A/N - So, I have absolutely no excuse for not getting this up sooner. I had originally intended chapter one as a one-shot, but a lot of people begged for more, so here you go. Sorry, no Sam in this chapter, but I have a third chapter - more of an epilogue - planned that will hopefully be up sometime next week and Sam will be in that chapter.


Sam's in Hell, Sam's in Hell, Sam's in Hell, gotta get him out, gotta get him out, Sam's in Hell. The never-ending litany ran through Dean's head as he poured over a mound of books in Bobby's library. He'd been holed up here for the past month, ever since Sam decided he'd be better off in the Cage then with Dean. After Sam disappeared with Crowley, Dean had burned rubber to Bobby's house where he'd dived headfirst into research. Although never his forte, he'd gotten better at research after the Apocalypse started, first because he and Sam had split up and he'd been forced to, and, after they got back together, he did it to double-check Sam's findings. It had helped once or twice, but usually he ended up with the same conclusion Sam had.

Now, though, there didn't seem to be an answer to be found anywhere. Bobby himself – the man who could find an answer to every problem – had begun hinting that maybe there wasn't a solution; that maybe Dean should go back to Lisa's. It was what Sam had wanted for him, and he'd been happy there. Dean knew she'd take him back, once she knew Sam was out of the picture and unlikely to return, but he couldn't; not this time.

He cared about Lisa and Ben and owed them both more then he could possibly repay, but the truth of the matter was, he didn't love her; never had. He realized now that he'd been in love with what she represented – a wife and kids; the safe, normal life that had been ripped from him the night of the fire. There was a part of him that still ached for that dream, but he knew he wouldn't find it with Lisa, especially not after what she'd said about Sam. Sure, any woman probably would have been pissed at being dropped like a hot potato so he could chase his younger brother even though she was the one who'd told him to go in the first place, but nothing – NOTHING – gave her the right to blame Sam for the crap in Dean's life. Yeah, he'd contributed, and Dean had been willing to lay a lot of the junk from the last few years on Sam's shoulders, whether it belonged there or not, but Sam wasn't the only one who screwed up, and Dean would never be better off without him.

Not finding anything in the book he'd been studying, Dean slammed it shut with a curse, shoving it roughly to the side. He scrubbed his face with both hands, wishing – not for the first time – that he'd actually done a tenth of the research he'd claimed to do during that year with Lisa and Ben. He'd done a little; looked over the books Sam had left in the back of the Impala; and, in one of his drunker moments, considered using the rings to unlock the Cage. He meant to do more, but time kept getting away from him. After Stull, Dean had headed for Lisa's with the intention of doing whatever he could to get his little brother back. It would have been easier at Bobby's, but he'd promised to go to Lisa, and after giving Sam nothing but crap about breaking his dying promise to Dean, there was nothing left to do. His first couple weeks with them had been spent renewing his friendship with Jack, Jim and Jose; he didn't really remember much. According to Lisa, he'd spent most of the time on the bathroom floor, alternating between reminiscing, promising Sam he'd fix everything, and throwing up. That phase probably would have lasted a lot longer if Lisa hadn't dumped his bottles in the trash one day and told him he could either get sober or get out. He spent the next month or so drying out and apologizing almost every time he saw Lisa or Ben. He started helping around the house, making breakfast, mowing the lawn, even vacuuming and washing windows. The job came next and before he knew it, Ben was out of school for the summer, and Sam had been gone for a year.

'Dean," Bobby's voice startled him out of his thoughts. The gruff hunter was standing in the doorway with a plate of sandwiches and a beer. "It's past lunchtime, and I'm willin' to bet you haven't touched a bite since the breakfast I forced down your throat."

Dean shrugged and gave the man a half-hearted grin, "Not really hungry."

Bobby snorted, "Hungry or not, even Winchesters have to eat sometimes. Now get your ass outta that chair and into the living room. And after that," he continued, deliberately cutting off Dean's refusal, "you're going outside for a while. You've probably forgotten what fresh air smells like, and if you get any paler, people are gonna think a spirit's moved in."

"I…I can't, Bobby." Dean gestured to the piles of books. "There has to be something. There just has to be. I can't leave him down there; not this time."

Bobby sighed, and not for the first time wished he'd locked the door and hidden in the panic room the day John Winchester first showed up. But he hadn't and somewhere along the way John's boys had become his boys.

"Dean, we've spent the last month looking. Sometimes there aren't answers. Sam knew what he was doing and what he was sacrificing. He did it for you, so you would have a chance to be happy. He knew you were tired, and after your little stunt with Michael, he was terrified of losing you. This, what you're doing right now? Exactly what he didn't want you doing.

If you want to honor Sam's sacrifice, then make it worthwhile. Go back to Lisa and marry her; help her raise her son and maybe even have a few of your own; grow old knowing your neighbors and die in a place you've actually lived for longer then two months."

Seeing Dean's head bowed, trying to hold in the emotions he hated showing, Bobby sighed. "Boy, come with me; I've got something for you," he called over his shoulder as he headed back to the kitchen. Placing the untouched plate and bottle back on the table, he waited until he heard Dean coming before running up the stairs to grab a letter, a book, and a small package out of his nightstand. Tucking the book under his arm, Bobby hesitated for a moment, nervously toying with the box and letter.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered, unconsciously clenching the letter, threatening to crumple it. He'd let Sam down; he knew that much, and the items he'd just pulled from the nightstand were evidence.

As he reentered the kitchen, Bobby was glad to see Dean actually eating, even if it wasn't with his normal gusto. Dean looked up as he came in, pausing mid-chew to eye the objects in Bobby's hands. He tossed his head and grunted around the mouthful of sandwich, Dean-speak for "What's that".

"This…uh…this is from your…uh…your brother," shocked by his own nervousness, Bobby swallowed, "from…you know…before."

"Before?" Dean echoed, confusion evident for a moment before comprehension dawned, "You mean before Stull?"

Bobby nodded, "He gave these to me right before we left for Detroit. Asked me to give them to you."

Dean nodded absently, staring at his brother's gifts as Bobby set them on the table in front of him. Tentatively, he reached out and grabbed the letter. The room seemed to disappear around him, leaving nothing but himself and the three small items Sam had left him. Swallowing hard, he ripped the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of notebook paper.

Dean,

If you're reading this, then I guess we won. And I'm sorry; not for doing it, but because I know right now you're probably hurting, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you again. If Winchesters had anything but bad luck, I'd hope for the best – that maybe you wouldn't miss me this time round, that maybe you'd be happy to wash your hands of me. But who am I kidding – no matter what I did or how hard I pushed, you'd never forget about me or even be happy I was dead.

We haven't talked about it yet, but I'm going to ask you to go to Lisa's. You won't want to, but she'll give you direction, purpose, and, if you let her, happiness. You deserve to be happy, Dean. You've given up so much, and maybe if I'd been a little less self-centered as a kid, then you wouldn't have had to wait so long, but now it's your turn. I want you to have a house with a white picket fence, to eat all the homemade pie you want, to make love to the same woman and to be surrounded by little Deans.

Dean, I need you to know – and if I wasn't such a coward, I would have told you in person – if by some miracle I make it out of the pit, I'm staying as far away from you as humanly possible. PLEASE, PLEASE don't think this means I don't love you or that Zachariah was right and I just want to be away from you, because that's the last thing on earth I want. I'm doing this to protect you, big brother. We both know evil's been dogging my steps since I was six months old; it's taken everyone I've ever cared about, and I won't risk it touching you again. It's my turn to protect you. Please let me do this for you.

I'd apologize again for trusting Ruby, but I knew you forgave me the minute you agreed to this crazy scheme. Only a fool would let a man he didn't trust take on the Devil, and you're anything but a fool. I am sorry about heaven – or whatever that was. I'm sorry someone used my memories against you, because, Dean, my idea of heaven has never been about getting away from you, and I'm sorry if I've let you think it is. I'm especially sorry for getting you in trouble with Dad when I ran away.

Bobby's back, so I'd better wrap this up. Thank you, Dean, for everything. I love you big brother.

Sammy

Dean stared at the letter, oblivious to the silent tears streaming down his cheeks. He folded the letter back up and slipped it into his wallet. Looking back at the table, the next thing he saw was the leather bound book that he now recognized as Sam's journal. Unlike their dad's monster manual of a journal, Sam's chronicled their lives. Dean had read it when he was standing guard over his brother's corpse in Cold Oak. He'd looked for it after Stull, but couldn't find it, figuring Sam had destroyed it somewhere along the way. He thumbed through the pages, skimming entries, fighting to swallow the lump in his throat whenever he found a page blistered by tears. Wanting privacy before he gave the book an in depth review, he reluctantly set it aside, and turned his attention to the small box. It wasn't wrapped, but it had twine holding it closed. A knife was pressed into Dean's hand before he even thought to ask for one, and he made quick work of the twine., tossing it and the box lid on the floor There was a folded note sitting on top of a mound of tissue paper.

I thought you might want this back. If you don't, I understand but please don't throw it away again. Give it to Bobby instead; I'm sure he can find a good use for it.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. It can't be. His fingers seemed to move of their own accord, scrabbling through the tissue paper until they closed around a familiar metal object.

Bobby smiled grimly as Dean held it, the bronze amulet glinting. "I figured that's what it was. We must have passed through whatever town you, umm, lost it in on our way back from dealing with the virus shipments. We'd stopped at Sam's request and then he disappeared for about 20 minutes while I was gassing up the truck. All he'd say when he got back was that he needed to set things right."

Dean looped the cord around his neck, swallowing back the tears as the familiar weight settled on his chest. Bobby's words, previously ignored, suddenly clicked.

Dean fixed his surrogate father with a sharp look. "You said Sam gave these to you before Stull; why didn't you given them to me before I left?"

Bobby twisted his battered cap around in his hands, looking at the table rather then Dean. They sat in silence; Dean's glare deepening by the second. Finally, Bobby shrugged, "I was scared."

"Scared?" Dean echoed in disbelief. "Of what?"

"You, damn it!" Bobby shouted, slamming his hands down on the table. "You were going to Lisa's, and I was worried that if I gave it to you…"

"You didn't think I'd leave," Dean finished.

"I wasn't going to make the same mistake with you I made with your brother." He slumped back in his chair, energy spent. "After we buried you, I dragged Sam back here, forced some dinner into him and then disappeared into a bottle. When I surfaced a few weeks later, Sam was who knows where doing who knows what. When I couldn't get a hold of him, I made dumb idea that he'd be ok…just needed time and space to get his head together. Well, we all know how well that worked out," he snorted. "I wasn't going to let that happen to you, son. No more Winchesters were going to self-destruct on my watch."

Dean shoved his chair back and took a deep breath, trying to bury the anger, "I get it Bobby; I really do. I know you were trying to help."

'Where are you going, boy?"

Dean stood up, willing his shaky legs to hold him. "I need some time to absorb," he threw his arm out in a giant sweeping motion, "all this."

Felling Bobby's eyes on him, Dean hurried out the backdoor and into the labyrinth that was Singer Salvage. His head was swimming and he didn't really pay attention to where he was going until he found himself at the small pond that bordered one side of the junkyard. When they were kids, this was Sam's spot – he'd sit out here for hours with a book or come here to sulk after a fight with John. Dean settled himself on the grassy bank, back against a tree. He unconsciously gripped the amulet as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes…

"Dean"

He jerked back in shock, cracking his head on the tree. Furiously blinking the stars away, he instinctively reached for his gun only to come up empty. Crap. Mentally kicking himself for leaving without a weapon, Dean braced himself and launched off the ground swinging, only to find his fist held in a grip of iron and a pair of blue expressionless eyes staring at him.

"Jees, Cas," Dean huffed, "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Cas tilted his head in confusion, "Why would I want to do that?"

Dean stared at him for a second before brushing the comment off, "Never mind; now, want to tell me why you're here? I'm sure you didn't come all this way just to make sure I didn't take a nap. Let me guess, you've lost something important and want me to find it? Well, sorry, can't help you; I'm a little busy with my own problems." He turned around and stalked away. He hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but he was tired of being treated like a well-trained dog – do this, do that, sit in the corner when we don't need you.

'Dean, I might have some information on Sam."

Dean spun around so fast, he had to grab the tree to keep from falling over. "Information?"

"A loophole, if you will. Do you still have the rings?"

Dean nodded.

"Good. You need to contact Death; he might be able to help you."

"Why would Death help me?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Because Sam isn't dead, not technically, therefore his being in Hell goes against the natural order. Death is very protective of his domain and may be persuaded to help bring Sam back."

Dean leaned against the tree, absorbing this new information. After a minute, he looked at Cas, "Why?"

"I just told you why, Dean," Cas replied, looking at Dean with concern, "Did you injure yourself when you hit your head?"

"No, no," Dean waved him off, "My head's fine. I meant, why are you helping me? Don't you have something more important to be doing, some battle to be fighting?"

Cas sighed, "Dean, my duties in heaven don't meant I don't care about you and Sam. I've been looking for a way to help him since you told me he went back to Hell; I just didn't have any answers before now. Besides, I owe Sam a debt."

Dean quirked an eyebrow, shocked by the remorse on the angel's face "What debt? I mean besides him saving the world and all that."

Cas shifted uneasily, and Dean realized he had never seen his friend look that uncomfortable. "Cas," he asked, making sure to keep his voice steady, "What happened between you and Sam?"

Cas looked everywhere but at Dean, finally settling on staring at his shoes before answering reluctantly, "I followed orders…Sam was supposed to kill Lilith…I…"

"He let Sam out of the panic room," Bobby finished. He followed Dean out, worried about him, knowing full well that an upset Winchester was a dangerous Winchester. He found Dean about the same time Cas did, and had been content to be an unobserved bystander until now.

"He…what?" Dean's head whipped back and forth between Bobby and Cas.

"Bobby is correct," Cas nodded sadly, looking at the grizzled hunter, "How long have you known?"

"Pretty much since it happened, although it was Sam who figured it out. A few weeks after he opened the box, Sam asked about pulling sigils in the panic room to keep out angels. I wanted to know why, and he explained. We didn't end up using them because by then you were working with Dean, and Sam figured it would be better if you were able to use the room too. Besides, he didn't want to explain to Dean why the panic room was angel-proof all of a sudden."

Cas suddenly found himself with his back to the tree, staring straight into a pair of hard green eyes. "You bastard," Dean ground out, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage, "You blamed him for everything. You sat there and fingered him knowing all along that you were as much to blame as either of us. And I went along with you! I trusted you and didn't trust him and all along he knew…" He felt hands pulling on his shoulders and he reluctantly loosed his hold on the angel.

"Dean," Bobby's voice was soothing, "What's done is done. Dwelling on it won't help your brother, and hurting Cas definitely won't."

Dean pulled himself from Bobby's grip, knowing the older man was right. They had a lead on Sam and that needed to be his focus. Everything else could wait. Right now he had to make an appointment with Death.

"Bobby, do you have the number of that doctor who patched Dad up sometimes? You know, the crazy one who kind of looked like Freddie Krueger?"