight the invisible pressure that forced him uselessly up against the wall. "You've got to get up Dean!"
"Sammy!" Dean's frantic, echoing screams were maddening to his ears and unbearable to his heart. He was watching his older brother have intestines ripped out before his eyes and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The ache in his chest was excruciatingly painful. Once in his entire life Dean had depended on him, and he failed. The one time he was supposed to protect his older brother, and he managed to screw up. Dean was going to die because he had a useless, unreliable runt for a brother.
Dean was choking now. Gurgling on his own blood and no longer able to even scream. He was sputtering and spattering everywhere to keep from suffocating. Sam felt the tears begin to prick up in his eyes. Dean wouldn't last much longer now.
"Fight it!" Sam let the tears drip down his cheeks when Dean's choking and hacking began to die down. In a few more seconds he would lose consciousness and the deal would be done. "You're stronger than this! You can't die on me!" Sam's stomach did a back flip and his heart sank into a panicky rhythm as Dean finally laid his head back against the floor in defeat. Sam let out an agonizing holler that echoed through the lonely motel. He screamed his older brother's name in deep raspy gasps. A few seconds later, after the blood bath had stopped, the pressure let up on Sam's limbs and he fell to the ground with a brace-less thud. The hounds and the creature were gone. He pushed himself up and crawled franticly on his hands and knees towards Dean's gory still body. "Dean?" Sam muttered with a last lingering sense of hope trembling in his voice. He arrived in the last few seconds just in time to see his brother's eyelids close and his lips mouth his name with a final breath. "Sammy."
Sam's breaths became short and stiff with panic. He'd lost all nerve and control over his spilling tears. Cradling his brother's body in his arms and becoming drenched in his sopping wet puddle of blood and insides, Sam let out a series of uncontrollable sobs. He hated that name. Sammy was a chubby twelve year old. He had constantly reminded that to Dean over the years but he never let up. But now, he would have given anything to have Dean just stand up, slap him on the back and say, "Gotcha, Sammy." The sorrow was almost too much for him to bear. Dean was the only one who was allowed to call him that. He'd never hear that name again. He'd lost his brother. His protector. The closest thing to a role model and parental figure he ever really had. He lost everything, because Dean wasn't willing to loose it. Dean somehow managed to think that by sacrificing his life for Sam's that he was making a worthwhile trade. He seemed to think that Sam would somehow be able to deal with the pain better than he would. As if Sam was the stronger one.
"You're wrong, Dean." Sam gazed down at his brother's pale, ghostly face with a moan. "I'm not as strong as you think. I...can't handle this pain either. Did you think I wouldn't feel it like you would?" As Sam blinked to clear up his blurry vision, he caught the silver outline of Dean's pistol at the corner of his eye.
It was sitting on the nightstand. Loaded and ready. No rock salt, just bullets, waiting to be fired.
Sam swallowed bitterly. It was so tempting. He could end all of this right now. All the pain and all the fury. It could all just go away. No more hunting, no more demons, no more death. He could join them all. Mom, Dad and Dean... And it was just out of arms reach...
Sam felt as though the room began to spin. As if he was slipping into a dream. There was nothing between him and the pistol. Just a river of his brother's blood running through the cracks of the hardwood flooring.
It wouldn't even hurt...Sam wet his lips as the shape taunted him. At least, not as much as Dean's torture.
Sam didn't even stop to think. No second guessing himself. No over thinking. Nothing except the sudden internal drive to escape from all of his endless suffering. Sam knew that there was nothing left for him now. All of his hopes and dreams of living a semi-normal life died with Dean.
So why shouldn't I?
As Sam raised his dripping bloody arm for the pistol, conflicted fingers twitching, eager heart racing, he nearly leapt out of his skin when a sudden skid of sopping wet running shoes bolted in through the doorway. Sam blinked hard at the figure in the doorway who let out a sharp foul gasp when he caught sight of the two brother's drowning in blood.
"You're too late, Bobby." Sam whispered through a weary sob.
Bobby's eyes were ablaze. His mouth fell open at the wretched sight. He stood motionless in the doorway with the overwhelming wave of utter shock and disbelief tuning his expression to a stunned gasp of distraught and horror. His wide eyes continued to scan back and forth between the two boys until they fell only on Sam and the pistol.
"S...Sam." Bobby stuttered when the grim realization of Sam's intentions dawned upon him. "Don't do this."
Sam's eyes swept down back onto his brother's colorless cheeks. His bleak, lifeless features and grave, solemn expression burned Sam's eyes. The sight of Dean's limp, red corpse was blinding. Sam couldn't even look at his brother without a blade of indescribable pain and loss slicing through his heart.
"Bobby, I can't live like this." Sam murmured softly. "It was supposed to be me."
Bobby dared to take a step forward when Sam's finger's slid onto the trigger of the gun, leisurely lifting it up and placing it against his temple.
"Whoa, Sam." Bobby's voice quickened with alarm. "Just...take it easy. Just think about it for minute-"
"I'm done thinking, Bobby!" Sam suddenly erupted with a bawling howl. "I'm done with it all."
Bobby inched closer, his feet on the outskirts of Dean's endless expanding river of blood. "Put it down, Sam. Think about it. You don't really want to do this-"
"I don't!?" Sam spat with a quivering yell. "Bobby, look at him!"
Bobby lowered his gaze down onto Dean's carcass. Words were unable to describe what kind of cruel torture Dean must have suffered for his body to become so maliciously mutilated.
"Look at him!" Sam raved on as his voice began to break. "That's my big brother...I did this too him."
"Sam-"
"Don't!" Sam's could feel his entire body trembling. A devastating black hole was opening up inside him. He'd never felt this kind of loss before. Not from his mother, not from his father, not even from Jessica.
"Dean's gone! He's gone to hell!" He swallowed dryly. His nimble, agitated fingers getting ready for the pop. "And I couldn't save him." His stare fell back down onto his brother's gut wrenching corpse. Sam had to suppress a gag as he caught a glimpse of Dean's intestines sprawled across his stomach. It was a sickly punishment. Not a normal gig for the hellhounds. They wanted to make sure Dean suffered just long enough to feel his own organs spilling out of his body. His torment was their way of getting compensation.
Sam felt a burning sensation of pure and utter hatred welling up in his chest. Part of him wanted to end it all now. Throw in the towel and never face such extreme anguish again. But there was another part of him. A deeper part that commanded revenge. An inner instinct that craved for a hunt. The ultimate hunt.
The very idea of vanquishing the demon that held Dean's contract and murdered him tonight on this floor was like an unquenched thirst. Sam wet his lips nervously. He got a sick pleasure just dreaming about killing that creature. He dreamed of the satisfaction knowing his hand personally brought death to the evil that had ruined his life, as well as his brother's.
What would Dad do? Sam deliberated carefully. ...What would Dean do?
Sam froze when the realization hit him. Dean wouldn't even have the nerve to kill himself knowing that his little brother was going to burn in the fiery depths of hell for all eternity. The thought alone would drive him insane. It was cowardly and selfish for Sam to let his brother rot there. Dead is dead, but hell is hell. Two very different fates. It occurred to him, that if he pulled the trigger now, he would be dead, but not suffering the same excruciating doom Dean was. It would never be evened out. Not unless...
"Sam," Bobby's voice broke Sam's grim and gloomy thoughts. "Just think," Bobby eyed him carefully. "Do you really want Dean's death to go in vain?"
Sam glared back at him while a raging battle went on inside his head. Both sides were so tempting. So irresistible. He had a choice to make. It was one or the other. Right now.
With a final tear running down his cheek, Sam lowered the gun away from his temple. The Winchester's weren't going to go out without a final fight. Dean's memory would remain untarnished and Sam would get his ultimate revenge.
No, Sam Winchester never dreamed that this day would actually come.
To be continued.
Author's note: If you read the summary above, you know that Dean isn't permantly dead. I would never have the heart to do that. This is just the beginning and I haven't even gotten to the main plot yet. PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! They are very much loved and they make me write faster :).