Chapter Twenty- Six: Oblivion ((Patrick Wolf))

At first, Dean couldn't open his eyes.

Everything hurt, but it was a dull ache. Like he was mostly removed from the pain. He was expecting fresh, white- hot agony, but only got a muffled spark of pain when he tried to move. He wondered if this was his body shutting down. You didn't exactly fall from a six- story building and come out of it walking.

He wasn't on the concrete. He lay on something soft instead. A cloud? Did he die? He remembered vaguely a thought he'd had about angels sleeping on clouds. But if he was dead, why did he still hurt, even a little? And what was that beeping noise?

Confused by everything, he blinked an eye open slowly. He was inside now, and the room was bright, too bright. He shut his eye again with a tiny groan. He tried to ease his eyes open slower this time, to adjust to the light. It was a bed. Not a cloud. He was in a hospital.

Were there hospitals in Purgatory? How had he gotten here?

Dean looked around. The curtain was mostly drawn, giving him his own little cubicle. There was someone in the other half of the room on a bed just like his, but they were quiet. The machines beeped and kept track of what they were supposed to, various heart lines and pulses. He looked down at his arms to find an IV line stretching to a bag hanging beside him. That explained the ache; he was probably on a lot of pain medication right now. That probably explained all the weird thoughts as well.

He smelled the coffee before he registered a person entering the room. It filtered in over the too- clean chemical smell of the hospital, deep and bitter. He breathed it in, and it made him smile for some reason he had trouble placing. Must have been all the drugs. Then he looked up, locking eyes with the room's new occupant, standing in the doorway.

"Dean?"

"D- Dad?" His voice came out in a broken gravelly mess. He cleared his throat.

John Winchester nearly dropped his coffee in relief. Instead, he settled for crossing the room, setting the Styrofoam cup on the nearest nightstand. "Jesus, Dean, don't scare me like that."

Dean blinked his eyes a few times, trying to keep them open. He stared at his father, confusion evident on his face. "What happened?"

His father sat on the plastic chair at the bedside. "What do you remember?"

"Demons," he replied. To anyone else, it would sound like he'd lost his mind. However, they were hunters. Demons were a part of the job description, and if anyone could understand that, it was his father. Of course, Satan himself was a bit of a step from a normal demon, and would probably sound insane, even to other hunters. So he'd settle for now. "Fell off a building…"

John shook his head. "You must've been dreaming. You weren't on a job. You were in a car accident."

"Wha…?" That wasn't right at all.

"They found the Impala slammed against a tree on one of the back country roads late last night. No telling how long you'd been out there." He rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Dean tried to sit up a bit, but the cords and machines stopped him. He felt like he was one giant bruise at this point. "No, that wasn't it. We were at the house, and there was this redhead. An angel. She took us to Purgatory cuz a psychic needed our help to kill demons. Except the archangel wouldn't let us, and then the devil took Sammy-"

John stared at him incredulously. "You're on a lot of medication right now, Dean, and you've probably got a concussion or something. You've been out for a good part of the morning."

It didn't make any sense. He was home? Or had he not left the whole time? Was it all some accident- induced coma dream his brain had supplied him thanks to trauma and drugs?

A car accident?

He shook his head as far as his aching shoulders would allow. He needed to talk to Sam. If Sam didn't remember it, then he'd believe it never happened. His brother had been with him too.

"Sammy?"

John stared at him for a few seconds, not saying anything. He had a look on his face that Dean had remembered seeing once before. When his mother died. Panic rose in Dean's chest, but before he could say any more, his father got up from his chair, moving to the other side of the bed. He pulled the divider curtain back.

Sam lay in the other bed, hooked up to the same machines Dean was. He was unconscious still, his breathing even and slow.

"You both must've hit your head the same way. You were both knocked out when they brought you in. You're the first to wake up though." John's voice was low, pained.

"He's… gonna wake up, right? I did…"

His father pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, Dean. The doctors can't say for sure. They weren't even sure you'd wake up."

Dean swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. This wasn't right. He didn't remember a car accident. He had all the wrong memories. His brother might not make it, and it would be Dean's own fault. There wasn't anything he could do. At least in Purgatory, he could fight.

John left the curtain open, but made his way back to the other side of the room. He took a long sip of his coffee.

"I'm gonna tell the doctor that you're awake. I'll be right back."

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice. His father gripped the cup a little tighter than necessary, quietly ducking out of the room and leaving his son alone with his thoughts.

He tilted his head back against the pillow, staring up. He'd made it all up. The angels, the demons, the devil. Everything. It was all some dream his head cooked up, probably to cover up the fact that he may have gotten his brother killed. Somehow, he'd screwed up, and lost control with his car. There was no such thing as Purgatory. No angels to scoop up unsuspecting hunters and toss them into a fray they weren't ready for. No battle with the devil. His brother hadn't been kidnapped by the devil, and he hadn't been dropped by him off a six- story roof. There was no Gabriel, or Crowley, or Balthazar, or Chuck.

No Castiel.

No Cas.

He had made up the angel. Castiel, the socially awkward angel who fumbled with trying to be human while waited for his powers to return. Who didn't understand sarcasm, or figures of speech, or pop references. Who didn't like beer, but loved Pepsi and hamburgers. Who couldn't sleep unless he was beside Dean, since he was scared to sleep at all. Who followed him around like Dean was the one keeping him safe, and smiled fondly when Dean tried to teach him things. Who learned to dance from his archangel brother, and wasn't half- bad at it. Castiel, with his half- smiles and too- bright blue eyes and his stupid trench coat and backwards tie.

His eyes watered, dangerously close to tears. He figured it didn't matter this time. He'd been in a wreck, his brother was in a coma and he'd dreamed up the most important people to him besides his own family; he could cry a little if he wanted.

"They say that when people are caught in a Near- Death Experience, their mind gives them a personal form of Purgatory," a quiet voice spoke up from the doorway.

Dean jumped in surprise. Then he curled in on himself as much as the machines would allow with a pained groan. Stupid injuries. He glanced over to the doorway, where a nurse was standing unassumingly, smiling softly at him.

But it wasn't just some random nurse. It was the redhead who'd brought them to Purgatory in the first place. Which wasn't real, he scolded himself. He'd probably seen this nurse when he was brought to the hospital, and put her in his dream before he'd gone into his coma. He'd seen it in movies; people would come to talk to coma patients, and the patients would dream about them while they slept. This girl was probably in his room a lot, taking care of him, and that's why she'd helped them a few times in his Purgatory dream.

She stepped closer, slowly, as if she was afraid she'd scare him further. Dean just stared at her. He'd dreamed of her in normal clothes, jeans and t- shirt and an olive green jacket. But now she wore the regulation light blue hospital scrubs. She smiled at him.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Winchester?"

He blinked a few times to clear his eyes. The last thing he needed was some nurse seeing him cry. "I've been better," he croaked, voice still thick. "But I've definitely been worse too."

"Did you have a nice dream?"

He frowned, tilting his head at her the slightest bit. It reminded him of Castiel, and he had to stop himself quickly. "How-"

"Your father tells me you told him quite the story about being in Purgatory while you slept."

That kind of explained it.

"People are sent to Purgatory usually to receive judgment," the nurse continued. Dean looked at her nametag. It read 'Anna'. "But they always go to accomplish something."

Dean shook his head. "So what happens when you get dragged out before you do any accomplishing?"

Anna grinned, a knowing spark in her eyes. "Then obviously your brother made a deal with the devil to save you."

There was no stopping the head tilt and wide- eyed stare this time. "Was… was it real?"

"In a manner of speaking," she made a useless gesture with her hands. "It's hard to explain. It exists, but it doesn't. Purgatory's funny like that. It's a sort of parallel universe."

"So Cas? Cas and the others, they're real? They actually exist?" He couldn't disguise the hope in his voice. Anna smiled warmly.

"They do. But not in the way you're now thinking."

"What's that mean?"

"They're different creatures, Dean," she moved from the doorway, taking a seat in John's chair beside his bed. "While you and Sam are humans, and had to leave your bodies behind while you were in Purgatory, they didn't. Angels and demons don't have to. That's why their vessels are there, instead of their true forms."

Okay, that made sense.

"Why is that so important?"

"Because. It's like the myth of dying in a dream."

"If you die in a dream, you die in real life?" Dean had heard that before, but knew it was complete bullshit. He'd had enough nightmares of being torn open by various creatures and woken up fine the next morning.

"Exactly," she nodded. "It isn't true, and you know it. And so at this point, Purgatory is more like a dream for you and your brother than an actual place. Your souls are there on loan. Because despite the accident, it's not your time yet. So when you died in Purgatory…"

Dean thought he saw where this was going. "It kinda sling- shotted my soul back into my body, and I woke up?"

"You catch on quickly."

He sat up a bit, despite his body protesting the action. "So, because Cas and the others are really there, if something happens to them…?"

"It's real, Dean." She leveled him with a serious stare. "If they get hurt, or if they die, it's real. There's no coming back from that for any of them. And right now, they're all with Lucifer."

Dean paled; a considerable feat considering how pale he already was. "They won't make it! I've gotta go back, Anna, you've gotta send me back!"

She put a hand on his arm to steady him. "I can't do that, but I can tell you how."

He didn't miss a beat. "How?"

Anna took his hand. She held it for a moment, smiling softly, before placing something in his palm, closing his fingers around it. "I know this was a lot to ask of you and your brother. And we didn't really give you much choice. I apologize. But you and Sam are the only ones who can deal with Lucifer. Everyone in Purgatory needs you right now." She squeezed his hand gently. "Castiel needs you."

Dean stared at her. "How? He's got the sword, he's got Sam. He's got everything. I don't stand a chance."

Her lips quirked up a bit around the edges. "That's never stopped you before."

"I wasn't fighting the fucking devil before."

"Everything you need is right in your hands." She squeezed his hand again for emphasis, before letting go, standing. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to check on your brother. He's got this odd mark on the inside of his wrist that needs to be looked at."

She said it in such a way that Dean thought she had to be hinting at something. But he didn't get a chance to ask, as she stepped away and rounded the half of the divider still in place.

He stared at his brother in the bed across from him. Out cold and still trapped in some dream universe. Sam would be okay if he died in Purgatory. He'd wake up in the real world. But so long as Lucifer had him, the devil wouldn't let that happen. Not that Dean wanted him to die in any sense of the word. It was an automatic reaction to keep his brother alive, even if being dead was the only way to ACTUALLY do that. It was complicated.

And the others couldn't die at all. Gabriel, Crowley and Castiel. He didn't know where the archangel and demon had wound up when he left, but he knew Castiel was in trouble. He'd caught a flash of him before he fell, a swirl of tan and bright blue. He'd been able to do nothing as Dean fell, just stared with the most painful expression he'd ever seen. And now he was there alone, with Lucifer and Sam, who was as good as Luci's puppet right now.

Dean had to save him. To save them both. There was no question.

He opened his hand, eyes widening a bit. Lucifer's charm rested in his palm. So this was his version of ruby slippers, huh? Well then, he mused, it was high time Dorothy went back to Oz and kicked some witch ass.

Except he really didn't know how to use the thing. Anna hadn't really instructed him on parallel world travel. He tightened his fist around the charm, pressing the cool metal into his skin. But there was no glow, and no wind picked up from nowhere.

"C'mon, stupid thing, work," he growled, squeezing it tighter. If he couldn't get back, he couldn't help Sam get back home. He couldn't help Gabriel and Crowley get out of whatever trouble they'd managed to land themselves in. He couldn't help Cas. He'd never see the angel again if he didn't go back. He couldn't let anything happen to him.

"Dammit, you gotta work!"

The charm began to grow warmer. It continued, until it was hot, almost too hot to keep hold of. But Dean was determined, biting down on his lip and only squeezing it tighter. It burned his palm. The normal over- brightness came on, but it didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular this time. There was no wind.

Anna left Sam's side, to close the door. He looked at her.

"Hey Anna."

"Yes?"

He offered a grin. "Take care of Sammy for now. And tell my dad that we'll be right back."

She smiled, giving him a nod.

His eyes fluttered shut a second later, and he fell back against the bed. The machines beeped in protest, and she quickly moved to the older brother's side. She put her hand on his arm and the machines calmed. She took the charm from his hand, her fingers smoothing over the sore skin of his palm.

She knew they could do it.