Because I don't believe for a hot damn second that Sam just wouldn't look for his brother.
Chapter Seven
Sam calls Death.
It's suicide. But he does it. Because Dean is worth it, and if he dies... well, hell, he's died before. Assuming he doesn't go to Hell again, dying will be no big deal. So he tries the only Hail Mary left in his brother's playbook, and he calls on Death himself.
He is taller than Sam remembers. And the room grows cold with his presence. His eyes, though lofty and disinterested, touch Sam with a kind of dread. Because he knows they were warned, never to do this again, never to bother him or else.
Sam shakes under the piercing weight of his stare.
"Did you reap my brother?" he asks with no preamble.
Death, either enjoying the tremble to Sam's voice, or simply finding their measly troubles laughable, gives a shadow of a smirk. "No."
"Then where is he?" Sam asks, feigning courage.
The creature, unnaturally still and hawk-like, stands unmoving, assessing Sam with dark, calculating eyes for a long moment.
"I should reap you," he states with a lazy kind of wonder.
"Where is my brother?" Sam asks again, undeterred by the threat of death.
Death smirks a little, huffing out a quiet laugh and shaking his head. "Dean," he starts, noticing how Sam's body perks up involuntarily at the name, "and his angel, the insolent little brat," the bitterness of their last encounter is somehow still fresh and his irritation with Castiel is evident, "are no longer on Earth."
Sam swallows hard.
"Nor are they in Heaven. Nor Hell."
"Then where the Hell are they?" Sam demands, terror creeping into his voice. "They didn't just get zapped to another dimension - this isn't Doctor Who!"
"I often wondered where you two ridiculous, rambunctious parasites would be if you didn't have someone leading you around by the finger all the while," Death insults lazily, in a tone that lets Sam know that he's going to have to figure it out himself. That he needs to calm down, and use his brain.
He takes a deep breath and tries to think. Don't be Dean, just rushing in all empty threats and cocked pistols. Be Sam, think.
And it comes to him.
"Purgatory."
"My my," Death almost smiles.
"But..." Sam's face falls, and he looks for all the world the most crestfallen, giant, little boy that ever lived. "How can I get him out of Purgatory? It took a ridiculous ritual just to open that door once and it nearly killed us all -"
"The How, is not my concern. Granted, none of this is. Though... I find your infinitesimal melodrama somewhat... entertaining. Like watching ants struggle to carry a cup uphill."
And Sam knows it is the only reason he and Dean have survived their brushes with Death thus far. He also knows he's on the knife's edge of not being entertaining anymore.
"I've given you the Where. I think that's quite enough." And with that Death is gone. And Sam is in a room, alone, with the knowledge that his big brother is one man, alone, in Monsterland.
For a brief moment, he despairs. He gives up, for the knowledge that rescue is impossible.
A brief moment. No longer.
Because when has knowing something is impossible ever stopped a Winchester from doing it anyway?
More to come.
Also, thank you so much for the reviews of the previous chapter! "You're awesome." Keep 'em coming pretty please!