Title: Good girls go to heaven, but bad girls go everywhere

Summary: No one can come back from hell. Normally. But there are always exceptions to the rules, and everyone deserves to have a second chance. One month passed since Dean died. Sam and Bobby tried everything to bring him back and failed. But then someone appeared in their lives. Someone who was not supposed to be there. Someone who could be their last hope to save Dean.

Spoilers: Season 3. The story takes place post-Season 3, but pre-Season 4, so - NO Season 4 spoilers

Characters: Dean, Sam, Bela, Bobby.

Pairings: Dean/Bela

Disclaimer: One for all story! Do not own anything except for crazy twists and turns of my imagination.

Author's Note: I had the idea for this story long before I started "Something to remember", maybe right after I watched "Time is one my side" but it sort of needed some serious thinking, or something like that. It's not a song-fic, but it was inspired by a very old song performed by Pandora's Box "Good girls go to heaven (Bad girls go everywhere)". Truth be told, I tend to use this phrase as motto from time to time, because seriously, being good is so boring and so… predictable.

Chapter 1

Sam Winchester woke up to the way-too-familiar ring-tone of his cell phone. He snapped his head up and came face to face with a Flying through space screensaver on his laptop. It took him a couple of seconds to get that he fell asleep on the keyboard. Again. Okay, nothing new here and, honestly, some sleep in whatever uncomfortable position every now and then was better than no sleep anyway. At least that was what a reasonable part of his mind kept telling him, whereas the other part, which generally lacked any common sense, panicked over every moment when Sam wasn't awake because first of all it meant that he was losing precious time.

He groaned in annoyance and groped all over the table for his cell phone, which had already started his second round of calls. Oh, who the hell would want to reach him so badly at… What time was it anyway?! He looked around, fixed his gaze at the alarm clock on the scarred bedside table and moaned. At 2:35 in the morning. Or was it night? Hell, whatever!

Phone flipped open, Sam grumbled, "Yeah," into the receiver. He leaned back on the most uncomfortable chair that ever existed in the world, not quite giving a damn about this fact though, and rubbed his face with his hand in a poor attempt to wake up properly. The moment he hated most – coming back from dreams to reality where his brother was gone – dead! But Sam had serious problems with processing this concept in his mind even now. Gone because of him, for the whole bloody month already! Oh, Lord, that was only one month? It felt like a year at least. So damn long! Like eternity…

"Sam?"

"Bobby? What the…" He cleared his throat, rubbed his eyes and finally turned off the screensaver that started getting on his nerves. "You… everything okay?" With concern now because, knowing Bobby, Sam doubted he's call at this time just to have a lazy chat.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Where are you?"

Good question!

Sam turned around, scanned the room. Really, no idea. Another room in another motel down the road to… pretty much nowhere so far. at last he spotted a laminated card with motel's price list for room services and check-out time that probably lay on the table so that clients had no problems with finding it and now got stuck under his computer. He pulled it from under the laptop and… there it was! The address.

"I'm in Wisconsin," Sam informed Bobby. How did he get here? Not that it mattered but…

"Wisconsin?" It was not that hard to imagine how Bobby brows shot up in surprise and disbelief. "Is there… you know, anything? Any news?"

Another doubtful lead to another dead end, and nothing else, Sam thought bitterly.

"No. Not yet, but I'm working…"

"Listen, Sam," Bobby interrupted him, "I need you to come here."

"Where?"

"To my place."

"What?" Sam frowned. "Why? No, I can't. I mean if there is a chance to find something here… I have to…"

"That's what I'm talking about."

"Have you…" San strained himself on the chair, so no ready to hope but… "You found something?"

There was a long pause on the line as if Bobby needed time to find right words for the answer. Sam heard muffled rustle and footsteps, and then a quiet squeal of the door opening and closing before Bobby spoke again.

"Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

"What is it, Bobby? What did you find?" Sam caught his breath in anticipation of an answer; swallowed hard.

"You've gotta see it with your own eyes, Sam."

"No, wait! Just tell me… Bobby?" He looked at his cell phone, shook it and repeated, "Bobby?" No answer. "Oh, crap!" He cursed through clenched teeth. Must have been a disconnection on the line or something like that.

But it got him. Bobby's words seriously got him because whatever it was, Bobby wouldn't have called him if it was nothing – why give false hope? But if it was something, than it was worth checking.

Sam jumped up to his feet, poor chair nearly falling backwards. He hated to think that he was leaving his research here just like that, halfway through, but truthfully it was leading nowhere so far, and in the back of his mind Sam had to admit that it was hardly possible that the situation would change, no matter how much time he'd spend buried in the books or surfing the Internet, or trying to find people, who knew other people, who knew someone else, who might know something that he needed, which in most cases was nothing. And, honestly, Sam was getting sick and tired of running in the circle.

He made his way to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face to bring his state somewhere close to capable of driving. Old mirror reflected a young man with worn-out face, bleary eyes and dark rumpled hair. And were these keyboard prints on his cheek?! Aside from the last fact, he looked like he hadn't slept or eaten normally for weeks, which was true actually, but of all things considered, these two bother Sam Winchester the least. Everything was meaningless compared to his brother sent in hell.

The image of Dean being torn apart by hellhounds stayed before Sam's mind's eye every minute – every bloody moment! – when he was awake. And when he wasn't – these short period of drowsiness – he had nightmares about his brother consumed by hellfire, so vivid that he was waking up in cold sweat.

It wasn't his own peaceful sleep, or lack of it, that bothered Sam. It was Dean who suffered in the pit for nothing. That was why he couldn't give up. He simply couldn't.

Sam returned to the room, tossed his stuff carelessly into his duffel bag, turned his laptop off, grabbed his jacket and car keys, and left the room without so much as a look back. If he forgot something there than it wasn't something that he really needed or couldn't replace.

He slid into the driver's seat of the Impala, turned the key in the ignition and drove out of the parking lot at top speed.

It felt awkward, almost shameful, to drive this car on his own, as if it wasn't right that it wasn't Dean on the driver's seat because this car was his "baby", a part of his personality. Sometimes Sam even thought that it was a part of Dean's soul. Made Sam feel even guiltier. But he was taking care of the thing anyway – and good care it was! – because he never doubted, even for a goddamned second, that sooner or later Dean would be back. Knew that he would never give up until his brother was alive again, or until he…

Sam turned on the music to cut off the train of his thought. Still the tapes. Lord, he nearly hated that stuff, really! Gee, they were archaic, like dinosaurs of all technologies. And, truth be told, he wasn't happy with Dean's choice of music either. But still couldn't bring himself to get rid of all that junk. Firstly, Dean would kill him the next moment he found it out. Secondly – and that was something weird, something that Sam didn't quite like thinking about – this horrible music was sort of helping him feel Dean sitting next to him when he was driving, humming something under his breath or tapping his fingers on the dashboard. Didn't want to fail Dean too knowing that he probably though that his brother would throw his stuff away first thing after his death. Didn't want to justify his worst fears.

He turned the wheel following the quirks of the road and yawned. It was right about time to find a round-the-clock diner to have some coffee; otherwise it was highly doubtful he'd make it to Bobby's alive. Moreover, it was highly doubtful he'd make it to the border of the state alive! He hadn't had good sleep ever since… that day. Developed a strong caffeine addiction even, but it was the last of Sam's worries. He didn't want to hope. Didn't dare. Not really. Knew better than that by now but his foot was stepping on the gas despite any logic and common sense, with only one thought in his mind – "What if?"

It took Sam five or six hours to make it to Bobby's, two stops – one in the diner and another at the gas station – assumed. He pulled the Impala up in front of an old house between the porch and a minivan shortly after dawn. The sun was still down but the sky had already started turning purple and lilac on the horizon.

Sam spotted light in the kitchen windows and hurried up the porch steps, curiosity and impatience literary pushing him into the back. He hadn't been talking to Bobby much lately, quick check-on calls aside. Too much grief, too much sorrow which Sam had to cope with on his own. And he appreciated it that Bobby had given him a chance. Sam knew that he suffered too, out of loss, and helplessness, and desperation, but it wasn't the same. Dean wasn't Bobby's brother, and he didn't sell his soul for him.

The door burst open when Sam only raised his hand to know, giving him a start.

"Bobby," he breathed out, a mixture of anxiety and relief in his voice.

Bobby gave him a long appraising look from head to toe, paused on dusty jacket and exhausted face, and shook his head.

"You look terrible, boy," was what he said for a greeting.

"You too," Sam chuckled.

And it was so true! Looking at Bobby was almost like looking in a mirror and seeing there an older version of myself, Sam thought. Absolutely world-weary and strangely old, not because of age – not only because of it at least – but because of something else. Weight of knowledge, if it could make one grow older, and pain of loss too.

"Come on in," Bobby grumbled. He took a big sip of what smelled like coffee from a big mug and checked on his wrist watch. "Wisconsin, huh? Did you fly?"

The question struck Sam, reminded him why he came here in the first place.

"Okay, I'm here, Bobby. What is it? What was all that hurry about?" He frowned.

"Calm down, Sam," with sad concern. "Maybe it's nothing. Maybe…"

"I don't want to calm down!" Sam interrupted him, his jaw twitched. "It's been a month, for God's sake! What is it?"

Bobby watched him considering for a minute or so. "Follow me," he said at last and went down the corridor and upstairs. Sam was right after him, close on the heels wondering what Bobby might get what he missed but too tired to come to a satisfying conclusion. "Just don't… hope too much. As I said it might be nothing."

"I crossed two states overnight," and there was stubborn determination in his voice. "I want to hope too much. I need to hope too much."

Bobby gave him a quick look over his shoulder, which was followed by a snort. They stopped at the guest room door. It squealed quietly when Bobby pushed it open.

"Here."

Sam poked his head inside. Spotted old table with a reading lamp in the corner and a double bed that was now lit with first rays of rising sun. He slept here several times when stopping at Bobby's, when he bothered to make it upstairs instead of spending a night on the couch in the living room. Knew that Bobby kept some of the weapons in the case under the bed, securely locked and supposedly well-hidden. But something was definitely wrong with the picture now.

His jaw dropped and his eyes literary popped out of his scull when he finally figured what exactly was wrong. Sam made at attempt to say something, but only gasped instead, and then started opening a closing his mouth like a fish in aquarium. Impossible! At last he turned and looked at Bobby who watched him calmly and somewhat sympathetically, obviously aware of Sam's feelings.

"But this is…" Sam started in a whisper. Paused and swallowed. Cast another quick look into the room "Can't be!"

To be continued…

I know it's been only a couple of days since I finished my previous fic… but, really, I just couldn't help myself :))