Whoa, this took longer than I'd like to get out… Sorry…

I like this chapter, and it went through many forms before this came out, and I think it came out good, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Thanks to AltoOwl, Zana Zira, qteallex, and ebonywarrior85 for reviewing!

(and if there's ever a chapter to review, it's this one, cause my birthday's on Sunday… XP)


As Dean steps up to her doorstep, he has no clue what he's thinking. There's no way in hell she'll be crazy enough to let him in. He's been absent for too long, and Ben doesn't need a broken man as a substitute father. Lisa doesn't need a broken man as a substitute husband. His heart hurts too much right now, the very essence of his being ripped to shreds. He doesn't know how he's still standing, doesn't even know how he managed the drive here. It had taken him just under eleven hours to get here from Sioux Falls, after he'd said goodbye to Bobby. After the…incident, Dean had high-tailed the hell away from Stull Cemetery, away from Lawrence, away from it all. The whole five hour drive to Singer Salvage Yard had been spent in solitude, Dean's only companion the comforting rumble of the Impala. He had no feelings, had nothing running through his head other than get away you need to get away from it all. Cas had rode with Dean for the first few minutes of the drive, talking about how heaven was going to be in turmoil and whatnot, but had poofed away after. He'd spent a few hours at Bobby's in silence before he decided that he needed to leave. He was nothing but a dead weight in Bobby's house, and he couldn't bear the tenseness of the house's atmosphere. He'd quickly said goodbye to Bobby, given the old man a long, tired hug, then headed out. It was a long way from South Dakota to Cicero, Indiana, but Dean made it in record time. He'd ran every stop sign and red light, mind racing over everything that was happening. Many times he'd glanced over to the (empty) passenger seat, but he never dwelled on it. He had to stay focused to the ask at hand, and that was getting away from this life.

He made a promise.

It had taken him nearly ten minutes to work up the courage to walk up to her doorstep, then another five to get his shaking hand to knock on her door. When the door finally opens up—'cause it feels like an eternity before it does—Lisa's face is ridden with shock and a dark sense that something's wrong. Dean's mind goes back to their previous meeting, when he'd told her that the crap was about to hit the fan. She'd been scared for him, since he hadn't specified exactly what he was doing—obviously, cause he didn't want to load that onto Lisa—then offered him a beer. He'd refused because he, too, was frightened. If he'd stayed to share a beer with Lisa, he'd ended up spilling his guts, telling her everything and scaring her even more.

"Hey, Lisa," he whispers, voice cracking ever so slightly. A shaky smile appears on his face, a lame attempt at trying to convince Lisa—convince himself—that he's fine.

"Oh, thank god," she murmurs under her breath, expressing her relief that Dean is alive. Her eyes frantically run up and down Dean's person. "Are you alright?"

Dean nods a bit. "Yeah. Uh, if it's not too late, I…think I'd like to take you up on that beer." His voice is breaking, and he's surpirsed that he hasn't broken down like a sissy yet. His lip is quivering, and he doesn't know if he can hold it in much longer.

"It's never too late," she whispers gently.

Lisa doesn't question him, doesn't say anything. Somehow, she knows it isn't the words that Dean needs. She leans forward and hug him, squeezing him as if he's going to disappear. He hugs her back with the same or greater intensity, his eyes finally welling up with tears. He hasn't cried since it happened, but now he is. Lisa's triggered the downpour of his emotions, and now he can't stop the tears from falling. For the first time in the day since it happened, he's struck with the startling realization that Sam's gone. He jumped into the Pit, with Lucifer riding shotgun. He's never coming back because Dean made a promise. He's going to find an apple pie life, and not make a deal to get Sam back, even though every fiber of his being is telling him to do otherwise. He should shove Lisa away and head to the nearest crossroads, because who knows how long Sam's already spent in hell? It could be years for all Dean knows, and is probably making his tour look like a trip to Disney Land. But he can't. The least he can do now is grant his brother his dying wish.

So he embraces Lisa with all his might, burying his face into her neck as the tears refuse to stop falling. Though she can't see his face, she grips him tighter as his breath hitches and a sob escapes his lips. "Shh. It's okay," she whispers gently, her voice as smooth as silk as she calmingly and methodically rubs his back. "It's going to be okay."

He nods his head against her, not trusting his voice to say anything in return. He just relishes in the fact that she can hold him through his emotional breakdown.

He loses track of time, but eventually he's reduced to mere sniffles. His grip slightly lessens, and soon Lisa pulls away with a sad smile.

"See? Everything's going to be fine," she promises. Dean returns her smile and nods.

"Yeah," he says noncommittally, and follows her into the house. By the aromatic vapors that are filling the entry hall, Lisa had been cooking dinner. Dean tries to think to the last time he'd had a homemade dinner. The only time he can think of is before the fire, over twenty-six years ago. It's been too long. Lisa leads him to the kitchen, where Ben is sitting at the table with a fork in his hand, clearly in anticipation of eating. When he spots Dean, his eyes bulge out in shock. "Dean?" he asks incredulously.

Dean quirks a smile. "Hey, kiddo," he says affectionately, ruffling the kid's hair as he sits in the seat where Lisa's motioned for him to sit in. Lisa looks to Dean warily, as if wondering if he'll be okay in this family situation, but doesn't say anything as she grabs Dean a glass of whiskey. He nods in appreciation as he sips the burning liquid gratefully. He knows he'll be getting drunk tonight, so it's good to know that Lisa has some alcohol on hand. He'll need it.

Ben doesn't say anything about Dean's sudden appearance or why he's eating dinner with them, though Dean can see the judgmental questions whirling through the kid's mind. Dean doesn't blame him. Dean probably looks like crap, with his bloodshot eyes and te way he can't hold a grin for more than ten seconds before thoughts of Sam and death and death and Sam overwhelm him. Ben's gotta be…what, ten now? Dean smiles slightly as he takes another drink. The kid's growing so fast.

Lisa lays down a plate in front of him, though he doesn't really look down at what it is. "You okay?" she asks softly, so quietly that Ben can't hear the inquiry.

"Yeah, I'm good," he mumbles in reply. His voice nearly catches in his throat though, so he takes another sip and savors the burning feeling of hard alcohol down his throat and in his stomach.

That evening goes on smoothly, and Dean actually feels as if he's apart of the family. Lisa completely disregards the reason for Dean's presence, instead mentioning how maybe Tom from the garage would maybe be able to offer Dean a job if he'll be staying for a while. She talks to Ben about school, and he proudly rushes to his backpack to present a science exam with a large "A" printed on it. Dean claps him on the back in congratulations like any parent would, but he doesn't speak. He doesn't feel like talking much anymore.

Finally, Ben goes to bed around ten pm—it's a weekend—and Dean's left alone with Lisa. He can tell that she wants to discuss what exactly happened earlier, but she can tell that he doesn't.

"You can come to bed at any time," she says quietly, squeezing Dean in a hug once again. "I'm going now because I have a shift early tomorrow morning. Just promise you won't bail on me in the middle of the night?"

Dean nods once. He has nowhere else to go.

"I guess I'll contact Ben's babysitter and let her know she won't be needed tomorrow," she muses, running a free hand through Dean's hair in a way that reminds him of his mother. "You okay with that?"

"Yeah," he whispers, voice rough. He'd be happy to look after Ben while Lisa's off at work. It will take his mind off of Sam.

A choking lump gets caught in his throat when he thinks about Sam. Lisa must notice, because she rubs his back. "It's all right, Dean," she whispers. "I'm here, you're here now. You'll be okay here." When Dean doesn't verbally respond, she gives him one last squeeze and retires to bed.

The whiskey muddles his mind that night, much to his pleasure. He's not quite two sheets to the wind, but he's getting there. However, when he thinks about the inconvenience—and rudeness—of being hungover his first day with the Braedens, he replaces the whiskey bottle where it came from and heads upstairs to Lisa's room. He's a little unsure whether he should actually get in bed with her and risk waking her, or just sleep downstairs on the couch, but Lisa's sleep-filled voice murmurs, "Come on, I'm not asleep yet anyway."

A ghost of a smile appears on Dean's face, and he shuffles over to the other side of the bed to crawl in with Lisa, not noticing that he's still in his jeans and boots. Somehow, after he returned from hell, it hadn't seemed like a necessity to change into pajamas, lest you need to get up and run in the middle of the night. He feels awkward and vulnerable without a gun underneath his pillow, but somehow, when he holds Lisa in his arms and they both drift to sleep, it doesn't matter.


Hell.

Fire.

Torture.

Hell and fire and blood and torture and Alastair, oh NO!

Lucifer.

Jumping… He's jumping…

Hell, no no no, SAMMY!

NO NO NO NO!

SAM!

Dean wakes up with a gasp, sweat plastering his shirt to his chest. Lisa stirs, eyes opening sluggishly as she detects his rough wakening. His eyes fly around the room, unaware for a moment of where he is, and why is there a woman in his bed, and where the hell is Sam?

He sees the door to the master bathroom and bolts towards it, bile rising in his thought as reality floods back to him. He pukes into the toilet, clutching his burning throat and gasping for breath. He's dying. His arms are shaking as he white-knuckles the toilet seat, and sweat is dripping in front of his face. He can sense Lisa hovering at the door, but is too busy concentrating on how to breath. He can't get any air in, and he keeps seeing Sam jumping, jumping, jumping over and over again. He hears Lucifer cackling in his brother's body, and sees Sam descending into the hole, into the darkest depths of hell. Sam's trapped down there. He's trapped, with a pissed off Lucifer and a pissed off Michael and their baby brother Adam's soul. Dean thinks about his years in hell, about all the tearing and grinding and burning pains, and decide that Sam's hell with the devil himself must be a billion times worse than his own. Alastair was bad, but Alastair looked up to Lucifer. Lucifer created demons in the first place, probably created torture and tough Alastair all he knows. Dean gags as more bile comes up; the thought makes him physically sick.

"Dean…." Lisa's voice trails off, wonderfully soft. Dean silently begs her not to come over to him, as he already looks pitiful from afar. He must look like a blubbering mess up close, with tears streaming down his face and vomit leaking from his mouth.

But she must not be able to simply stand by, because now she's rubbing soothing circles on his back. Dean suspects that she's gone through this same routine many times with Ben. She's murmuring soothing seances, but Dean's not relaxing the slightest bit. He can't stop witnessing his brother's death in his mind.

"Dean, baby," Lisa whispers. "Talk to me. Please."

Dean shakes his head pitifully. He doesn't want to talk right now. He can't talk right now. He knows Lisa wants him to spill his guts—and not this literally—but he isn't prepared to talk about Sam. Hell, he can barely think about him without choking up. Everything in the past forty-eight hours has just been too much. Maybe someday he'll talk about Sam as if the whole thing was just a bad dream, but today is not that day. Today, he can't bring any words to his lips.

"It's okay," Lisa says, conceding to the fact that Dean isn't responding. "I just need you to talk to me so I can help."

Dean gives up his position over the porcelain bowl and looks in Lisa's wide eyes. He hates the worry in them, and the fact that he placed that distress there. He clears his throat softly, rubbing his stinging eyes, and whispers, "I can't talk about it, Lis. I'm sorry, just not now. I…I can't—"

"Shh," Lisa coos, and gently caresses his face. "It's okay, I won't push you. You just can't do this to yourself."

Dean nods and palms at his eyes instinctively to rid any signs that he was crying. "I know," he murmurs. "It's just too much… I can't take it, Lis…"

She engulfs him in a hug, the third one in twelve hours. He feels so warm and comforted in her hold, but he doesn't cry this time. He doesn't know if he can cry any more. He just sighs into Lisa's hair, ignoring the stench of vomit on his breath, and lets himself relax for once.

He's safe here, yes, but the dreams will never evade him. Those images…they'll never leave his mind. And he'll never see Sam ever again. Those are just the facts. But for now, until he can find a loophole to his promise to Sam, he'll let himself live on with Lisa and Ben. He'll still bear the suffocating guilt and self-loathing that comes with seeing your brother jump to his death, but those feelings will never go away.

He returns to bed with Lisa, but he doesn't sleep the rest of the night. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees macabre vision of hell and hears Lucifer's chilling voice reverberating around in his skull. Every time he blinks, he witnesses Sam's jump. He can still feel the phantom pain from where Sam's fists hit his face, can still feel the blood leaking from his nose and the abrasions on his face. Lisa gets out of bed before the sun rises to get ready for work, but he doesn't stir, still pretending to sleep. She hums softly as she dresses and grabs her things, before exiting the room. Dean sighs roughly, and slowly pulls himself into a sitting position. He has a slight headache, but nothing more. Insomnia has allowed him time to think over everything, so he doesn't feel as if he's going to cry anymore. Good, because he has to look over Ben today.

He's not that worried about the kid, since he knows he won't be a problem child. And he's had years of experience looking after Sam…

No. Don't think about Sam.

Once he's sure that Lisa's left, he takes a shower and heads downstairs, hoping to get himself a cup of coffee (and if a shot of whiskey finds its way in there, he's not complaining). He sees that Ben's already awake, watching TV languidly. Once he hears Dean descending the stairs, he smiles at him and says, "Hey, Dean. You wanna watch cartoons with me?"

Dean's stomach lurches, and he has the feeling that he's going to puke again. Ben's innocent question reminded him so much of Sammy when he was that age, and he wants to go punch something. "Maybe in a bit, kiddo," he chokes out, and ushers himself quickly to the kitchen before he does something he may regret.

He spots the coffee pot, and is relieved to see that it's already brewed. Lisa must have left it on for him. He grabs the pot and pours himself some in a mug, sipping at it tenderly. Honestly, though, he doesn't want to be sitting here in domestic bliss, drinking coffee like some monkey suit-wearing executive idiot about to head off for a day at the office. As much as he loves the kid, he doesn't want to be here watching over Ben. He wants to be out there, killing things and letting out his anger. He's past the initial grief, though it still claws painfully at his soul, and now he wants to punch and kick and stab everything, anything. Just like when Dad died and he raged his emotions on the poor Impala. If he doesn't watch himself, he may end up doing the same thing to her again, or worse, to Lisa's house. He can imagine rampaging through the suburban home and destroying everything in his path because he's so damned mad.

"Dean?"

Oh, great. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and takes in a slow breath. He knew that Ben would want to confront him at some point, but he's not ready to talk right now. Not to Lisa, not to Ben, not to anyone. So he calmly says, "Ben, if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk right now—"

"Dean, I just wanted to ask you something." Ben looks down at his feet, pausing hesitantly, before continuing, "Mom told me not to bother you too much, but she wouldn't tell me why, just that you're in a bad place right now and that you might be staying here for a while, and I wanted to see if you could tell me why, 'cause no one ever tells me anything, and I heard some noises from Mom's bathroom last night late—the walls are really thin—and they weren't the same noises that I hear when she has a boyfriend over for the night, and I was also wondering are you okay?"

Once again, Dean is torn between bawling and lashing out. Ben sounds so much like Sammy. "Ben—," he starts, prepared divert the conversation into something else, but the kid cuts him off.

"No, don't give me the 'you're too young to hear this' crap!" he exclaims. He makes eye contact with Dean, and his stubborn gaze makes him feel as if he's staring into a de-aged Sam—only Sam's eyes are green and not brown. "I'm really worried about you, Dean, 'cause you barely talked at dinner last night and I heard you crying when you came in! I wanna know what happened. You can trust me."

Dean sighs and rubs his eyes a bit, willing the fat tears not to fall. His voice cracks as he whispers, "It's a really long and crappy story. You don't want to hear it."

But instead of turning away like Dean had hoped he would, Ben takes a seat next to Dean. "Tell me," he insists.

Maybe it's those begging, brown eyes, or maybe it's the way Dean feels as if Ben is the son he never had. Whatever the reason, he recounts the tale to Ben. Or, the kid-friendly version. "Y-you remember my brother Sam, right?" Dean asks, voice low and gruff. Ben nods. "Well, h-he's gone. I… Things were going down, big time, and the only way to stop it was for us to… Sam had to…" Dean runs his hand over his face and lets out a shaky sigh. "I-I can't do this."

"C'mon, Dean," Ben eggs on, the tiniest grin on his face to encourage Dean. "You'll have to say it sometime."

"I know, it's just…" Dean shakes his head, drinking another sip and wishing that the whole mug of coffee could be replaced with a beer. "Sammy, he…he saved the world, but he sacrificed himself along the way." Dean holds his head in his hands, not willing to let Ben see his teary eyes. "I told your mom… I promised Sammy that I'd come back to her to live a normal life after he was…gone, but I don't know, Ben. I-I don't think I can do it."

Suddenly, Ben's arms are wrapped around Dean's middle, and he's blubbering like a baby again. He's sick and tired of crying, but he can't stop it. He's emotionally overwhelmed, he freaking deserves some coping time. "It's okay, Dean," Ben says into Dean's shirt as the older man continues to sob. "Me and Mom'll be here for you. I promise."

And in that moment, for the first time in nearly twenty-six years, Dean feels accepted again.


As Lisa returns from work that day, she notices that the house is far too quiet. She peeks around, and her heart clenches when she sees that Ben and Dean are asleep together on the couch, the television playing softly in the background. She smiles warmly at the sight; Ben needs a father-figure, even if that man is filled to the top with his own problems. She's seen Dean with Ben before, and knows that he'll come around eventually. Seeing their current positions, she knows that it was a good idea to let Dean back into their lives. He'll complete their family as they help him through whatever he's going through at the moment. It might not be the perfect family dynamic, but it will work for them. Lisa knows it.

It takes nearly a month for Dean to completely start talking again. He shut himself off from Lisa and Ben after his first day with them, choosing instead to wallow in his own issues silently. It's scary, since Lisa knows Dean as the cocky, wisecracking man that he is, but she understand once she's told what had happened. Ben had told her that Sam was gone, and that was all the explanation that was needed for Dean's out of character behavior. Sam was his life, his sole purpose for living, and now he was gone. No wonder Dean felt like closing himself off. Why, if Lisa ever lost Ben…

He's been drinking a lot, more than once passing out in alcohol-induced stupors. Lisa mostly doesn't mind, only gives him a blanket since he's fallen asleep on the couch and tells Ben to leave him be. As long as Dean doesn't get violent when he's drunk, Lisa will be okay with it.

It's right about at the one-month mark when Dean finally tells Lisa himself what had happened. Though, unlike Ben, he's given her the whole story.

God, it's awful. The whole Lucifer/Apocalypse/Angel thing is beyond Lisa's comprehending, but she understands the parts where Dean was beaten senseless by his own brother (though it was really Lucifer wearing his brother's skin) and when Sam had jumped into an eternal pit to save the world. She can't imagine having to witness it as Dean had, though she doesn't have to.

All she has to do is be there for him.


Yay, (sort of) happy ending!

The next chapter will be after episode 6x14, once Dean loses Ben and Lisa and Cas erases their memories.

Don't forget to leave a review if you liked it!