A/N OK, I broke two promises I have made to myself: 1) no new chapter stories until "Consequences" and "Gallows Humor" are finished (I'll try to update both soon for those who may be following those ones) and 2) no tag for "No Rest for the Wicked" there are probably tons of them out there already, but like many, I just cannot get the episode out of my mind, so I had to write one of my own 'what happens next?' story. I haven't read many of the other ones out there, maybe one or two, so I don't know how unique mine is, but I hope it will provide something different, and if not, I hope you will stick with me on this and enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: "Supernatural" is sadly, not mine, but I do own the DVD's, and sometimes when I dream, Sam and Dean are there to keep me company.

Summary: As Sam and Bobby mourn the loss of Dean, Sam gets visions of Dean in Hell and discovers a link that could mean Dean's salvation, or Sam's damnation. Or it could destroy them both.

Shadow Of Death

By Deana W.

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Chapter One

He screamed. He had no idea how long he had been there, lost in an endless maze of chains, suspended, and bound. Meat hooks dug into his shoulder, his side, impaled his palms, his feet and shackles bound his wrists and ankles. Thunder and lightning filled the endless void, rattling the chains and jarring the hooks that skewered his flesh. Sometimes the lightning would strike the metal links, sending bolts of electricity through him, charring his insides, but he was denied the release of unconsciousness or death.

This was death, eternal death.

He continued to scream, "Sam!"

In the distance, the swirling black clouds that painted the void seemed to dance in dark victory. More electricity pulsed through him, burning him, jarring him, killing him over and over.

"Somebody help me!" he screamed again, knowing that it was futile, no one could help him now. "Sam!" he knew Sam couldn't hear him, he knew Sam wouldn't come, he knew he was trapped forever in a place where Sam could not follow, but he screamed it anyway, "Sam!"

In his pain he focused on why he was there.

For Sam. Because I made a deal so that Sam could live. I am here so I could save Sam. Because of me, Sam is safe.

He held on to that thought, cherished it and focused on it through the unrelenting, unbearable pain. He repeated it in his mind as his mantra. And through the pain he found the slightest hint of comfort.

0-o-0-o-0

The demons outside the Fremont home left all at once, abandoning their hosts in a tornado of black fog, leaving unconscious bodies in their wake. Bobby checked his watch.

12:07

Their hasty exit could only have meant one of two things—either they won and Sam and Dean would be coming out any moment, or they lost and Dean was dead, maybe even Sam as well. The first scenario was highly unlikely, if not impossible. The Hellhounds were relentless and would never quit, even if they managed to kill the ones sent for Dean, there would be more, there would always be more unless they could get Lilith to call them off.

He ran across the street and went inside, ignoring the former demonic hosts as they came to in a mass of confusion.

Inside the Fremont home it was quiet. Eerily quiet.

"Sam!" he called, and feebly out of hope and denial called out, "Dean?"

"In here Bobby," Sam's voice was broken and the pain in his tone told Bobby everything—they lost, Dean was dead. "Help me."

Without missing a beat Bobby followed the sound of Sam's voice and rushed into a dining room. The sight made bile rise to his throat and he swallowed hard. Ruby's body lay sprawled out and ignored on the floor, and next to her in a pool of blood and gore was Dean. Sam was holding him, sobbing gently. Dean's eyes were open, staring blankly into space, empty, lifeless. Bobby wanted to scream and cry out in mourning but instead he took a sharp intake of breath. Now wasn't the time, Sam needed him to be strong.

"Sam…"

"Help me Bobby," he cried, "call 9-1-1."

"He's gone."

"I know, but maybe we can still revive him."

"He's lost so much blood, there's not much anyone could do for him..."

Sam snapped at him, "Just do it Bobby! Don't argue with me just do it!" Then he bit his lip and stared at him beseechingly, desperation and sorrow reflected in his watery eyes, "Please," his voice broke, "please we have to try and do something."

Breaking down into a fit of sobs Sam pressed his hands against Dean's ravaged chest. "Please Dean," he cried, "Fight it. Come back."

Bobby bit his lip and discreetly wiped a tear from his eye then shrugged out of his jacket and his top flannel shirt. It was a pointless gesture, even if Dean were still alive, it wouldn't be enough to stop the bleeding, but he'd humor Sam. He handed Sam his shirt and Sam pressed it against the slashes across Dean's chest. Bobby pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1, reporting that he thought a wild animal had somehow gotten inside.

When he looked back at Sam, he had his forehead pressed against Dean's. His lips moved rapidly, but Bobby couldn't tell what he was saying. Sam sat up again and began to attempt CPR. Bobby closed his eyes, unable to watch.

Sam and Dean were family to him, and he couldn't bear to see one die and the other fall apart. A year ago he had seen it before with the roles reversed, but this time was harder because he knew that Dean's soul was damned for eternity. A year ago, when Sam was the one who had died, Bobby could at least take comfort in the hope that Sam's soul had been at peace. Dean couldn't. Back then, Dean had given up, shut down and surrendered when Sam was killed, and it was painful to watch, and even more painful when he discovered the price Dean paid to bring Sam back. Now that Sam was the last Winchester standing, Bobby saw the danger in Sam's mournful eyes. What lengths would Sam go to save his brother? That question terrified Bobby.

Sam was in complete denial as he tried desperately to revive Dean, despite the fact his body had been completely ravaged. There was madness in his actions, one hand tried to close his wounds, the other pumped at his heart in an attempt to start it again.

"Sam…"

"Shut up," he snapped, "shut up and let me do this!"

With his hands up in resigned surrender, Bobby backed off. Sam was like a wild animal, and it was dangerous to get too close. He glanced around the room, and blinked slowly, wary of Ruby's body. Just what exactly happened anyway? His eyes went back to Sam. He'd let Sam try the impossible, and he'd be there for him when the impossible doesn't happen.

Bobby's love for the Winchesters conflicted with his hunter's instincts. He should be securing the area, planning their next move; the danger might still be there, waiting to strike. There was a war that needed to be fought, but he couldn't, he wouldn't leave Sam's side. He made that mistake before, with Dean, and the consequence of leaving Dean to be alone as he grieved Sam, was set out before him in a pool of blood. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Sam continued trying to revive Dean. Bobby could see exhaustion settling in, but Sam wasn't giving any indication of it in his actions. He was relentless. "Come on Dean," he cried, "please don't do this. Come back. I need you! Please."

Bobby turned away as he tried to blink back the moisture that had been building in his eyes. He needed to stay strong, for Sam. Dean would've wanted that. With his back turned he could hear Sam counting as he continued his futile attempt at CPR, begging Dean to come back, and then finally whisper words so softly and rapidly that Bobby couldn't understand what he was saying. Suddenly the whispering stopped and Sam breathed, "Shit! Bobby!" a frantic laugh escaped him, "I don't… Fuck! I don't believe it…he's got a heartbeat. Help me!"

Bobby quickly wiped his eyes and spun around, practically falling to their side. "What the hell…?" Shit. The kid did it. He restarted Dean's heart. How he did it was a mystery, but he did it, though Dean was clearly not out of the woods yet. Bobby doubted the weak beating of his heart would last longer than a minute, but Sam had somehow awakened a slight hope, and an equal amount of dread. Bobby couldn't see how anyone could possibly suffer that much damage, and lose that much blood and still have a heartbeat. The fact that Dean had a pulse was unnatural and while he was glad that there was still a glimmer of hope, no matter how faint, an uneasy question surfaced in Bobby's mind. What did you do Sam? What did you do?

He shook his head, and went to business. Pressing his shirt, saturated with blood, against Dean's chest Bobby glanced at Sam who smiled wearily. Sam's hands, drenched in blood, were shaking and his eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed.

"Sam!" Bobby gasped. Sam didn't move. Bobby wanted to check on him, suddenly wondering if Sam suffered injuries that Bobby didn't see at first. It was possible not all the blood belonged to Dean; there was so much of it—on the floor, on Dean, on Sam that it was impossible to tell. For all he knew, Sam could be seriously hurt. Bobby let go of Dean to check on Sam just as the paramedics arrived.

What happened next was a blur. Bobby was taken aside for questioning as the Winchesters were tended to. Normally Bobby Singer was always at the ready for dealing with the police, but this time there were too many bodies around, some old, some fresh and the plight of the Winchesters left him numb. He didn't know what to tell them, and that became his feeble story. He said that they were in the neighborhood, they heard screaming and he sent his nephews to check things out, when they didn't come back out he went in to investigate.

"Stupid I know. Should'a called you first but… I thought it was just a domestic dispute," Bobby concluded as a young rookie police officer took notes. Even as he told the story he knew it was a weak one at best. If Sam was OK, Bobby guessed that they'd both be called in for further questioning; there were too many holes in his story. Talking to a rookie helped with that issue because of her inexperience, but when the officer did ask questions highlighting those holes, Bobby would turn the tables and play the shocked card.

"I don't know, it all happened so fast… my nephews, are they going to be all right? There was so much blood…" For good measure, Bobby produced a few tears, which wasn't hard to do because they were real. He knew that Dean was gone—even if his heart was beating, Dean was essentially dead, and he had no idea what was wrong with Sam, whether he was badly injured, merely exhausted, or maybe a mixture of both.

He wasn't sure how he'd tell Sam that they'd most likely need to high tail it out of town before the morning light—that is if Sam wasn't badly hurt. Whatever the case, Sam wouldn't be willing to leave his brother, even if it was just his brother's body.

Luckily the Fremonts helped him out. As it turned out, Mr. Fremont was a pillar of the community, and his reputation gave his statement credibility, despite the holes. They understood that no one would believe the truth in a million years, and probably didn't want to come off as crazy so they told the police that they had been held hostage for a week and Bobby, Sam and Dean had come and saved them. In a way, that was the truth.

Hours later, after dealing with the police who were now on the hunt for four non-existent men and their vicious black attack dog, Bobby found himself in the ER waiting room at the local hospital. Sam had joined him later, shell-shocked. He staggered into the waiting room, pale-faced. Dean's blood still stained his clothes. Bobby stood up and met him halfway and put his arms around Sam who slowly, mechanically returned the gesture.

"You OK?"

Sam nodded slowly, "She couldn't hurt me."

"Ruby?"

"Lilith."

Bobby tried to hide his surprise at that revelation. Lilith couldn't hurt Sam? What the hell did that mean? How was that even possible? Instead he asked, "What happened?"

"Lilith took over Ruby, released her Hellhounds, tried to kill me but couldn't," Sam whispered in a dull monotone. He began to shake, looking like he was on the verge of collapse and Bobby held him steady, guiding him to the chairs and helping him sit down.

"Any word on Dean?" Bobby asked.

Sam shook his head.

Bobby sat next to Sam and squeezed his shoulder in comfort and together they sat, silent and unnaturally still.

It was a few hours more before a doctor came along. "Sam Johnson?" he asked, his expression serious and deliberately calm. Bad news was evident on his professionally stoic face.

Sam nodded.

"I'm Dr. Cheng, one of the doctors who worked on your brother this evening."

"How is he?" Bobby asked when he realized Sam had yet to find his voice.

"I'm sorry. He's suffered massive blood loss, severe internal damage, and we've done our best to repair it…" Dr. Cheng went on to explain what happened in the OR. Most of it flew past Bobby as the doctor's account of Dean's surgery faded into the background. Bobby could only concentrate on the careful and calculated mannerisms of the doctor, and the fact that Dr. Cheng began with an apology. It finally occurred to Bobby somewhere in the middle of the doctor's speech that he was deliberately avoiding the most important thing.

"But he's alive?" Bobby asked.

Dr. Cheng hesitated, and both Sam and Bobby inhaled sharply, preparing for the worst. His hesitation could not be a good sign. "We have him on life support right now, but it's doubtful he'll last the night and even if he does, it's even less likely he'll wake up. Lack of blood and oxygen has given him substantial brain damage…"

"He'll wake up," Sam interrupted, speaking for the first time in hours, his voice rough, "Dean's a fighter, he'll wake up."

"Mr. Johnson, I don't know how to tell you this, but even if he were to wake up, he won't be Dean anymore. He won't recognize you, he'll never regain speech or motor skills, he…"

"I don't care," he hissed. "I know where you're going with this and the answer is no."

"Mr. Johnson?"

"If anyone dares to pull the plug on him, I will sue you for everything you're worth. I was a law student at Stanford, I know a lot of lawyers, good lawyers, powerful lawyers and I will do it so help me, even if it has to drag on for decades I will do it. You're keeping him on the life support." Sam's voice was hard and cold.

Dr. Cheng's shoulders dropped, "You say your brother's a fighter? He strikes me as someone who was strong, energetic and full of life. Do you really want him to live out the remainder of his life a vegetable? Hooked up to machines, utterly dependant? Would that be fair to him?" He was soft, gentle and sympathetic, but there was a hint of irritation lacing his tone of voice.

"When he finds his way back," Sam hissed threateningly, "he'll need a place to go."

"Can we see him?" Bobby asked, intervening.

Dr. Cheng nodded, "We're just finishing up with him, I'll send someone to get you when he's ready for visitors."

"Thank you," Bobby said and Sam sagged in his seat, exhausted both mentally and physically. Bobby squeezed Sam's shoulder, smiling weakly at him.

"He'll find his way back," Sam declared.

"I know," Bobby replied, though he doubted it. He glanced at Sam's sullen face and again wondered, What did you do Sam?

When a different doctor came to get them, Sam was again given the option of pulling the plug on Dean. This time instead of saying it was unlikely he'd wake up, they were told that he would never wake up. Sam once again refused angrily. When they reached the door to Dean's room the doctor motioned Bobby to halt.

"Immediate family only," she said.

Sam shook his head, "Bobby is family." He had a dangerous look in his eyes that frightened even Bobby for a second.

"OK," she nodded, she regarded Sam warily, her eyes conveyed both sympathy and unease, "my mistake."

"You sure you don't want some time alone?" Bobby offered.

Sam glanced at Bobby with lost and empty eyes, "'S OK Bobby. You should be able to come in. I know you'd want to see him."

Bobby replied with a small smile and a nod.

They went inside and stopped at the sight of Dean. He was hooked up to several machines, some Bobby knew what they were for, some Bobby didn't know. He was hooked up to a couple of IV's, one to give him vital fluids, one to replenish his lost blood. His face was pale, he didn't have a gown or a shirt on, but it wasn't necessary. His torso was wrapped like a mummy, bandages covered his shoulders, were wrapped around his upper arms, and some revealed spots of red and while he couldn't see it under the blanket, Bobby figured that his left leg was in a similar state. Bobby imagined Dean had too many stitches to count. He vaguely remembered hearing the doctor mention something about skin grafts.

"Shit," was all Bobby could say.

They stood silently for a while, watching Dean in his eternal sleep, listening to the sounds of the ventilator and heart monitor. Bobby watched Sam's jaw quiver as he bit his lip and sat down beside his brother. He reached out for Dean, but hesitated, as though unsure of where to touch him that wouldn't hurt. Bandages were almost everywhere and both his hands had IV's attached. Sam settled for resting his hand just above Dean's wrist.

"Dean," Sam whispered, "Hang on. Just hang on for me OK?"

Bobby felt dirty being there. He sensed Sam wanted to have a private moment with his brother. "Why don't I get us some coffee?" Bobby offered.

"Sure," Sam shrugged indifferently.

"I'll be right back then, OK?"

"Yeah."

Bobby nodded and stepped out. Please kid, don't do anything stupid while I'm gone.

Bobby made it all the way to the elevator when suddenly, without warning he lost it, and the emotion he had been trying to hide for Sam's sake escaped mercilessly.

"Sir?" a nurse asked, "Are you all right?"

"What do you think?" Bobby sassed through his tears. Sam and Dean were not technically his family, but he meant what he said. The Winchester boys were his family. He had known them since Sam was two years old and he had been considered their uncle until his falling out with John. "I'm visiting someone in this ward so how can I possibly be all right?"

She opened her mouth to speak but the elevator door opened and Bobby hastily stepped in. Tears began to fall freely and he wiped them away frantically, but more came. His shoulders shook as he quietly mourned the fallen and the falling. Machines may be sustaining his body, but the reality was that Dean was gone, and Sam was on the verge of following, he could see it in the young Winchester's eyes.

Keep it together old man, Bobby scolded himself, now is not the time. Sam needs you. Dean needs you—remember your promise. As the elevator took him down to the main floor, Bobby recalled the last time he had talked to Dean alone.

"Hey Bobby?" Dean had asked softly as they worked on hiding the police car with dirt and branches. Sam had gone back to fetch more branches further in the cluster of trees.

"Yeah Dean?"

"Do me a favor, will ya?"

"Anything."

"If I don't make it out alive tonight, please, promise me you'll look out for Sam. Make sure he doesn't make the same mistake I did."

"Sure thing, son."

"He's going to have a rough time coping, might even blame himself, but he shouldn't, so don't let him," Bobby noticed how Dean purposely avoided eye contact. Dean kept his eyes rooted on the ground, and Bobby wondered where Dean's mind went at that moment. Was he thinking about his impending doom? Was he worrying about what would happen to Sam? Was he thinking about the deal John made and the damaging impact it had on Dean? "Oh, and Bobby? Could you help Sam with the Impala? She needs regular maintenance, and I've shown Sam most of it but…"

Bobby chuckled softly. Of course Dean would be thinking about the Impala, but he also knew Dean was thinking about much more than that. Bobby nodded, "Of course. We'll take care of your baby."

"Thanks. For everything."

Dean glanced at Bobby with a wry grin and Bobby returned it with a pat on the shoulder.

"Look, I can't make any promises that we'll win tonight," Bobby had said, "but I'm not letting you go without a fight, and neither will Sam."

"I know."

"And Dean? Just in case, I want you to know that…"

"Ah, ah, ah," Dean shushed him, "I told Sam I don't want any socially awkward goodbyes and stuff, same goes for you Bobby."

"You're the one who started this mushy moment so just shut up and listen a second, Dean," Bobby shook his head, "I want you to know that even if we fail tonight, I'm not going to give up on you, neither is Sam. I want you to remember that, remember Sam, remember me. I mean it Dean. And I meant it when I said that you and Sam are family to me," Bobby told him, "Remember that too."

Dean only nodded thoughtfully, just as Sam joined up with them again asking how Dean could see demons.

He dried his eyes the best he could when the elevator reached the main floor. He found the cafeteria and ordered two coffees to go, and after a slight deliberation he also ordered two breakfast sandwiches. They had been waiting for so long for word on Dean's condition, daybreak had arrived and prior to midnight, they had been so busy trying to save Dean that it had been a while since any of them had eaten. Bobby doubted Sam would be very hungry though. Shit, Bobby wasn't sure he was very hungry, but it was good to have them, just in case.

With the coffees and sandwiches in hand Bobby made his way back to Dean's room. As he made his way down the hall, he concentrated on erasing all traces of emotion from his face. He would allow himself to show his sadness, but he wasn't going to let Sam see the extent of his grief, not yet, not while Sam was so broken.

Bobby wondered if Sam even realized the cold, hard, truth. Dean was dead. His body may be hooked up to machines that kept the mechanics of his body functioning, but Bobby guessed that the only reason they put him on life support in the first place was because underneath his ravaged flesh, some of his organs were harvestable. Dean was too far gone—there was no other reason to keep his heart beating.

When Bobby reached the closed door, he knocked gently, "Sam? It's me."

He waited for the go-ahead to come in, but instead he heard an anguished cry, like Sam was in terrible, physical and emotional pain. When he opened the door, Sam was on the floor beside Dean's bed, writhing in agony. One hand clutched his head, the other was reaching for the edge of Dean's bed, he was sobbing uncontrollably, blood trickled from his nose and mangled screams escaped his lips. Bobby hastily set the coffees and breakfast aside and rushed to Sam's aid, shutting the door behind him.

"Sam? Sam!"

"Oh god…I can…I see him…" he sobbed, "Gah! No! Please…Stop! Leave him alone!" he cried out, "Dean!"

"Sam," Bobby soothed, "Easy, easy. It'll be all right." How could things possibly be all right? He wasn't sure how or why Sam was having a vision—from Bobby's understanding, Sam hadn't had a vision for a year, not since Yellow-eyes, but that didn't matter right then and there. Bobby knelt beside Sam, not knowing what to do. How did Dean deal with this?

When the vision passed, Sam fought to catch his breath. His crying didn't cease, but he shakily sank further to the floor, and held himself, seemingly unaware of Bobby's presence. Sam suddenly and uncontrollably vomited, and when he was done he cried harder, leaning his body towards Dean's bed.

Bobby noticed Sam was clutching something small in his hand. Tentatively, as though reaching to pet a wild animal, Bobby placed his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"What did you see?" Bobby asked, even though a part of him already knew. The question that went unasked though was the same question that lingered in his mind since Dean's heart impossibly started beating again. If Lilith couldn't hurt Sam, if he was having visions again, if what Ruby said about Sam's destiny held any merit then… What did you do Sam?

"I…I saw Dean," he cried, "in Hell." He shuddered, closing his eyes and shaking his head violently, "I saw what he sees, I felt what he's feeling…oh god it hurts…he's in so much pain, and he's so alone, we have to find a way Bobby to free him, we have to!" He grasped his head, sobbing, "I can still hear him screaming."

Bobby glanced at Dean's still, artificially sustained body and then at Sam. He could see now what Sam was holding in his hand: Dean's amulet. Bobby sighed softly, noting the raw fear and hurt in Sam's eyes. He placed a firm hand on Sam's shoulder, "We'll find a way. I promise."

TBC

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A/N Well, I hope you liked it so far, please tell me what you think! Remember, constructive criticism is golden, and reviews feed my muse. Please leave one, it'll only take a second. Thanks for reading!