John
He drove for hours with no real destination in mind. He was working on pure physical instinct the entire time. When he needed to use the bathroom he would stop, he needed to eat he would go to the closest diner, when the truck needed gas he would get it.
But he never let himself go to sleep. The first time he did he had been plagued with the vision of Sam with yellow eyes and blood flowing from the bullet wound in his forehead.
He relied on plenty of caffeine, energy drinks, and later pills that truck drivers would take in order to drive through the night.
At a certain point he couldn't go on anymore and decided to check into a motel. Placing his bags in the room and properly warding the room he immediately located the closest bar and chose to spend the next few hours doing his best to drink himself into a miniature coma.
Ever since the day of burning Sam properly he felt like a stranger in his own skin. It felt like he was looking at the world through glasses that weren't the right prescription, he couldn't see clearly and could barely maneuver. He relied on his instincts to keep himself alive.
He could honestly say that he had no idea what to do.
He blinked and tried to focus his eyes on the football game playing on the television in front of him for lack of anything else. His eyes fell on the date and he gave a grimace.
It's been two weeks since Sam had been buried.
Two weeks and one day since he had killed his second youngest child.
It was for the best, he told himself as he motioned to the barkeep to bring him another bottle. It was for the best. The demon was dead, dead and gone, and Sam was with his mother and the woman he loved.
It was never meant for Sam to get caught in the crossfire.
He shook his head and accepted the next bottle gratefully. As he sipped from it he tried to clear his mind once more.
Sam had always been the rouge element in this entire mission. It had started with Mary burning on the ceiling on his nursery and it only made sense that it ended with the demon inside of Sam as well. Sam had never made it a secret at how much he hated the hunting lifestyle and the four years that he spent at Stanford John was always able to hear himself yelling at Sam.
"You walk out that door don't bother coming back!"
John gave a grimace as he continued to drink. He had tried to convince himself that he had done the right thing by cutting ties with Sam but he still couldn't help himself by going to Stanford every few months just to get a glimpse of Sam and making sure that he was okay and looking after himself.
When he learned, from Missouri of all people, just what Sam was and that he was infected with demon blood, that the demon had come for him and Mary simply got in his way, he had been tempted to take his gun and shoot Sam in his sleep if only to protect the small remainder of the family he had left.
Sammy had been five years old.
The only thing that had stopped him was Dean. Dean who he had told countless times that his brother's life was in his too young hands. Eyes that looked too old on a too young face had always looked up at him and said "Yes sir." with no hesitation.
Dean, at nine years old, seemed to realize the distance was already growing between John and his youngest. So he had all but glued himself to his little brother and refused to let him out of his sight. Even when they slept they would sleep in the same bed, with Deans arms curled around Sam in order to protect him from everything and anything.
Everything and anything that seemed to be John as well, at least judging by the suspicious looks his eldest would throw him every so often and how he positioned himself so that he was always in between Sam and John.
Was he a bad dad? He frowned to himself as he pondered the question.
He knew that he wasn't going to be winning any awards for best dad but he didn't think that he was that bad. True, he had been more of a general in the army when it came to his sons than he was their dad however that was a given. He was raising his sons to survive in this world and none of them could afford to become soft in the process.
Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck raised and he felt a chill descend on him. Subtly he glanced around him, his still sharp eyes searching through the bar for a hint of something supernatural or anything of interest.
No one was paying him any attention. For a single second he thought he saw a flash of a familiar leather jacket however when he blinked the image disappeared.
He slowly placed the bottle on the bar and turned so that his entire body was facing all the people that were entering. He glanced around once more before he turned back and signaled the bartender for the check.
John stumbled back to the motel where his bags were, all these years of drinking practically nonstop helped him keep a bit steadier of a head than an ordinary man would have been able to. Sliding his key into the lock he gave a sigh as he entered the room.
Only to stop immediately in the doorway and his eyes to widen at the scene in front of him.
His entire room was trashed. His bags and their contents were thrown everywhere. The bed was overturned, its sheets crumbled and thrown to the sides. Papers littered the ground as well as his knives and guns.
He quickly closed the door behind him and glanced at the salt lines that he remembered to place there. None of them were disturbed. His hand went to the back of his jeans to where the comforting weight of his gun was.
A quick search throughout the room showed that this was the only room that was disturbed and he mechanically started to pick up his belongings. He mentally catalogued each and everything he found to see if there was anything missing.
As he picked up the papers his eyes fell on a piece of a photograph. Picking it up he was staring at his own smiling face, the other half of the photograph had been ripped off however he knew which once this was easily.
It was one of the very few pictures of both him and his sons when they were young, too young to even know what it was that he hunted.
Whoever had broken into his room had only taken the part of the photograph that held Sam and Dean, going so far as to rip his own image from it.
Realization of who it might have been made him relax slightly. However he froze once again when he finished cleaning and realized just what else had been taken. A quick look through all his bags and around the room once more confirmed it.
The Colt was gone.
Dean
"What the hell do you mean no?" Dean demanded.
The red eyed human wearing bitch in front of him simply blinked.
"Just what I said." she said levelly. "No deal."
Dean was breathing heavily, standing in the middle of the crossroads. Painted around him was a devils trap that ensured the deal maker wasn't going anywhere. She simply stared back at him with no fear in her eyes.
His hand went to the back of his pants and he pulled out the Colt he had taken. He clicked the hammer into place and the trigger fell forward onto his finger.
"You have one bullet left, not that it matters if you kill me or not." she said. "No demon is going to make a deal with you, Dean Winchester."
"And why the hell not?" he said through gritted teeth.
She grinned at him suddenly. "We now have our king." she said simply and obviously. "Why would we give him to you?"
"What are you talking about?"
Her smile widened as her eyes turned red. "You foolish boy." she said softly. "He was always ours, we just needed the right time to take him."
"My brother is in heaven." Dean said uncertainly.
"He's in heaven because your daddy thinks he is?" she asked mockingly. She gave a laugh, her red eyes bright. "Don't be a fool. There is only one place where Sam Winchester is meant for and I assure you, it's not heaven."
Dean licked his lips. "Make the damn deal with me or so help me God-"
"God has nothing to do with it." she injected. "Sam Winchester has belonged to us long before anything else." She tilted her head as her red eyes linked with his green ones, for a moment she almost looked like she pitied him. "You really don't know."
He slowly lowered his arm until it was hanging on his side. "Don't know what?"
Her red eyes turned back to the brown color of the woman she was possessing. "Sam Winchester, was always the chosen one. Azazel was right in choosing him."
Dean slowly shook his head. "Chosen one for what?"
"The Boy King of Hell." she said. "Our ruler and the one who will lead us." She contemplated Dean in front of her for a moment before she added. "As soon as he breaks and learns to accept that."
Breaks. Torture. His baby brother is being tortured in hell.
Dean cleared his throat as he looked to the side, trying his best to ignore the tears that were gathering in his eyes. The demon didn't say anything, she simply stared at him as she waited for his next action.
Dean glanced at the gun that was still in his hand. Licking his lips once more he shook his head and with a flick of his thumb the hammer was pushed back into place. He mechanically placed the Colt back in the back of his jeans.
"Care to let me go now?" she asked motioning with her head to the devils trap she was in.
Dean didn't meet her eyes as he started "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica," he ignored her groan of annoyance as he stepped away and started to walk away as he continued to exorcism through mere memory.
He didn't look back as he heard the telltale sounds of the demon being pushed out of the person it was wearing and onto the devils trap. Instead he focused on getting back to his car, getting in, and driving away.
He didn't bother to stop until he was hours and miles away. Then he simply turned off the car's engine, got out, walked a few feet away, fell to his knees, and screamed "Fuck!" as loud as he was able to for as long as he was able to.
John
He didn't bother trying to find Dean, he had trained the boy himself and he knew that if Dean didn't want to be found he wouldn't be.
He tried calling Bobby once, when the older hunter realized who was calling he hung up without another word.
He spent a few hours, maybe a few days, trying to figure out the next path that he should take.
His life's ambition, his reason for the last twenty four years, was done. Done and dead.
He ignored the voice in his head that told him that his ambition and pride for twenty four years should have been his two sons.
Son.
He blinked once, shook his head, and walked to the car. It took a few days to get to his destination however once he pulled into the driveway in Windom, Minnesota he felt that hole inside of him start to heal slightly enough for the pain to start to fade away.
Gathering his wits, and his courage if he was going to be honest with himself, he got out of the car, walked to the front door, and rang the doorbell.
The familiar face of Kate Milligan opened the door and smiled at him.
Dean
"I'm sorry that I can't be of more help sugah." the familiar voice of Missouri Moseley said to him apologetically through the phone.
Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to keep his voice calm and steady. "You're sure there's nothing else?"
"I'm sure." her voice was still apologetic however unwavering in her certainty. "Pamela Barnes is an old friend and knows more about this than I do. That's all I got."
"It's better than nothing." Dean said unable to keep the bitter tone out of his voice as he circled the number he had written on a notepad that Missouri had given him.
"Dean, listen to me." she said, he could hear her shifting slightly in her seat through the phone as he continued to circle the number. "I'm not about to tell you to stop this, I know you and I know that you won't even if the almighty comes down now to tell you so." She ignored Dean's snort with a sense of a person used to the reactions. "But I am going to tell you this, no one has gone down this path and come out unscarred and unremorseful."
"If there's a chance of getting my brother back you're sure as hell I won't be remorseful." he snapped at her.
"Watch your mouth young man." she warned at him. "You are not too old that I can't take you over my knee." She sobered slightly and said "But I mean what I'm saying, be careful."
"I will." Dean said, his pen was starting to drive through the paper he was still circling. "Thank you."
The moment she said "You're welcome" Dean snapped the phone shut and curled his fingers around it. He brought that hand to his mouth and breathed slowly in and out as he stared at the number Missouri had given him.
He flipped the phone open and immediately dialed the number. He counted the seconds and drummed his fingers to the dial tone before he was met with a message system telling him to leave a voicemail.
He waited for the telltale beep before he said "Hi uh...Pamela Barnes? My name is Dean Winchester, a friend of mine, Missouri Moseley. She uh…gave me your number. She said you might be able to help me with something. Something important."
He swallowed the lump in his throat, he hated voicemails.
"So please give me a call back. My number is 866-907-3235. Again, my name is Dean Winchester and the number is 866-907-3235."
He closed his phone before he could hear the other options. For a moment he eyed the still full bottle of Jack Daniels on his table before he shook his head and stood from his place at the table.
It has officially been a four and a half months since Sam had been killed. A four and a half months of Dean searching and failing each time to find a way to get him back.
In the beginning Bobby had been completely against letting Dean out his sight. It had taken a week for him to sneak out of the other hunters home where he had been all up handcuffed as to "Prevent him from doing something stupid" according to Bobby.
And all it took was a week for him to track down his dad, wait for him to go into a motel, leave his belongings, and go through them until he found what he had been looking for.
He snorted to himself as he thought back to how easily it was to find the man. He and Sam had spent months trying to get in contact with their father and in the end it had taken Dean only a few days.
He had wanted it to be sneaky. So that John wouldn't even realize what had happened until the moment he had looked for the Colt however Dean couldn't help himself when he got his hands on his dads bags.
Instead he made no secret of his looking. He had only hesitated when he had found the picture of the three of them, he had paused in his search and smiled at the aged plastic in his hands.
The smile soon faded from his face and without thinking he ripped it in two and dropped the half that contained John onto the ground and instead focused on the half that had him and Sammy.
He had quickly found the Colt and went to the bar where he had seen John. He had stared at his father for a moment trying to decide whether to let him know his son was there however in the end he decided he didn't want anything to do with John Winchester.
Then there was that failure of a demon deal making that only further drove Dean into finding a way to save his brother.
He had called Bobby then, returning the hunters frantic calls for the first time in days. He had listened to the lecture stoically and Bobby had then said that if Dean had sold his soul he was going to get a whooping that would make hell look like a day at an amusement park.
He tried to ignore the way Bobby had sighed in relief when Dean told him about the failure of selling his soul, all the while Bobby was muttering under his breath about foolish Winchesters and their death wishes, and then Bobby had fallen silent at the news of Sam being in hell.
From that moment on they were partners. Bobby called in every contact he had and cashed in a few favors to get to talk to certain people. It was only an offhand comment that had brought Dean to call Missouri and in turn find out about Pamela Barnes.
Four and a half months of Sam being in hell.
He ignored everything else around him. At times the only reason he remembered to occasionally eat was when Bobby would call, now three times a day if only to check on Dean and making sure he was still alive, and Bobby would stay on the phone until he heard Dean finished eating. He never withheld any information he had though, that much he knew not to keep a secret.
The only times that Dean remembered to sleep was when he collapsed from exhaustion. That was something Bobby couldn't help or control.
He didn't drink anymore though. The bottle that was on the table was one he had for a few months and carried with him in case he got the craving.
He couldn't afford to drink. He might miss something important while drinking. He couldn't afford to miss a single thing, no matter how small.
Driving in the impala had never been so lonely in his life. Even when Sam was in Stanford Dean knew that he was safe and sound. He also knew that he could easily go off road and take the fastest road to California to catch a glimpse of his brother.
During these last few months he found himself saying things into the air. He found himself laughing at something on the radio and turning his head to laugh with his brother only to sober up and realize that Sam wasn't beside him.
He still booked rooms with a two queens. When he went to the diners he would always order two drinks only to remember that there was no one else to drink with him. He still bought the small necessities; toothbrushes, brushes, and the like, in pairs and when he stocked up on supplies he always bought enough for two people.
Dean gave a groan as he buried his head in his hands. He fought the urge to cry again. Crying wouldn't help or solve anything.
His head did however snap up when he heard the familiar vibration of his phone that signaled it was about to get a call.
He tried not to let his hope rise and he ignored the way his heart skipped a beat when his cell phone rang and he saw Pamela Barnes number on the screen.
"I hope you know what you are doing boy." Bobby said to him in a low voice as they carried everything into the warehouse.
Dean gave a grunt in response as he shifted the gallon to his other hand.
Pamela Barnes had turned out to be a psychic. A very powerful psychic on that hand. Powerful enough to say that she was even able to talk to the dead that were already in heaven.
She never tried to contact a soul in hell however there was a first time for everything she had said.
It also turned out that she and Bobby had been old friends and the hunter was later cursing himself out for not thinking of calling her sooner.
"It's easy to contact the souls still on earth." she had told him from their first meeting. Dean liked her, she got straight to business, asking question after question, some borderline too personal to answer however he did so with no regret or hesitation.
He did, however, ask why the hell she needed to know about the last time he had sex and whether or not he liked red wine had to do with his brother did she flash him a flirtatious smile and say "That there is no harm in mixing business and pleasure."
Another time, another life time it sometimes seemed, he would have gladly returned her smile and the morning would have come with both of them waking up in her bed.
However this wasn't normal times and he didn't have time to waste. Either she could help him or not.
She had told him to relax a little, that she could help. She would just need a few ingredients.
"To contact souls in heaven is a bit more tricky." she had continued. "It has to be a certain time I would need a few personal items of theirs but in the end I was always able to speak with them."
Later, she added, I could be willing to contact your mother for you.
My brother first, Dean had told her. Everything else comes after that.
She pursed her lips and considered him for a moment before saying that she'll need quite a big charge to start that equation and they needed the right date.
The first few ingredients Bobby had lying around his house; incense, chalk to make markings, the occasional dead body part.
The main component however, was a bit more difficult to obtain.
A gallon of demon blood.
Dean had attempted to summon another demon in the cover of wanting to attempt to make another deal however either the demons knew what he really wanted or no longer wanted to associate with him and no demon had appeared.
In the end he had gone out tracking one. There was a deadline. The souls that were no longer on earth could only be contacted at certain times after their deaths.
The first one was six months after their deaths. The second was a year after their death and so on.
He had been lucky, there was no other way to describe it. It was by chance that he had gotten a lead on a demon and all the more luck to his actually finding the demon. He had gone through the crowds muttering "Christo" under his breath in search of the one flinch that would give them away.
Fear and simple hopelessness made him forget all about the lifestyle he had known. He forgot all about the hunting skills he had and resorted to plain tricks and amateur tracking.
The demon came to him towards the end, suspicious and very hesitant. It had brightened when it heard his last name, "The same as the Boy King!" it had exclaimed in delight at hearing 'Winchester'.
He managed to tie it down with ropes that had been drenched in holy water long enough for him to get his knife into the demons stomach to hold it down. It had looked on in almost comical confusion as Dean hooked up the needle and tubes.
Strangely enough it didn't struggle. It simply watched Dean through its black eyes and tilted head.
Once Dean had filled the empty gallon completely with blood he had taken the needle out. With a swift slash of his knife he sliced through the ropes, turned around, and walked away.
"No exorcism?" the demon called after him.
Dean didn't look back as he lifted the gallon of blood. "Got what I needed." he called back.
Hunting didn't matter anymore. The whole thing; saving people, hunting things. It took a backseat to getting into at least some sort of contact with his brother.
They had to wait for midnight and there was still a half hour left to get everything ready. Pamela took the blood from Dean without another word, dipped about half of it into a bucket, picked up the bucket and a brush, and began to draw the runes around them. Bobby reached into the bag on his shoulders and started to take out the candles and placing them on the table in the center of the room.
Dean's heart was pounding in his ears and his chest. His hands were shaking as his fingers slid over the pocket knife he was holding for comfort. His free hand went up to curl around the necklace he always wore.
The necklace that Sam had given him all those years ago.
"It's almost time boys." Pamela said throwing the brush to the ground. It stained the concrete floor lightly with specks of blood. She picked up the bucket and gallon still half full and came to the table in the center. Bobby and Dean followed her and the three of them sat around the table.
Dean saw Bobby glance around them. They were surrounded by a salt ring, something Pamela ordinarily wouldn't use however at this time they were dealing with demons. Better safe than sorry she said shrugging.
With a motion of her head Dean and Bobby brought their hands up. Using her fingers she painted a different set of symbols on the back of their hands before doing the same to hers. Dean lit the candles, ignoring the way the blood dried on his skin and made it crack slightly as well as the small smell of sulfur from the blood.
Their watches, which had been synchronized and alarmed, beeped then. They clasped their hands together, Dean ignored the way Bobby was fidgeting, and his shaking hands were grasped between Bobby's familiar hand and Pamela's soft and smooth hand.
"Invocabo spiritibus inferni." she intoned. "Invocabo spiritibus inferni." I call upon the spirits of hell, Dean translated to himself.
Dean glanced around the warehouse through the corner of his eyes. Wind had started to pick up from the outside.
"Obsecro autem animae damnatorum." she continued. I call upon the damned souls, he continued to translate.
The candles flickered however they didn't go out. The wind picked up from outside and it almost seemed to him like it sounded like screeching and nails against a blackboard.
"Quaeram animam." Pamela said. I seek a soul. "Ego adducam suis."
I bring his kin. Dean took this as his moment and slid his hands free. His hands were suddenly steady as he pulled out his pocket knife and slid a thin line across his palm. He let the blood flow down and onto the candles.
It disappeared before it could touch the flames.
"Boy King of Hell." Dean said before he extended his hands back into Bobby's and Pamela's. At her questioning gaze he explained "The demon from before, they said that he is the Boy King of Hell."
Bobby was muttering under his breath once more as he took Deans hand without hassle. Pamela took his hand as well, throwing him another curious look and ignoring the blood dripping from the cut on his palm.
"Puerum Orcus putatur." she said. He is considered the Boy King of Hell. "Nomen Ipsius Sam Winchester."
His name is Sam Winchester.
The candles went out suddenly, throwing them into darkness and Dean was sure he heard a screech from outside.
Then, just as abruptly as they went out the candles lit themselves once more.
"Motherfuck!" Bobby hissed. Dean's head whirled to Pamela.
She sat there frozen, her skin pale white and turning colder by the second. Her mouth was open in shock and her eyes were wide.
Her eyes that were completely black.
Her entire body gave a shudder and she fell to the ground, as she jerked back and forth. The two hunters immediately went to her side and tried to hold her down as she shook heavily under their hands. Then, as if her strings had been cut, she collapsed on the ground breathing heavily.
The wind stopped howling and the screeches faded out.
There was a whispering and it took them a few moments to realize that it was coming from Pamela underneath them.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." she whispered almost in a gasp each time, her gaze wouldn't lock on either of them instead it was focused on some point far away that they couldn't see. Bobby tried to get her attention to no avail.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"That wasn't me." Pamela said later. Hours later after they cleaned up the warehouse and returned to her apartment.
The entire trip she had been close to catatonic. The only thing she would say the entire time was "I'm sorry."
"What do you mean it wasn't you?" Dean asked crossing his arms and leaning against the wall of her apartment. He tried not to feel like a failure all over again. Their only chance at contacting Sam had gone down the drain and the next time would be in six months again.
Another six months of being tortured in hell until his big brother found a way to get him out.
Pamela looked drained and almost as if she didn't even realize where they were. Her eyes were now locked on Dean and she wouldn't look anywhere else.
"In the end." she said slowly. "I was able to get into contact with the soul that is Sam Winchester."
His heart leaped into his throat as he crossed the room towards her. Bobby was watching her very carefully.
"He was saying a lot of things, most of them I couldn't understand although I did hear your name most of the time." she said. "The clearest thing I could make out was, 'I'm sorry'."
Bobby let out a deep breath as he balanced his arms on his legs and leaned forward as he clasped his hands together. He rubbed the area above one eye as he softly said "Can we call him again?"
Pamela shook her head. "The time has gone and passed." She then glanced at Dean. "Boy King of Hell?"
"What about it?"
"You had me contact the goddamn King of Hell Dean Winchester." she said. "I don't think you realize just what that means."
"Then enlighten me." he snapped at her.
"A human being chosen to be a king of hell is a purely damned being." she said. "The kind of person either is born or created. A being of sin and damnation."
"Watch your fucking mouth." he warned her. He rubbed his fingers together in an attempt to calm himself.
"Your brother was obviously never human." she said coldly. "Forget him. By now he is probably no better than the demon scum you hunt."
Dean saw red as he flew at her. Bobby, seemingly having expected that, jumped forward to grab him and turn him to the side so that he wouldn't hit Pamela.
With a great effort Bobby dragged Dean out through the door and through the building. He threw the younger man out with such force that Dean almost fell to the ground.
Fire crawled through his veins as he stalked around, cracking his knuckles and curling and curling his fingers.
His anger reached a crescendo however and he couldn't stop himself from punching the building. He punched once, twice, a third time. He could feel the bones in his hand break and the skin rip open as blood flowed down his hand and onto the ground.
Everything drained out of him suddenly as he fell to his knees. His pain filled hand fell to his side and he came forward until his forehead was leaning against the brick building. He glanced to the side where Bobby was waiting for him, pain and care visible in his eyes.
"What the hell do I do now?" Dean asked hoarsely tears prickling his eyes.
John
John couldn't help the smile on his face as Adam helped him with the car he was working on. The thirteen soon to be fourteen year old had a keen eye for detail and often saw mistakes in the engines before John did.
A corner of his mind couldn't help but compare Adam to Dean, both of them had a love of cars and fixing them.
As always any thought of Dean turned to Sam and soon enough the smile was off of his face and his stomach fell to the ground.
Sam who has been dead for ten months now.
John shook his head and focused on the car in front of him instead. He could hear Kate in the kitchen preparing lunch for all of them and Adam was beside him helping to fix their car.
He could feel himself relax as the tension slowly left his body. Wiping his greased up hands on a rag he stood and on reflex glanced to the side.
Their garage door was open and across the street John could clearly see a man standing there with his hands in his pockets. He was about five foot five and had piercing blue eyes that when they connected with his John felt like he was being x-rayed.
For a moment everything else melted away. For a moment the only thing that existed was John and this man, the entire world melted away.
A truck suddenly drove by, blocking the man from view and when it passed the man was no longer there.
John blinked and turned his attention to his son who was tugging at his sleeve. He managed another smile and placed his hand on Adams head.
He had lost one son. He'd be damned before he lost another.
Dean was startled out his thoughts at the knock at his door. Groaning slightly he leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I said come back later." he called out thinking that it was the housekeeper once more.
The person knocked once more, insistently this time.
Muttering under his breath Dean stood and walked to the door and opened it.
A man, he seemed to be in his early twenties shorter than Dean with blond hair and blue eyes, looked up at him and seemed to choke back tears.
"Can I help you?" he asked looking the man up and down with a slight frown. Something in the man's stance seemed familiar.
The man licked his lips and said "Dean."
Dean froze as his lips parted slightly. He had never heard the voice before but the way that his name was said. He blinked away tears as he started to shake lightly. "What?" he said tightly.
"I'm sorry." the man choked out. He bit his lips hard. "I'm sorry."
Dean shook his head as he reached out and lightly touched the man's cheek with his palm. The man pressed his face closer to Dean's hand, his eyes flashing yellow for a single moment.
"I'm sorry." he repeated, his voice getting cut off as his entire body shuddered however no tears fell.
"Sammy." Dean said croakily. "Sammy?"
The man, Sammy, nodded. Hesitant at first then with more conviction.
"Its me." he said the unfamiliar yet familiar in its tone voice breaking on each word. "It's me."
Sam let out a gasp as his eyes flashed yellow once more before going back to the blue of the boy.
"I'm sorry." he whimpered. "I'm sorry. I broke. I wasn't strong enough. I broke and I'm sorry."
Any other words were cut off as Dean reached out and yanked Sam close to him. Sam let out a choked gurgle as his arms curled around his older brother.
"It's okay." Dean murmured one hand going to cup the back of Sam's head. The unfamiliar blond hair was short and rough.
His brother's soul was possessing a person. Apparently he had broke in hell and his eyes were yellow.
But his brother was here. Back on earth and back with him. Sobbing, although tearlessly, into his shoulder like he had as a child.
Dean felt his own tears fall down his face as he pushed his nose into the area between his brother's neck and shoulders. The smell of earth, fire, and sulfur filled his nose.
It didn't matter what Sam did to get back home to Dean. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he was here. He was here with Dean where he belonged.
And everything was going to be okay. They would figure everything out together as they always did. He had his brother back, everything else could go screw itself.
Everything was going to be okay.
I do not own Supernatural. All Latin translations were done on Google translate.