ONE
The sun beat down hard on Dean as he walked along the only road he could find. He didn't know where he was or where he was heading, but he was alive so he didn't really care. He'd been forced to remove his long sleeved shirt, the sun was so hot, and wrap it around his waist. He dabbed at the beads of sweat on his brow as he baked under the rays, thankful to be breathing again. It was just a short while later that he came across the gas station that looked to be abandoned. He approached the door showing the 'closed' sign and knocked on one of the small panes of glass.
"Hello!" He called out as loud as his dry throat would allow.
But when he got no response he scanned the area before deciding to let himself in. Untying the shirt from his waist, he wrapped it around his right hand as protection before breaking one of the panes of glass with his fist. His first port of call was to stop the painful scraping at the back of his throat whenever he tried to use his voice. He needed to be able to communicate if he ever came across anybody in this damn town – if it even was a town anymore. It was deserted like no one had been there for years – maybe the apocalypse had come already, but he'd seen that in movies… shouldn't the world be on fire?
Heading for the cooler, he took out a bottle of water and didn't waste time connecting it to his lips. Just the thought of it had him salivating. He took a few long gulps of the liquid and could feel the relief as it hit the back of his throat. But his thirst had made him forget his need to breath, so taking the bottle from his lips he gulped this time for air.
It didn't take him long to spot the newspaper stand and make his way over to it. Picking up the top copy of the Pontiac Daily Gazette he read the date: September 18, 2008.
"September." His whisper echoed inside the empty building. At least he had a place and date now.
He felt grubby. Like he'd been lying in that grave for years, not months. He navigated around the inside of the small gas station and found a washroom at the back. He needed to try and feel human again. Placing his shirt down on the edge of the sink, he leaned over and turned on the faucet to splash water on his face. He already felt a little better as he used his shirt to pat his face dry. Straightening, his eyes connected to those in the mirror in front of him and a slight frown cast over his features. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt he lifted it to inspect his abdomen, his skin was in tact. He was confronted with flashing imagery of a hellhound tearing apart his chest and stomach before releasing the fabric so it fell back around his waist. Clearly it happened, but yet he boar no scars.
He turned sideways in the mirror and lifted the bottom of his left sleeve up to reveal a raised scar in the shape of a hand on the top of his arm. Just the sight of it made him wince, almost making it real. His frown didn't waver. He had no idea why he wasn't still in hell, but he guessed the permanent handprint was a huge clue in finding answers. He needed to stock up on supplies if he was going to find his brother.
He grabbed a handful of whatever snack food was to hand and put them in a carrier, along with a few bottles of water and the latest copy of Busty Asian Beauties. Then he went to the cash register, he would need cash to get to wherever he was going. But as he was emptying it, the TV flicked on of its own free will. Dean took in the snowy picture for a second and calmly reached over to shut it off. That's when the radio turned on. Making a slight move toward it, the TV sprung to life again. Realisation hit him – he'd been out of practise but hunting was like riding a bike. He rushed over to a shelf and grabbed a tub of salt to line the windows on the door he'd walked through as a high-pitched screech surrounded him. Instinctively, he covered his ears hoping to block out some of the noise but it didn't make any difference what so ever. The pitch rose to an ear piercing level causing the glass around him to shatter and he dropped to the ground to protect himself. It seemed to take forever for the noise to stop, but when it did he clambered up to his feet to find all the windows in the small building were broken. Stepping toward the door, he looked out for an explanation as to what had happened but found no answers.
= X =
Christina knew the minute she woke up that today was going to be one of her bad days. As usual, her first thought was of Dean and having to face another day without him, nevertheless the tears and sob were out before she could stop them. She just wanted to lie there wallowing for a single day, feeling sorry for herself and wishing the world would end, before she had to be responsible and function again. Except when she heard her son amusing himself through the monitor she knew she had to get up.
Forcing the covers from off her lifeless body, she swung her heavy legs out of bed. Her eyes glanced automatically at the alarm clock and along the way caught sight of the bottle of pills tucked behind it.
The doctor had put her on anti-depressants once she'd made a full recovery from her injuries. He'd been convinced she showed signs of depression and insisted he'd only release her from hospital with a prescription – so she took it, but she refused to take them. She didn't want to block out the pain of losing Dean, it was part of loving him, and every morning she looked at the bottle to remind herself she was strong enough to live through each day without a pill to help her cope. It was hard, but not feeling grief would've been like he hadn't existed and he meant too much to her to simply forget.
She sighed deep and heavy, the pain in her chest stabbing her heart as it rose and fell. She couldn't do this alone for much longer before she broke – she just prayed her Dad had pulled himself together when that time came.
= X =
The phone woke Bobby from his drunken stupor on the couch. It was rare he got phone calls anymore. People had just stopped calling about hunts when he'd turned them down a few times, and that was fine with him. He wasn't much in the mood to seek out danger. If it wanted him bad enough, it'd find him and he wasn't sure he'd even put up a fight.
Stumbling to his feet, he headed for the line of phones on his wall and it took him a minute to work out it was his usual line that was ringing.
"Yeah?" He asked into the receiver.
"Bobby?" The voice the other end asked back.
For a minute he could swear it sounded like Dean. But he must've been hearing things. "Yeah?" He repeated.
"It's me." There was that familiar voice again.
"Who's 'me'?" He asked with a frown. He wished whoever it was would let him just get back to sleeping.
"Dean."
Now he knew he was losing touch with reality. His imagination must've been on overdrive, or he was still dreaming. He hung up the phone without another word – whatever was in that last drink he'd had was some powerful stuff. He shook his head to try and focus on if he was awake or not when the phone rang again.
He picked it up. "Who is this?"
"Bobby listen to me-" Dean's voice started.
But he had no time for the voices in his head. "This ain't funny, call again and I'll kill you." He said, hanging up sharply and shuffling back to the couch as he mumbled. "Damn demons, playing tricks on me."
= X =
Christina rushed out of the bathroom, her hair-soaking wet with a towel wrapped around her body, as she aimed for the phone before the caller had a chance to hang up. She hoped it was her father – back from his liquor vacation – but her heart jumped in her mouth when she heard his familiar voice.
"CJ?" He asked in a whisper.
Even at that decibel she knew who it was. She'd know that voice anywhere. But Dean was dead; she forced the rational side of her brain to remember, and the pain stabbed at her chest again. "Not funny asshole!" She almost cried down the phone, forcing the handset into its cradle. She stared at it for a second or two. Had her mind been playing tricks or had that been someone's idea of a joke?
No sooner had she tried to search for an explanation, the phone started to ring again and, despite knowing it was probably the same caller, she was hopeful because she missed hearing his voice.
"CJ." There it was again, sounding exactly like Dean.
She clutched the phone and squeezed her eyes shut as silent tears cascaded down her face. She missed him terribly and four months hadn't changed that. She forced her voice steady, not wanting to tip off the person the other end of her emotional vulnerability.
"Who is this?" She bravely asked, not sure she cared about the answer.
But he read her tears and was compassionate in his answer, "It's Dean."
The line went silent. Her heart broke a little more inside her chest. She knew it wasn't possible, but she wanted so badly to believe it was him. Then – almost like a switch had been flicked – the hunter in her took over.
"Call here again and I'll kill you." She threatened, slamming the phone down again.
= X =
Dean looked at the receiver. He hardly blamed Bobby or Christina for not believing it was actually him, he barely believed it himself, but he somehow thought Christina would've been more open to the idea than her father.
He took in his surroundings and spotted a car as he spun around in the phone booth. The only way he was going to prove to them that he was alive, was to show them.
Bobby's House, South Dakota – September 18, 2008
Having slept off the effects of last night's binge drinking Bobby was now washed and dressed for the day ahead, like it was any normal day. It was almost like hearing Dean's voice on the phone had forced him to function normally. He knew in his heart Dean wouldn't want him to be so disconnected from his daughter or his grandson, so for them he had to pull himself together.
Grabbing his car keys, on a mission to start behaving like a father, he heard his back door knock. With a frown, he went to answer it. But the person he found standing there when he opened it was enough to knock him on his ass with a feather. He stepped back, taking in the sight before him, his mind a whirl with confusion.
Dean smiled weakly at the man in front of him, "Surprise."
Bobby took another step back, "I- I don't-"
"Yeah, me neither." He said stepping into the house as his father figure continued to back away from him. "But here I am."
The older man hit the small table behind him, his hand dropping to the surface to steady his shaky frame, and he felt the handle of the silver knife. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and swung it at Dean.
Dean quickly countered, grabbing the wrist of the hand welding the knife and forced it up his back. Bobby reached back and hit him in the face. Thrown off balance, Dean stumbled into the next room.
"Bobby! Bobby, it's me!"
"My ass!" Was the aggravated response he got as Bobby started after him again.
Trying to ward off any attack, the Winchester man hid behind a chair on wheels and stuck up a hand in his direction. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed… you're about the closest thing I have to a father…" He said causing the man to stand re-evaluating his initial conclusion. "Bobby, it's me."
Stunned, he approached him – shifting the chair he'd used as protection out of the way – and reached out to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. Dean allowed his curiosity to be cured. But seconds later Bobby lunged at him again with the knife.
"Whoa! I'm not a shape shifter." He told him, being forced to pin his hand behind his back, holding on to his other arm to make sure he couldn't get lose.
"Then you're a revenant!"
Dean threw Bobby off him, keeping the knife he'd pulled free of his grasp, "All right, if I was either – would I do this with a silver knife?" He asked rolling up the left sleeve of his shirt and – after an expression of disbelief of what he'd been resorted to – cutting into his arm, drawing blood.
Bobby watched in amazement, "Dean."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you." He said taking a few steps toward him; relieved he was finally getting somewhere proving he was him.
He threw his arms around the young man and they embraced. All the months of pain that had passed seemed to not matter; not now he was back. Bobby almost didn't want to let go, for fear he was dreaming. But he had to get another look at him, to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.
"It's- it's good to see you boy."
Dean reached out to grab the collar of his shirt, "Yeah, you too."
"But how did you bust out?"
"I don't know, I just uh-" He started, twisting to put the knife down on a nearby table. "Just woke up in a pine box-" He tried to explain but was stunned into silence when he turned back to Bobby and was splashed in the face with Holy Water. He took a second before turning his head to the side and spitting out the water that he'd caught in his mouth. He turned back to the man opposite him, his face masked with calm. "I'm not a demon either, you know."
Bobby held up the bottle he held, "Sorry, can't be too careful."
= X =
Christina smiled down at her son. No matter how many mornings she got up not wanting to face the day, he always made it worth doing. He was the one bright spot in her otherwise dreary life and he was everything she'd ever wanted out of life. He was her way out of the life she'd been fighting since she was a teenager, and this time no one was going to talk her into changing her mind. Her main priority now was to keep him safe, and the life of a hunter would definitely not guarantee that. So saving him from the same fate as both his parents would surely mean he'd live a full normal life.
"Shall we go and see granddad?" She asked securing him in his stroller. Unable to speak, DJ blew a raspberry – his current form of communication and she smiled. "I'll take that spit bubble to mean 'yes'."
= X =
Dean followed Bobby from the kitchen into what used to be the lounge drying off his face as he walked.
"That don't make a lick of sense." Bobby said.
"Yeah, you're preaching to the choir." Dean replied.
The older man stopped the other side of his desk and faced the young one, "Dean, your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop, and you've been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meat suit-"
"I know, I should look like a Thriller video reject."
"What do you remember?"
He shook his head, "Not much. I remember I was a Hellhound's chew toy, and then lights out. Then I come to six feet under, that; was it." Somewhat in shock, Bobby took a seat behind his desk with a look of confusion on his face as Dean spoke again, "Sam's number's not working, he's uh… he's not-?"
"Oh, he's alive – as far as I know."
Dean closed his eyes momentarily, saying a silent prayer of relief. "Good…" He said, making his way around the desk, but the sentence slowly registered. "Wait, what do you mean as far as you know?"
"I haven't talked to him for months."
"You're kidding; you just let him go off by himself?"
"He was dead set on it." He replied getting back up to his feet and moving around the desk in the opposite direction to Dean.
"Bobby, you should have been looking after him-"
He looked across the distance at him in disbelief. "I tried. These last months haven't been exactly easy you know." He said causing him to look down, feeling a twinge of guilt. "For him or me… we had to bury you."
"Why did you bury me anyway?"
"I wanted you salted and burned, the usual drill," He replied, getting an agreeing nod from him. "But Sam wouldn't have it."
Dean glanced off in the distance. "Well, I'm glad he won that one." He admitted looking him back in the eye.
"He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow, that's about all he said." He continued arousing the older brother's suspicions.
"What do you mean?" He questioned curiously.
"He was quiet… real quiet." Bobby replied sitting on the edge of his desk. "Then, he just took off, wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him, but he didn't want to be found."
Dean started to pace, "Awww dammit Sammy!"
"What?"
He scratched his chin as he stopped the other side of the desk, where he'd originally started. "Oh, he got me home OK, but whatever he did it is bad mojo."
"What makes you so sure?"
"You should have seen the grave site; it was like a nuke went off. Then there was this – this force, this presence, uh – I don't know but, it- it blew past me at a fill up joint, and then this-" He removed the towel he had perched on his shoulder, took his left arm out of the green shirt he was wearing and pulled up the short sleeve of the t-shirt he wore underneath to reveal the scorched handprint on his bicep.
Bobby jumped up and headed over to him."What in the hell?"
"Yeah, it's like a demon just yanked me out, or rode me out."
"But why?"
"To hold up their end of the bargain."
"You think Sam made a deal?"
He took a moment's pause and looked his father figure in the eye. "It's what I would've done."
= X =
Christina used her key to enter her Dad's house, like every other morning this week. But what was waiting for her was not what she usually found, and it made her sick to her stomach.
"CJ." Her name passed his lips softly, happy to see her safe and well.
Stunned, she processed the image in front of her. Then, forgetting her son in his stroller, she flew at him. "Take it off you bastard. Take him off!" She shouted hitting Dean in the chest.
Bobby jumped to his rescue, restraining her. "Princess, it's him. It's Dean."
"Like hell it is!" She jumped to attack him again.
Dean took a step back to avoid her lethal hands as Bobby grabbed her around the waist in an attempt to bring her under control but she slipped free before he got a tight enough hold and headed for her target, knocking him to the floor with the force of her body crashing into his.
"CJ, it's me." He shouted, trying to stop her attack by holding his hands in front of his face. "It's me."
Bobby went after her, grabbing her around the chest, pinning her arms to her sides as he pulled her off Dean. "It's really him."
The energy seemed to drain from her almost instantly. Her rage replaced with tears. "Why are you doing this to me?" She pleaded, breaking down.
Her father wrapped his arm around her frame to keep her legs from buckling, "Don't you think I made sure it was him before I sat down and had coffee with him?"
She stopped fighting his comfort and looked calmly over at the man she loved; now back up on his feet. She appeared rational and unlikely to lash out, so Bobby slowly allowed his restraint on her to break.
"Dean?" She asked barely believing her eyes.
He flashed a half smile, realising how hard it was for her to take that he was stood in front of her. "In the flesh." He said softly.
She edged toward him and reached out to touch his face, with unsure reluctance from him. She half turned to address her father, "You're sure it's him?"
He nodded, "It's him baby."
She turned back to him, "How did you-"
"I dunno. But I'm here." Dean replied, keeping his soft tone.
Suddenly her arms wrapped around his neck as she pressed her body against him, squeezing him tightly, and it almost knocked him backward for a second time. But he steadied himself, managing the full strength of her relief. Slowly his hands came up to comfort her, holding her securely, just as thankful to be touching her as she was him. He could feel her body tremble with the force of the sobs leaving her body and he felt the familiar sting of his own tears. She'd had such an impact on his life, regardless of his inability to commit, and – knowing what he was like – she was still happy to have him back.
He cleared his throat to try and stop the onslaught of tears, "Air becoming an issue." He said, forcing her to break her hold on him.
She pulled away, staring at him as though still unsure he was real and then – out of nowhere – her lips were on his, catching him off guard. But it didn't take him long to return the affection and neither of them noticed her father slip out of the room taking their son with him.
Dean's mind whirled with the sensation her lips created within him and although he knew he'd never be able to give her what she wanted, there was something extremely comforting about kissing her. But he forced himself to be rational and not give her any false hope now he was back. He wanted to maintain their close relationship, just not in the sense he knew she wanted and it would be cruel to make her think he was a one woman man when he was open to temptation.
Grabbing the top of her arms, he broke her lips from his, "CJ… I can't…" He started, but was powerless to finish when he saw the hurt presented in her eyes.
But anger instantly masked her pain, "You can't what? Kiss me? Be with me? You've been to hell and back and you still don't know a good thing when it hits you? Are you serious with that shit?"
"Going to hell doesn't change who I am CJ. You've always known that this life you want isn't me. That hasn't changed just because I'm back."
"So what was all that before you left? Was I just an easy way to pass the time? A guaranteed booty call before the end of days? Because I deserve better than that."
"You're right, you do, and that's why I'm telling you – I can't do this."
"How do you know until you try?" She almost pleaded.
"It's not who I am. It's not how I'm built." He tried to be compassionate.
"And DJ? What about him?"
"I can still be his father."
"You can't just drop in and out of his life whenever you choose. He needs you."
He frowned, "I'm a hunter. I'm always going to be a hunter. But no matter what, I will be around for DJ."
More tears found their way to her eyes as she lowered to the couch underneath the window, "I should've just died." She said, barely above a whisper.
But Dean heard her, "What?"
She dared to meet his gaze with hers, "The night you, got bit… I was there."
His face instantly masked anger, "What about DJ?"
"I left him with Ellen. I had to try and save you."
"Even though I told you not to?"
She jumped up to her feet, "Newsflash – taking orders; not my thing."
"And what if you'd have died? Our son would've been left with no parents."
"You think I don't know that? But I was under some misguided notion that his parents would be together, if only his mother could save his father."
He shook his head, "I never promised you that."
"You told me you loved me! Usually that means something!"
"I do love you, I wouldn't lie about that. But you want the 9 to 5 office Dad and the white picket fence and I can't give you that."
"I want you. I don't care how." She told him honestly, her anger waning.
"And I can't promise to give you what I'm not capable of. That wouldn't be fair to you." He said resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Not waiting for the invite, Christina stepped into his arms and allowed him to comfort her. She wanted Dean more than anything but she knew it was a battle she'd lose and she'd rather keep him in her life as father of her son than be without him again.
