Chapter Eleven

All This Time

Ava

Another shot echoed through the air. "Shots fired! We have an officer down!"

I laid on my back, the late afternoon sky was turning to evening. My head pounded as I watched a cloud float languidly above me. "Winchester! Are you okay?" Lacey was over me. She popped open the buttons from my shirt to examine my wound, and she let out the breath she had been holding.

"You're wearing your vest."

I sat up slowly. "I think I have a serious bruise." I smiled wryly. "But yeah, I think I'm okay."

The perp was face down in the concrete. "We are going to have a lot of paperwork."

"Yup. It's gonna be a late one." She said helping me up.

Back at the station Lacey started on our paperwork, and I went to the bathroom. I unsnapped my bulletproof vest, and looked at the massive bruise on my ribs.

I thought about how the boys, and I could've used one in our time hunting. I winced touching the edge of the bruise. I could see Sam and Deans scars on their chests and arms. Cuts and bullet wounds that they took care of themselves.

Dean, and I always talked about how Sam should date a doctor so they could finally stop having to stitch up each other.

It didn't matter anymore. We weren't hunting. I wondered if Sam missed it. If he missed it like I missed being a detective. Like I honestly missed hunting.

I pulled my shirt back down and grabbed Lacey and I both coffees. "Sam is going to be pissed when he sees the bruise. He told me to be safe."

"You were safe."

"We have a child." I said with a huff, sitting down. "I'm not supposed to be in armed chases."

"So you and Sam... you're taking the plunge?" Lacey asked handing me my paperwork.

"The plunge is a little dramatic." I said clicking my pen. "But yeah. We are trying. It's only been a few weeks, but it's been nice."

I told Lacey that Dean was a soldier. I told her that he died in Afghanistan. It was the only explanation I had for what we'd all been through. For why I couldn't talk about him. She asked if Sam served too, her brother had and she said he had the look. Like he'd been through the shit.

"I think it's good that you two are trying. You should be happy."

"Thanks Lace." I signed my name at the end of the first form. "I really should call him. He's going to be worried."

"Hey, go ahead and go home. I'll finish up here and help you tomorrow. You've got a tall dark and handsome man to see." She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

"I wouldn't call him dark." I winked at her. "But, yeah, thanks. I'd like to go home and see him and Nel."

I grabbed my purse and jacket. I was going home to see my family. We were a family, and things were finally good. I was finally feeling happy again.

Dean

I gasped, feeling shallow air enter my lungs for the first time in what felt like a life time. I didn't realize that there wasn't air in Hell. What fueled the fire, then?

I couldn't see, wherever I was was dark. I was laying on my back and when I reached out there were walls on all side of me. I reached into my pocket. My body felt stiff, my fingers sore. I pulled out my zippo lighter and flicked it a few times before it came to life.

I was in a wooden coffin. "Shit." I coughed. My mouth and throat was so dry I could barely speak. I closed my eyes. What am I going to do?

I reached down and pulled my knife out of my boot, barely able to move that way. I jimmied the edge of the coffin and held my breath. I pushed the coffin lid out of the way the dirt loosened around the coffin, pouring in around me.

Keep it together Dean. You've been through worse.

We had practiced this, when I was a kid. Dad would shove me in the box and close the lid.

"You have to be prepared for anything, Son. Remember there will be a lot to work through. Don't breathe in the dirt or you'll suffocate."

I had nightmares for years about being buried alive. Guess I owe him a whiskey.

I dug up, knocking dirt away with my knife. The ground was cold, and my skin stung. The darkness felt endless, and I hoped whoever buried me was lazy about it and didn't stick me more than six feet under.

My chest pounded. I'd always been claustrophobic, but this was my literal nightmare. All I could see was Ava. If I was back I had to see her, but there was still a chance that I was still in Hell. That this was just a new form of torture.

I wanted to stop then, to let the darkness take me, but like always, she came to me.

Dean you can do this. Break through and come home to me. I've been waiting.

In my mind she is still pregnant, just like I left her. Even if I'm still in Hell, I have to try. I owe her that much.

I pushed up further with all of my strength, thrusting the knife upward. A beam of light came into the hole I was in. My hand broke through the soil, and I could feel the sun on my skin.

My hands felt dried grass as I pulled myself up, sucking in fresh air. I gasped a few times, laying on my back. I stared at the sky just feeling everything. For the first time in so long it feeling any pain.

I stood up slowly and looked around me to find any indicator of where I was. In the circle around my grave marker a dozen trees laid on their side, as if they bent right over, all in a perfect circle.

It was weird, but so was rising from the grave so I didn't feel the need to stick around. I moved slowly to the road, needing a phone. Needing a drink. Anything. Any sign that this was all real.

I pushed forward, my skin itching from being underground. I slid off my flannel and tied it around my waist. I wanted to spit, to get the dirt out of my mouth, but there was no moisture inside of me. How long have I been gone?

A pit grew in my stomach. If I'd been gone as long as I thought, Ava would be old. My daughter will be grown up. Dad and Bobby will be... I shook of the thought. If this was a mind game it was a damn good one.

I spotted a connivence store ahead of me, and I picked up the pace. It was old and run down, and there were no cars around it. I knocked a few times. "Hello?" I croaked. Even if there was someone there they wouldn't be able to hear me.

I rolled my eyes and wrapped my flannel around my arm as I sent it through the glass on the front door. I let myself in and immediately went to the cooler. I pulled out a bottle of water and sucked it down.

I'd never felt anything better than the cold water running down my dry, cracked throat. It tasted almost sweet. If water tasted that good I couldn't even imagine having a beer again.

I had to pull back so I could breathe. My lungs opening. Fresh air. It was all surreal. I walked around the store, still suckling my bottle. There was a stand near the back wall with newspapers stacked. I picked one up to check the date. April 12th. My heart sunk. It wasn't as long as I thought, but if this was right... I'd been gone for four months. My daughter and my wife were out there somewhere. They had to be.

I made my way to the bathroom. I needed to splash my face. I needed some clarity. I turned on the water, taking it in my hands. It felt good on my raw face. My muscles tight from being stagnant for four months.

I looked at myself in the mirror and frowned. I was ripped apart, but yet when I lifted my shirt there was no scars. I looked under my left sleeve, and then my right. My breath hitched in my throat. My right shoulder held a pink scar. Still fresh. It was barley healed. If I didn't know any better I'd say it was a handprint.

"Fuck, Sammy what did you do?"

I walked toward the front, to collect some supplies when the tv turned on next to me. It was all static. I clicked it off only for it to turn back on. The radio clicked on as well. I reached immediately, just like I was taught. I grabbed salt off the shelf and poured it around the window. I glanced back at the tv. Something was happening. A high pitched ringing came to my ears. I covered one, but it just got louder. I dropped the salt, my hands covering my ears. My ear drums were going to explode.

The glass windows cracked, and exploded in an instant, sending me to the floor, covered in glass. The noise stopped, and I looked around. No cold spots. What the fuck is going on?

I opened the cash register for some coins. I went outside to the pay phone, because my cell was dead in my pocket. I slipped a coin in and dialed Sams number. "The number you have tried to reach has been disconnected."

Ava's was disconnected too.

Something was wrong. I tried Bobby next. Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hello?"

"Bobby?"

"Who is this?"

"It's me."

"Whose me?"

"It's Dean..." I began, my throat still hoarse.

Click.

I groaned and slid another coin in. I dialed his number again.

"Listen, I don't know who this is, but it isn't funny. You call here again, and I'll kill ya." Click.

I rubbed my face. I wasn't sure where I was. I couldn't place it, but there was an old car parked near the phone. I shook my head and pushed out of the phone booth to hot wire it.

I planned to head straight to Bobby's. I didn't know what happened while I was gone, but if Ava and Sams phones were off there'd be no guarantee that they'd be at the house, but Bobby was still at home. That was a start.

—-

I knocked on his door. I'd drank five bottles of water and eaten some jerky on the drive up. I was feeling a lot better, but not as good as I felt when Bobby swung the door open.

He looked good, and I realized then how much I missed him. "Surprise."

Bobby's mouth hung open. His eyes squinted. "I don't.."

"Yeah, me neither." I said stepping through the door. "But here I am."

He came at me with a knife. I dodged him and put a chair between us. "Bobby it's me!"

"The hell it is!" He came at me again.

"Wait wait! Your name is Robert Singer, you became a hunter when your wife was possessed by a demon, your niece is Ava Langston. I married her even though you told me no... Bobby it's me."

Bobby pushed the chair out of the way and reached out slowly to touch me. His hand rested on my shoulder for a split second before he came at me again.

I pushed him out of the way, managing to take his knife from him. "I'm not a shape shifter!"

"Then you're a revenant!"

"If I was either could I do this with a silver knife?" I asked, groaning internally. I sliced my upper arm, feeling the familiar sting of blade against flesh.

"Dean?"

"That's What I've been trying to tell you."

"It's good to see you, Son. How did you bust out?"

"I don't know.. I just.."

My face was wet. Bobby had taken his flask of Holy water and doused me with it. If I weren't so damn happy to be alive I'd be annoyed. I took my sleeve and wiped it off. "I'm not a demon either. Satisfied?"

"Better safe than sorry." He shrugged. "This doesn't make any sense... you were ripped to shreds. Even if you got out you shouldn't have had a body to come back to. What do you remember?"

"Nothing." I lied, my jaw tense. "Sammy and Aves phones are turned off... are they?"

Bobby sat up a little straighter. "They're okay. They're still living at the house, they just wanted out. The last few months have been tough. We had to bury you."

"Why did you bury me?"

"I wanted to salt and burn you, ya know the hunters funeral, but Sam wouldn't have it."

"Well," I said, touching my solid form. "I guess I'm glad he won that argument."

"He said you'd need your body when he brings you back home somehow."

"Well he brought me back alright, but whatever he did has bad mojo. Something blew past me at a gas station, and then there's this." I pulled up my sleeve to show him the hand print.

"What the hell?"

"Looks like a demon pulled me out of Hell."

"But why?"

"To hold up its end of the bargain." I turned, sending my fist into the wall.

"You think he made a deal?" Bobby didn't look convinced.

"Yeah, I do. It's what I would've done."

Sam

"Who are you?" I asked, grabbing for the knife and the holy water in the side table near the door.

"I'm Dean." He looked confused.

I grabbed the knife and lunged at him, but he grabbed ahold of me. "This shit again." He grumbled, taking my blade. "Look." He said, cutting his forearm. "Not a shifter, not a revenant. Give me the holy water."

I looked at him curiously, but I complied. He took a swig of the flask and let me go. "Dean?"

"I know... I look fantastic." He gave his classic wide grin, and I pulled him into a hug. He was solid he was here.

He squeezed me back before releasing me. "So tell me..." he began, stepping into the house. "What did it cost?"

"What did what cost?"

"Getting me out. Did you just sell your soul or is it something worse?"

I frowned. "Dean, I didn't sell my soul. I tried. I tried everything and no one would deal. I don't know how you got back, but it wasn't me. It's been tearing me up I knowing I couldn't save you."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No. I'm not. I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Sammy. I believe you."

We looked between each other. We wanted to know, how did he get out.

He walked into the living room, picking up a framed photo of Ava. One that he'd taken. "Where... where is she, Sam?"

I swallowed hard. "She's at work."

His shoulders looked relaxed. "She's back to work? Where?"

"She just started working as a detective again. She should be home soon."

I wanted to warn her, but I didn't know what I'd say. I made love to her this morning, and now he's back.

"And..." He day the picture down. "And what about Peanut?"

I smiled. "She's great. She's with Dad."

He crossed his arms and stepped toward me. "You let Dad take her?"

"He's actually really good with her." I said awkwardly.

Dean cleared his throat. "Hopefully better than he was with us."

"Much better." I agreed.

"Good... that's good." He slowly lowered himself onto the couch.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"What was it like?"

He glanced up at me. "What was what like? Hell?"

"Yeah."

"Honestly, Sammy, I don't remember a damn thing."

I looked at him, and with the way that his forehead was wrinkled and his hands were clasped together. I knew he was lying.