Just Dean

Rating: PG

Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby

Disclaimer: I don't own them, just play with 'em. Its fiction, nothing more.

Warning: speculative for 4.01

Summary: And he couldn't explain how, but he knew he was human. He just felt right in his skin, like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans. No demon riding shotgun, no spirit propelling him onwards. Just him. Just Dean.

PLEASE READ FIRST!

A/N: As I said, this is speculative for Season 4, Episode 1. It was written before the episode aired, before I knew what was going to happen to the boys.

Darkness. All encompassing, impenetrable darkness.

That's the first thing he sees.

Heat, radiating all around him, slowly fading, cooling off; his heart pounding ferociously against his ribs, the first things he feels.

An agonized scream, echoing all around him.

The first thing he says and hears.

Unconsciousness bleeds in, sweeping out everything else as it drags him under.

Sunlight.

It's the first thing he's aware of, laying sprawled out on the ground, cheek pressed into the arid soil. It's warm, sweat gluing his t-shirt to his back. It's also quiet. Too quiet. He wants to open his eyes but it feels like to much effort at this point. He's so tired.

His muscles ache, dull throbs echoing all over his body, a chaotic chorus. Some are sharper, in his ribs, his shoulder, his wrists and ankles, like they are fresh wounds in need of tending. But when he moves them, they go without complaint. Phantom pains.

For a while he just lays there, letting the sun beat down on him, letting his breath puff in and out, letting the time tick by. There's a niggling in the back of his mind, something telling him this is wrong. He should be up and moving, but to where, he has no idea. So he settles for opening his eyes. Maybe if he can identify where he is, it'll all come back to him. Maybe he can remember why he feels the need to run, to hide. Maybe he can remember what he's missing.

Everything is blurry for a moment, indistinct like his eyes aren't quite used to seeing so much light and so many colors. He blinks a few times and watches as things slide into place. Grass, dry and brittle. Rocky, parched soil. That's all there is to see lying on his stomach, so with more energy than thinks he has, he rolls over and is met with a bright, cloudless cerulean sky. And from some reason, it makes aches deep in his chest. Not the phantom pains that are still throbbing, but a sense of loss and sorrow that wells up deep and makes him cry.

Pulling himself upright, he can see trees in the distance, but everything else is grass and sky unbroken. He wipes away the tears and takes a few staggering steps towards the trees. His legs are shaky, coltish, but it only takes him a moment to get his bearings back. Its slow moving though, but he doesn't mind. He's just glad to be up and moving.

Somewhere along the way between the grass and trees he finds a road. And deserted as it may be, he can't help the feeling that gives him new energy. It feels like hope. And along that road is where he finds his memory. Bits and pieces flashing in his mind, igniting others, a chain reaction until he remembers who he is. And who he's missing.

Sam.

He trudges along the road, wishing he had water, wishing he knew where he was, but most of all thankful. Somehow, some way he'd gotten out of hell. He didn't know the details, couldn't remember any of it except darkness and pain and loneliness. And he couldn't explain how, but he knew he was human. He just felt right in his skin, like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans. No demon riding shotgun, no spirit propelling him onwards. Just him. Just Dean.

In the distance, he could hear a car approaching. His first instinct was to run, to hide since he didn't have a weapon, but he knew it was futile. There was no where to go before he would be seen. So he edged off the road a step or two and continued his trek. The car approached, slowed down next to him. The whir of a window bring rolled down, then a soft feminine voice.

"Do you need a ride?"

Dean stopped in his tracks and whipped around to see a young blonde leaning out the window of the car. Her eyes a soft, doe brown, pink lips turned into a smile as she tucked a stray piece of long blonde hair behind her ear. She looked innocent enough, but Dean knew from experience not to trust looks so easily.

Edging closer to the car, he muttered under his breath, "Christo", but nothing happened. The girl's brow furrowed a little bit as she watched his cautious movements. Dean took another step closer, "Christo" whispered just a bit louder. Again, the girl didn't react. No black eyes or hissing, no cursing and flinging his body across road. She was just a human.

"I'm sorry? I didn't hear what you said." She said as Dean came to a stop by her door. She smiled politely as she looked up at him. "Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"I,-uh" Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck for a moment. He had no idea where he was or which direction he was headed. Maybe she could help him out. "Yeah, that would be good."

Once in the car and belted, the girl turned to him, sticking her hand out. "I'm Sarah."

"Dean." He shook her hand, only then noticing the dirt on his hands, on his clothes, the way the tips of his fingers were bloody and raw. He quickly withdrew his hand and averted his eyes.

"Well, its nice to meet ya, Dean. So where're you headed?"

And that was the million dollar question, wasn't it. "Uh, what state are we in?"

If Sarah thought he was a nut case, she didn't show it outright, just smiled at him. "South Dakota. About 30 miles outside of Rapid City."

Rapid City, South Dakota. That was just a few miles from Bobby's place. Something that had been clenched up tight in his chest slowly started to ease. He turned to face Sarah, a small smile on his face. "Are you going that way?"

She smiled wider as she put the car into drive. "Sure am. Just let me know where I can take you."

Dean fell silent after that, eyes taking in the scenery around him. His mind wandered, trying to place how long he'd been gone, how he'd ended up out of hell in field in the middle of South Dakota, how he would get in contact with Sam. Leaning his head against the window, he felt his exhaustion catching up with him. Sarah tried to make conversation, asking insignificant little questions, talking about nothing to fill up the silence before she quieted down, realizing her passenger wasn't about to be engaged.

Once they were closer to the city, Dean gave her vague directions and had her drop him off about half a mile outside of Bobby's property. He hadn't thought about it until now, but he was pretty sure the reception he was about to get was going to be anything but stellar. And he didn't want this sweet, innocent girl to get caught in the middle. He would need the time it took him to walk to come up with a plan.

He hesitated for a moment, before leaning back down into the car. "Thanks for the ride. And … just be careful out there, okay?"

Sarah just nodded a small smile curling up her lips as she tucked another stand of wayward hair behind her ear. "Yeah. You too. Good-bye Dean."

"Bye, Sarah." He closed the door and watched as she pulled back onto the road, heading for the city. Dean turned in the opposite direction and headed back down the road, taking the well worn, dirt road back a quarter of a mile until he saw the beginnings of a rusted up fence and a scrap metal sign.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean straightened up and walked a bit faster. He was almost home.

He had known that Bobby wasn't exactly going to be overjoyed when Dean showed up on doorstep, what with him supposed to be dead and all. But still, he had never expected Bobby to attack him. Twice. When Bobby had lunged at him with a knife, Dean panicked for a moment before he grabbed Bobby's hand and twisted it out of the way.

"Christo!" he yelled. Bobby, just backed off, confused for a moment before he had tried it again, knife swinging in a wide arch towards Dean's head. He moved out of the way just in time to feel the air whistle passed his ear as the blade moved by.

He pleaded with Bobby, spouting off facts of his life, their life, hunting, hell he even started to recite prayers in Latin. When Bobby advanced on him again Dean didn't move in time, catching an elbow to the face, the silver knife slicing across his palm. He hissed at the pain, stumbling back a step before he realized that Bobby was no longer advancing. Looking up, he found Bobby staring at him, eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Dean?" he managed to whisper before he dropped the knife. Two steps and Bobby had Dean pulled into the tightest hug he'd felt in a while. Dean just wrapped his arms around the older man, breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned his head on Bobby's shoulder.

A minute later pulled back, arms on Dean's shoulders holding him still. "Christ kid, look at ya" he muttered before guiding Dean into the living room. Bobby came back with two beers and sat down on the coffee table in front of him. Bobby's eyes trailed over him, head to toe and back, filled with concern and love and relief. "Dean. How-"

"I don't know, Bobby." His voice came out hoarse and gravely so he took a tentative sip of beer. "I just … woke up, I guess, in a field about 30 miles from here and hitched a ride here."

"But what about- do you remember anything?"

"What? From hell?" Dean leaned back against the couch, eyes begging to drop with exhaustion. "Nah, nothing specific anyway. Just screams and heat, pain and darkness. Nothing else."

Bobby just nodded, accepting it for now. He stood up with a small smile. "Why don't you crash here for a bit, then we'll get you cleaned up." Dean sighed and sunk back into the couch, eyes closing of their own volition. The floor boards creaked under the weight of Bobby's boots as he moved away.

"Bobby? Where's Sam?" Dean managed to crack his eye open and stare at the older hunter.

Bobby smiled softly at how sleepy and child-like Dean sounded, but it dimmed at the mention of the youngest Winchester. "We'll talk about him soon enough, son. He's fine. Get some rest."

And that's all Dean needed, to know his brother was safe, to feel at home, before he nodded off to sleep.

Waking up the second time was much easier than the first. The sounds of creaking floor boards and a murmuring voice were the first to drift to his ears. Soft cushions beneath his body, a warm blanket covering him, the smell of chili cooking, fading sunlight peeking in through the window; they all reached him one by one, waking him slowly until it was no effort to just open his eyes.

The sound of the screen door tapping closed had Dean sitting up, watching as Bobby walked into the room. He smiled at Dean as he pocketed his cell phone. "Dinner's almost ready. How 'bout you go get cleaned up and I'll take care of that hand."

Dean looked down at his hand to see a hastily taped down piece of gauze, lines of dried blood peeking out from under the edges. Bobby must have done it after he'd fallen asleep. He nodded and stood up, phantom aches quiet but still not gone making him shuffle like an old man for a few steps before he got his bearings.

Twenty minutes of hot water later, Dean came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Bobby was leaning against the wall in the hallway, a bundle of fresh closed tucked under his arms. His eyes scanned over Dean's chest noting the faint bruising near his right collar bone and his just beneath his ribs on his left side. He'd seen similar bruises on both of Dean's wrist before and now he could see that they were on his ankles as well. Pulling his eyes away, Bobby handed over the clothes. "Anything need taking care of?" He motioned vaguely to the bruises.

Dean looked down as if noticing them for the first time. He poked and prodded them before he shook his head. "Nah, don't think so."

"Okay. Come down when you're dressed, dinner's done." Bobby gave him one last silent glance, like he was trying to piece together the world's hardest puzzle, before he disappeared down the stairs.

Dinner, like almost everything else that day, had been nearly silent. Dean sitting in a chair eating his chili, while Bobby sat across from him, watching. At least that was until Bobby's phone rang, breaking them both out of their reveries.

"Hello?" Bobby seemed to perk up immediately at whoever was on the other line. He pushed away from the table and stalked into the living room. Dean watched for a moment, listening to the muffled voice, before he turned back to eating.

A minute later though, a piece of the conversation reached Dean's ears.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing in Deadwood? You said you were in Rapid City taking care of a job."

Dean jerked up from the table and stalked into the living room, meeting Bobby's eyes. "Is that Sam? Let me talk to him." Dean reached for the phone but Bobby shook his head and pulled out of Dean's reach.

"Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Sam. Dean's …" Bobby paused, rubbing a hand over his face for a moment. "Dean's here."

Dean watched, anxiously, as Bobby paced back and forth behind the couch. The conversation on his end constantly being interrupted as he tried to explain to Sam how his dead brother ended up on his front porch. It was agonizing as he could see the sorrow in Bobby's eyes, hear the apology in his voice as he tried to help Sam understand something he hadn't even wrapped his own head around.

Dean waited, hands clenched in fists, shoulders coiled tight with tension, for twenty minutes before he'd had enough. He desperately wanted to rip the phone out of Bobby's hand and talk to Sam but he didn't know what Sam's would reaction would be and freaking him out at this point wouldn't help anything. So instead, Dean grabbed one of Bobby's jackets from off the rack by the door and headed outside. He would just have to prove himself to Sam like he had to Bobby.

He headed over to Bobby's pick-up, hands immediately reached under the dash to pull out the wires he needed. At first, he felt bad about taking the truck without asking. But the more the thought about it, he knew Bobby wouldn't, couldn't be all that angry with him. Right?

Just as he was about to strike the wires, he heard a jingling behind him. "You know boy, using keys is just a little faster. And it saves you from getting' your ass kicked in the long run."

Dean spun around to see Bobby standing there, keys in hand, amused expression on his face. Dean dropped the wires and stepped back with a sheepish expression on his face. Bobby shook his head and climbed in the cab, Dean following suit on the passenger side.

"Winchesters" Bobby muttered as he started up the truck, shaking his head in disbelief. Dean could do nothing but smile as they pulled out.

Sam had been sitting at the motel table, weapons cache spread out on the bed, guns cleaned and oiled. The knives were next, spread out on the table with the whetstone. The slid-scrap of metal again rough stone the only sound to be heard, a comforting beat, steady, like his heart. Until the call came through. He looked at the number on the display and debated heavily on whether to pick it up or not. The call went to voicemail, which chirped a minute later, announcing that Bobby had indeed left him another message.

Bobby had called at least twice every week since the day … well for three months now. Calling to check on him, giving him information on hunts or new texts he had collected, or any other manner of information to get Sam on the phone. And almost each and every time Bobby called, Sam would ignore it. He would listen to the messages, wait sometimes up to a few day before he would call back, letting Bobby know he was well and whole.

This time felt no different. Sam dialed up the voicemail, tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder as he prepared another knife for sharpening. Only, the minute he heard Bobby's voice, Sam could tell something was up. He sounded hesitant, freaked out almost, but also … happy?

"Sam, it's Bobby. I need you to call me back when you get this. I don't know- Kid I don't know how to tell you this but I have some … information about Dean. It's something you need to hear. Call me back."

For a while Sam just sat there, staring at his phone, staring at Bobby's number on the screen. What kind of information would he have? Good, bad? Something that would help them or damn them? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, especially with a planned out hunt tonight.

So instead of calling Bobby back, he tossed his phone to the bed and worked on the knives again. He sharpened each and every one of them, double checked all the guns, made a list of needed supplies and ammo, then re-packed everything up and put it back in the car. He went through all his research for the hunt, double and triple checked locations and needed equipment. He got a shower, un-packed, re-folded, then re-packed all the clothes in his duffle, walked down the street to the diner to grab something to eat.

And when he got back … the first thing he did was pick up his phone. He didn't know what kind of information Bobby had, but whatever it was, he needed to know.

Thirty minutes later, Sam was sitting in the chair, a rosary, a silver knife, and a bottle of holy water sitting in front of him on the table. His hands shook as he laid his phone down next to his small arsenal. He grabbed up the salt can and re-checked all the lines, re-laid most of them just to be sure. And even as he sat back down, he couldn't make sense of what Bobby had said.

Dean was back.

Dean was alive and well.

Dean was human.

Sam swallowed thickly at that thought and tried to occupy his mind with something else. Bobby had said they were coming to see him, said Dean needed to see his brother just as much as Sam needed to see him. And while he couldn't deny it, he was leery, too afraid of getting his hopes up.

Because his brother…was dead.

Thirty minutes ticked by on the clock before there was the sound of a truck pulling up and parking outside his door. He heard a door slam before there was a knock on his door. Cautiously, like something was about to break down the door and attack him, Sam made his way over. The blinds were pulled shut so there was no way for him to get a look other than opening up the door.

Another knock sounded, but Sam could barely hear it about the pounding of his heart. He reached out and turned the knob, throwing the door open as he took two steps back. He kept his eyes on the salt-line before he caught sight of familiar beat-up boots and worn, dusty jeans. Letting his gaze travel up, he gasp at the face he saw.

Dean.

Oh god, it was Dean. A little worn and haggard around the edges, but it was Dean. Green eyes sparkling with as much mirth as tears, lips quirking into a cocky smile, Dean.

Dean who was stepping over the salt line without a problem.

Dean who walked right through the protection wards and devil's trap painted on the ceiling.

Oh how he wanted to believe, but he just couldn't. Because Dean was dead. He'd watched hell hounds rip his brother to flesh ribbons as he was pinned, helpless, against a wall, Ruby's mouth grinning with Lilith's smile. Dean who he held, bloody and tattered. Dean who he cleaned up and buried out in a field away from anything that would bother him.

Sam stepped back, away from Dean's advance, pinning himself against a wall like a rookie. But Dean just smiled, slightly sad, slightly proud, as he came to a stop in front of the table. He fingered the rosary, murmuring a prayer in Latin under his breath before he took a swig of the holy water like it was a shot of tequila. When nothing happened, he picked up the knife and smiled knowingly at Sam as he ran his finger over the freshly sharpened blade.

And still nothing happened.

Sam swallowed, taking a hesitant step forward. Bobby came through the door then, eyes a little red and watery as he looked back and forth between the two brothers. Finally his gaze settled on Sam.

"Its okay, Sam." Bobby murmured, coming to stand next to Dean, laying his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

"It's really me, Sammy. I don't now how, but its-" Dean never got to finish his sentence as Sam took another step forward and engulfed Dean in a hug. Dean let out a small chuckle and wrapped his arms around his brother, squeezing tight. When he felt the first tears soak through his shirt, Dean pulled Sam back and looked him in the eye. "You okay?"

Sam just nodded, hastily wiping away the errant tears with a watery laugh. "Yeah, Dean its just …"

"Damn good to see you," Dean finished for him. He ruffled Sam's hair affectionately before pulling him close again in a one armed hug. "I see you took good care of my wheels while I was gone."

Sam barked out another laugh and gave Dean a playful shove, before he cast a look at Bobby. Thank you. Bobby nodded quietly, making himself comfortable on one of the chairs while the boys settled on the bed.

"I don't know how I'm here, Sam. I don't even know how I got here. I just am." Dean answered when Sam gave him that questioning look. And Sam seemed to accept that, at least for now.

"Well," Sam said, standing. He grabbed up John's journal and his laptop, tossing the former to Dean. "I guess we've got some work to do, jerk." I've missed you. I'm glad you're back.

Dean laughed, running his hands gently over the cover of the journal. "Yeah, guess we do. Bitch." Love you too, little bro.

end.