Chapter Two: Hollow
Dean looked over his shoulder at the alarm clock on the nightstand and frowned. Was that really the time? No, it couldn't be. Sam should be back by now.
Thinking that the clock was broken or something, Dean dug his cell phone from his pocket and stared at the time.
That wasn't right; Sam should have been back a while ago.
Dean knew that his brother likely hadn't been caught up chatting with some pretty waitress or customer and if he had decided to take a long, moody walk, he would have called.
"Shit," the eldest Winchester swore and wiped a hand down his face. Sam had left to go get them food from the tiny diner Dean had pointed out as they had entered town over a half-hour ago. Dean kicked himself for letting his brother go alone. A sliver of fear wormed itself into Dean's belly and took root. Anything could have happened to Sam; he could have been in a car accident, Lilith's cronies could have found him.
Bolting to the door, Dean barely paused to grab his jacket, his need to find Sam irresistible.
Jogging across the parking lot, Dean stared at his phone, checking almost frantically for any missed calls from his brother. He had let Sam take the Impala- although it wasn't a long walk to the diner- claiming that it would get his supper to him faster but Dean really wanted to give the classic Chevy time alone with his brother, seeing as in only a handful of days, she would be Sam's; but now he regretted his decision. If he had the car, he would be able to find his brother- safe and sound- all the more quickly.
Dean scrolled down the speed-dial list and picked out his brother's cell phone number. He began moving faster as the phone rang and rang, finally going to voicemail.
"Fuck," Dean swore, "Where are you, Sammy?"
Dean hoped he was just overreacting and he would barge into the diner to see Sam deep in conversation with some nerdy girl who was likewise waiting for her order to be filled. Dean hoped he would see his brother roll his eyes and scowl in annoyance, tell him that he was fine and could take care of himself. Dean hoped that Sam was in the diner because if he was, he was going to kick his ass for scaring him.
W
The bell above the door tinkled merrily when Dean stepped inside the bright, clean restaurant. He did a sweep of the area, his eyes scanning the booths and tables and the bar but there was no sign of his brother's 6'4" frame.
Dean took a deep breath and walked up to the Formica counter, catching the attention of a waitress lounging by the cash register, her nose in a fashion magazine.
"Hi there!" the young woman exclaimed. Her bleach-blonde hair clashed horribly with her deeply tanned skin and white blouse and maroon uniform skirt.
"What can I get ya?" she asked, eyeing Dean appreciatively. The eldest Winchester ignored her gaze; he had more important things on his mind than the waitress.
"Did you see a guy come in here a while ago? He's really tall, has shaggy, dark brown hair, maybe ordered a salad?" Dean asked as the young woman leaned her forearms on the counter, giving him a good view of her cleavage if he so inclined.
"I did! But he didn't get a salad, Pumpkin. Got himself a cheeseburger and a big, old slice of our famous pecan pie!" the waitress informed Dean, her accent making the word pie sound like 'pah.'
"Did you see which way he went?" Dean questioned and the young woman batted her eyelashes at him seductively.
"Oh, off to the outskirts of town," she waved her hand vaguely to the left and Dean turned to stare out the plate-glass window.
"You know," the waitress piped up, "Your friend was kinda cute… not as cute as you though."
Dean had stopped listening. His feet moved of their own accord and he crossed the diner swiftly, his sense of urgency mounting.
Dean had an idea of why Sam would go to the edge of town- there was an old crossroads there- but he grimaced. Sam had tried to make deals before but he had been shot down every time.
Dean sighed as he exited the diner. His brother was tenacious, he'd give him that. With Dean's days rapidly dwindling into the single digits, he wasn't at all surprise his brother would try and get him out of his deal. Again.
The older Winchester's fear shriveled up and dissipated, replaced by anger. He'd told Sam not to try and weasel out of the deal! He'd been telling his brother that for nearly a year now and did the kid listen? Dean growled, he might as well have been talking to the friggin' wall for all the heed his brother paid him.
"Better look out, Sammy," Dean muttered vehemently under his breath, "'Cause I've got my ass-kicking boots on!"
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Dean smiled when he saw the moonlight glint off dark metal- the Impala- and approached the vehicle, parked off to one side of the dry, dirt road.
"Sam!" Dean called loudly, thinking his brother was in the car or off in the field to either side of the road somewhere.
The eldest Winchester peered through the Chevy's rear window but didn't see his brother inside. Frowning, he walked along the length of the car and paused when he caught sight of the brown paper bag sitting on the front passenger seat.
Dean shivered when he saw his name scrawled in his brother's familiar writing on the crinkled bag.
"Sam?" Dean called in a quieter voice; only the crickets answered.
Raising his head slightly, Dean strained to catch sight of his brother if he was walking further down the road.
"What happened to him, baby?" Dean asked his beloved Impala as though it would tell him.
The older brother walked around the car, checking the drainage ditches along the side of the road and froze in his tracks when he saw the dirt in the very center of the crossroad had been disturbed.
"No," Dean whispered and lurched forward. Crouching down, Dean pawed through the disturbed dirt and unearthed a familiar cigar box.
With shaking hands, the eldest Winchester lifted the lid and he nearly dropped the entire box when he saw its contents.
Dean held the box with one hand and fished his wallet out of the pocket of his leather jacket with the other. Setting the cigar box gently down on the ground, Dean pulled one of his many from the wallet and replaced Sam's fake FBI card with it.
Putting the box back in the small hole, Dean quickly covered it and stepped back. He looked around the quiet, isolated stretch of road once again just to make sure his brother wasn't there and when he turned his attention back to the crossroad, an attractive red-head in a black dress was standing there. Dean had to admit, she was hot, even for a demon.
"Dean Winchester," the woman smiled and her eyes turned from blue to solid red, "I wondered when I'd be seeing you."
"Where's my brother, you bitch!" he snarled threateningly.
The Crossroads demon smirked, "Where do you think he is?"
"Don't play games with me! Where is he?!" Dean snapped and stepped forward.
"Relax," the demon suggested, "You're far too tense for someone who just got their life back."
That gave Dean pause. His stared at the woman and his mouth went dry.
"I thought nobody was dealing," he said, "I thought you all had me right where you wanted me."
The demon smiled widely and flicked her flaming hair over her shoulder, "Nothing's written in stone, Dean-o."
Dean's heart skipped a beat and his knees suddenly felt like they were made of jelly.
"No one would agree," he argued, all the fight leaving him as the demon's words began to sink in.
"What can I say? You're brother just melted my heart," the woman explained.
"You have no heart!" Dean snapped and the demon shrugged.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his emotions under control.
"Dean, this is what your brother wanted," the demon said, a shard of humour clear in her voice, "You're out of the frying pan and he's in the fire."
Dean's eyes slid open, "No… He can't be… This wasn't supposed to happen…"
The woman's eyes pinched in mock sympathy, "I'm sorry to break it to you, honey, but Sam's long gone."
Dean staggered backwards, away from the demon- as if he could only flee her words and thus make them untrue- and gulped, gathering his strength to ask the next question.
"Where is he?" Dean repeated, "If he's… dead than where's his body?"
The woman smiled. She had already thought of this. Knowing that Dean wouldn't likely believe his brother was dead without seeing it with his own eyes, the demon had tracked down a decoy for the younger Winchester. It hadn't been all that difficult; really, the only problem was finding someone as tall as Sam. The demon had taken along a young hellhound- the beast overzealous and eager to please- to make sure everything was perfect. Normally, the demon would only be able to appear to those who wanted to make a deal- one of the few restrictions of the job- but with Lilith backing her, the Crossroads demon was able to move freely. The man who had died in Sam's place was a couple of inches shorter than the youngest Winchester but the demon doubted that Dean would notice. She was rather proud of herself for pulling such a feat off, especially if it fooled Dean Winchester.
The woman didn't answer the question directly but lifted one arm and pointed a delicate finger at the field just beyond the Impala.
Dean closed his eyes. His baby brother was lying in some lonely country field. Dead. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It should have been him out there, not Sam.
"Now that we've gotten that out of the way," the demon's voice cut into Dean's thoughts like a knife, "I hope you live a long, long life, Dean Winchester. I'll be sure to tell your brother you said 'hi'."
The older brother's head snapped up at the last comment, mouth twisting in a snarl, ready to spew a sarcastic remark but the demon had already disappeared.
Dean felt his mouth dry up and his eyes well with tears. He wanted to go to his brother, needed to go to him but he couldn't move.
The older Winchester stumbled forward on wooden legs, feeling as though he was floating rather than walking. He reached out one hand as he walked past the Impala, running his fingers along her hood as if drawing strength from the vehicle. He barely registered the brush of wet grass against his jeans or the flocks of dusty white moths he scattered as he approached his brother's final resting place.
Glancing down, Dean's stomach clenched when he saw splashes of a dark liquid on some of the blades of grass. He quickly looked up, his gaze landing on the familiar constellation of the Big Dipper, or as Sam insisted on calling it, Ursa Major.
Dean's breath caught in his throat when his gaze left the sky and turned back to the earth and saw a crumpled figure lying in the middle of a patch of trampled grass. Knowing it was far too to save Sam but unable to help himself, Dean ran to his brother's side, ignoring the blood-soaked ground and dropped down onto his knees.
Dean's stomach clenched and he leaned over, away from his brother's body, and threw up thin bile.
Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Dean turned to Sam again. Blood saturated the younger man's clothes, making them look black in the moonlight. Sam was sprawled out on his back, legs twisted beneath him and hands in clenched fists near his head as if he had been trying to protect himself.
Dean didn't even feel the hot tears coursing down his cheeks as he stared at his brother's mangled body. Sam had deep gouges in his chest where torn flesh and broken bones poked through the ruins of his shirt. His face covered in large bite marks made him nearly unrecognizable. But Dean knew, how could he not? This was Sam. His baby brother was lying so still and cold in this field outside of some no-name town in Texas.
Dean reached out to his brother but then pulled back; instead he took hold of one of Sam's gore-streaked hands and lifted it to his cheek.
"I'm… I'm s-so sorry, Sammy! It sh-should have b-been me! I ne-never should have let this hap-happen!" Dean lamented loudly, knowing no one would hear him.
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Dean didn't know how long he remained there beside his brother, cradling his hand, rubbing his thumb gently over Sam's icy knuckles the way he used to whenever the younger Winchester was sick or hurt. Eventually Dean stood stiffly and decided that the field would serve as his brother's final resting place. It wasn't a very good place to be interred, Dean thought, but he wasn't sure he would be able to carry his brother back to the Impala. Making up his mind, the older brother walked to the small copse of trees on the other side of the field.
Gathering the dry wood he would need, Dean tried not to think about what was happening to his brother. Sam was in Hell because of him. Sam was being tortured because of him. Sam didn't deserve that.
Dean methodically built the funeral pyre around and over his brother's body, feeling a pang of guilt once Sam was completely hidden from view.
Fishing his lighter from his pocket, Dean stood poised to ignite the construction, a lump in his throat at the thought that this was going to be the last time he would see his brother.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tossed the lighter onto the pyre. The branches and leaf litter he'd gathered caught quickly were soon engulfed in orange flames.
Dean shivered despite the heat pouring off the fire and crossed his arms.
What was he going to do now? Sam was gone forever. His reason for living was dead.
Dean sighed and blinked away the tears that continued to stream down his face, his eyes already swollen and sore.
Once the pyre was nothing but a handful of charred branches and swirling ash, Dean turned his back on the last remnants of his brother's remains and walked slowly back to the Impala. He leaned against the driver's side door and frowned when he saw the paper bag sitting on the passenger seat.
Dean couldn't help the smile slightly. Only Sam would stop and pick up dinner before making a demon deal. Climbing into his beloved Chevy, Dean grabbed the bag and sat it on his lap. The food would be cold by now but he didn't care. Reaching a hand inside, Dean pulled out a foil-wrapped burger and a huge slice of Southern pecan pie in a Styrofoam container.
Dean's hands started to shake and he put the food back in the bag. He wasn't hungry. Instead, he curled his hands into fists and punched the Impala's steering wheel.
"Fuck!" Dean swore, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Slumping forward, he closed his eyes and tried to calm down. He needed to pull himself together now. He needed to go back to the motel and grab their stuff- Dean grimaced; he supposed it was just his stuff now- and get out of this town.
Dean nearly bashed his head on the ceiling when his phone vibrated in his pocket and trilled out the chords to 'Smoke on the Water'. Fumbling the device out of his pocket, Dean saw that it was Bobby calling and almost didn't answer.
Clearing his throat, the eldest Winchester lifted the phone to his ear, "Yeah?"
"What bug's up yer ass?" the gruff hunter growled at the less-than warm greeting.
Dean swallowed thickly and tried to answer but he felt tears well up in his eyes again.
"Dean? Son, you still there?" Bobby's voice asked, sounding worried now.
"Uh huh," Dean managed, "I'm here, Bobby."
"Listen, I know you might hate me for saying this but I found an ancient Mesopotamian unbinding spell and-" the veteran hunter stopped mid-sentence before starting up again, "Dean? What's wrong? Oh Jesus."
"B-Bobby," Dean choked out, "It's Sam."
"What about Sam?" Bobby's voice was tinged with anxiety.
"He's… he…" Dean closed his eyes and shook his head, "Damn it! He's dead! He did it Bobby, he made a demon deal and now he's gone!"
The pause on the other line was so long Dean was afraid the older man had taken a heart attack from the shock.
"Bobby?" It was Dean's turn to sound concerned.
"Idjit," the veteran hunter breathed. Dean wasn't sure if the insult was directed at Sam or him. He decided that he was the idiot for not realizing what his brother had been planning and felt guilt bloom darkly amongst the fresh grief that weighed down his heart, made his stomach sour and that made his eyes burn tears just waiting to be shed
"I… uh… I gave him a hunter's funeral," Dean told his friend, his voice a little stronger now.
There was a rustle of clothing from the other end of the line and Dean could imagine Bobby nodding his head.
"Good," Bobby stated, his voice numb, "That's good. You did good, son."
"I w-would have brought him somewhere better," Dean explained, "But he was… pretty ch-chewed up."
Silence once again reigned between the two men but then Bobby spoke.
"You come on home now, Dean," the old hunter said and Dean felt tears of gratitude well up in his eyes.
Of course he knew he was always welcome at Bobby's place, it was just somehow meant something more to be actually invited. Especially now.
"Okay," Dean agreed, "I'll be there in a few hours."
"I'll keep a beer on ice for ya," Bobby promised and hung up the phone.
The eldest Winchester started the Impala and turned up the radio to its highest volume. Dean's teeth rattled and his eyes throbbed with the beat but he didn't care. With the music so loud, he couldn't even hear his own thoughts and that's what he wanted.
Dean's vision blurred but he kept driving- no way was he stopping now- as Megadeth's 'A Tout Le Monde' came pounding through the speakers and crashing into his head.
Author's Note:
1. Chapter title comes from an Alice In Chains song of the same name.
2. Thanks to avidreader33, AshleyMarie84, cold kagome, mandancie, L.A.H.H, SamDeanLover28, Bunnykiss, nupinoop296, Jeanny, doyleshuny, AlxM, BranchSuper, SPN Mum, 2012summerstar, DianaLadris802, sarah, emebalia, ElizaT, and MysteryMadchen for reviewing.
3. Please leave a review!
