Title: Trading Heroes for Ghosts
Summary: "I cannot bring your brother back from Hell, but I can give you the next best thing." A heartbroken Dean is offered the wish of a lifetime. How could he possibly refuse?
Genre: Angst / Hurt / Comfort
Warnings: Spoilers up until the end of Season 5, mentions of torture and character death, lots of angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Never have, never will!
Trading Heroes for Ghosts
"What do you wish for?"
It wasn't that he wanted to find it.
He hadn't gone absolutely out of his way in order to wind up the target of a Marid's misplaced affections, but it happened anyway whether he liked it or not.
Maybe it was because of his history as a former hunter, maybe it was some kind of "spirit energy magnet" leftover from being an archangel's vessel or maybe it was just his luck.
Whatever it was, the fact remained that Dean Winchester just could not escape the life he had tried to leave behind.
It had happened during a picnic; A so called "normal, apple-pie" kind of activity, during which Dean forced a smile and chugged a can of Coca Cola.
They had been exploring the park like a regular family. It was nice and safe like it should be. Dean's apprehension only grew when he stumbled across the wreckage of an old well, lost by time and surrounded by vines.
"It's a wishing well." Ben had said with a casual shrug like it was something the entire world should have already known.
Dean had suggested they leave immediately but the creature, the Marid, had followed.
The Marid was a type of Djinn, a wish fulfilling creature. They dwelled in rivers and lakes and (apparently) the ruins of old wells and happily granted wishes, but only to the greatest of warriors.
And on a night when Dean found himself alone in the house that Lisa owned, the creature appeared to him.
The Marid stood before Dean; a long, lean and scraggly man of aged appearance with kindly wrinkles and snow white hair falling into his grey eyes. His hands were folded behind his hunched back as he softly repeated his question.
"What do you wish for?"
Dean shook his head, his silence broken after discovering just what he was dealing with, and he replied in his usual gruff tone.
"Nothing you could possibly give me."
"I could give you anything in the world."
"But what about beyond it, eh? Or beneath it?"
The man - the creature - the Marid - tilted his head soundly and observed him. "You wish for something from Heaven or Hell?"
"Exactly, so you can cross your arms and blink all you want but you can't grant me my wish. Bringing people back from the dead is not your area." Much less freeing a soul from Lucifer's Cage, his mind added afterwards.
The Marid looked at him strangely for a moment and his eyes widened an almost terrifying amount before he blinked and smiled at him.
"Your brother. Your younger brother. Sam. You miss him."
He had never heard that these creatures could read minds but then again, apart from the standard Djinn, he had very little knowledge on the range of abilities of wish granting monsters.
"He is in Hell." The man's wrinkled mouth frowned. "So very deep down in Hell, couldn't get much lower... I cannot free him."
Dean's blood had run cold at those words but he still scoffed a laugh and reached for the discarded glass of whiskey on the table. "Yeah well, I thought as much. Better grab your lamp and poof outta here then. Find someone else and make their life happier."
The creature never let up. "I cannot bring your brother back from Hell, but I can give you the next best thing."
He waved his hand and the next thing Dean heard was the gentle thud of his glass hitting the carpet. The pounding of blood in his ears and the heavy choking of his own breath quickly overwhelmed the momentary thought that Lisa would definitely be pissed that Dean had ruined the expensive rug with spilled whiskey.
But Lisa's future irritation was quickly forgotten when Dean saw him.
The body that was now lying on the couch didn't move at all but the face, the clothes, the hair...
It was surely... Sam.
Dean had fallen to his knees beside the couch, shaky hands resting above the body lying there.
He was just lying there. Sleeping. Like he'd wake up any second and bitch at him for being reckless on a hunt or... smirk at him for the hangover he would have in the morning from all the whiskey or - just - smile at him like he was the best big brother in the world.
"Sammy... God, Sammy..."
"It's just an illusion right now, Dean."
Dean heard the words break through him but dared not tear his eyes away from the magnificent sight of his brother's image.
"I can't bring him back but I can create a new Sam. I can make him just like he was, based on your memories or I can make him even better. Whatever you want! You just have to tell me exactly what you wish for and I can give it to you."
Wish? Sam... he could have Sam back? He could have his little brother in his arms again? And they could just pick up where they left off... except no more Lucifer, no more Apocalypse Now, no more angels and demons looking to tear them apart. It would just be them again.
This Sam before him was even based on the last image he had of his brother before he took the dive. Same shirt, same trousers, same boots, same-
It wasn't until he looked at the front of the Sam illusion did he see the holes, made by straight shots to the shoulder and heart from the Colt so very long ago.
The spell was broken. It finally hit him.
This thing in front of him could smile like Sam, laugh like Sam, frown and bitch like Sam but it would never, ever be Sam.
The only one who can be Sam is Sam.
It would be a betrayal of everything Sam had wanted for him in his dying day to latch onto this ghost of him, this pale imitation, whilst his actual little brother rotted in the lowest part of Hell. He was probably even bleeding and screaming for him right now as Dean knelt there, inches away from clinging desperately to the Sam replica and sobbing.
The Marid looked at him with sympathy but smiled hopefully. "Just say the words Dean and it can be real."
"It'll never be real..." Dean's voice trembled as he said it and he laughed breathlessly at how vulnerable he sounded; damnit, only Sam could ever make him grieve this much. Only Sam could make him fall so far that he'd never want to rise again. "It's either the real Sam or nothing at all. No deal."
"What?"
"I said no!" Dean snarled. "This thing will never be my Sammy, so get the hell out of here before I tear your damn head off! GO NOW!"
The Marid looked almost hurt at the threat and he took a step back, shaking his head and whispering with a quiet, heartbroken voice, "Fine, Dean Winchester! Don't accept my help, don't be happy! You had your chance!"
The thing was long gone before Dean had the strength to tear his eyes away from the now empty couch.
He was once again alone.
He could bear it no longer and pulled himself onto that couch, curling his body slightly to fit the soft shape and pretending he could feel the warmth of the body that was once almost there.
It wasn't that he wanted to find it. But the fact remained that Dean Winchester just could not escape the life he had tried to leave behind. Nor could he ever truly get it back again.
And for that, he wept.
A/N: Mmm... just a little thought that came into my head and demanded to be written. Title is from my favourite Pink Floyd song "Wish You Were Here", thought it fit.
Hope you enjoyed it, please review ^^