Happy Valentines Day! And Happy Tumblr Wedding Anniversary to a certain couple! ;)

Thursday, September 18th, 2008

Pontiac, Illinois

Outside of the money, Dean had run out of the store with little more than what he walked in with. He left the water bottle he had been drinking where he dropped it on the floor, and he didn't think to grab anything else in the mad dash out of there. Given that he was probably going to be killed again if he stayed there any longer, it was the right call. However, that assurance was not enough to quench his thirst.

The day got hot exceedingly fast. An Indian Summer had settled over the area, bringing with it bright sunny skies that heated up the atmosphere like a sauna. His skin was sticky with sweat he didn't know how he was producing given how dehydrated he was. A few times he thought he saw a puddle on the road and ran towards it, only to realize with great disappointment that it was a mirage. It was a little embarrassing how many times his mind managed to play that trick on him.

Once he felt he was far enough away, Dean stopped to count the money he managed to grab. He found he had four fifties, three twenties, two tens, and enough quarters to do about six loads of laundry. So, not much more than two-hundred fifty-five dollars. Not bad for an on-the-spot rob and dash. Still, it wouldn't matter unless he found his way back to civilization. Real civilization, not whatever that mess he'd just stumbled across was.

With that, he started walking again up the seemingly endless stretch of road. At least this time he didn't have the sickening feeling that something was incredibly, dangerously wrong. It was just hot, and Dean could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. That was the worst of it, and he couldn't be more relieved.

He ended up walking another forty-five minutes before he came across another sign of civilization. It came in the form of a dirty, old pickup truck barreling down the dusty country road. Dean didn't even think twice before flagging it down. Yes, he probably should have been more wary considering what he'd just come out of, but at the same time he hadn't seen a single car come down the road the entire time he was walking and had no idea when he would see another one. For his own sake, he couldn't pass up any chance at rescue he got.

Luckily, the driver saw what Dean was doing and pulled to a stop a few feet ahead of him. It was an older man behind the wheel, and he didn't object when Dean asked for a ride into the nearest town. To be safe, Dean slipped a "Christo" in as he thanked the man and saw now alarming reactions. Judging it to be safe enough, he got in the passenger's seat. The truck pulled back onto the road and he sat and watched the scenery fly by.

It took less than five minutes to reach the town by truck. Dean tried not to think about how long it would have taken him on foot. The man pulled the truck into the parking lot of a small, locally owned grocery store and dropped Dean off there. Dean turned to hand off the two tens to the man for the trouble, but he wouldn't take it. That was all well and good to Dean. More money for him.

As soon as Dean slammed the door, the pickup truck was pulling away again. Heading into the store, he took notice of a row of payphones lined up against the side of the building. He didn't stop to use one, even though his priority should have been to get into contact with Sam and Bobby. It was just that his insane thirst was overriding his logical judgement.

Dean almost threw up as soon as he stepped inside the store. The shock of the ice-cold air conditioning was a bit much on his overheated body. The only reason why he didn't end up vomiting was because he had nothing on his stomach. Instead, his stomach lurched hard enough for him to fall onto his hands and knees, earning him a couple of odd looks from the few shoppers within range. Dean sent them a sharp look back, but it wasn't nearly as potent as it could have been. Mostly because it was hard to be too annoyed when he was just relieved to be around actual people again instead of demons.

Despite the little hiccup when he walked in, Dean managed to find everything he needed and make it to the checkout line in record time. He bought a six pack of bottled water and as much candy as he could carry. It probably was a bad idea to eat candy on an upset stomach (in fact, he could hear that annoying voice that sounded and awfully lot like Sam in his head warning him against it) but he just got out of Hell. He deserved to have a Hershey bar if he wanted.

Unlike at the gas station, the cashier barely said two words to him as she rung up and bagged his purchases. He gave her one of the twenties and he got five dollars and an assortment of change back. Keeping the rough tally in his head going, that brought him down to two-hundred forty dollars. That was fine. He could still work with that.

As soon as he left the store, Dean ripped open the package of water, pulled out one of the bottles, opened it, and started chugging it down as fast as he could. He remembered Skye's earlier warning about taking it slow, but honestly his mouth was too dry to care. Besides, it wasn't like her word could be trusted anyway. Regardless, Dean did eventually find it in himself to pull the bottle away from his lips, pouring the rest of its contents over his head. Although the water was room temperature, it still brought a cool relief to his skin.

His next order of business – now that he had more than a single sip of water in him – was to get into contact with Sam and Bobby. Thankful he was able to grab more than enough quarters to make a phone call, he slotted his change into the first machine. He got a dial tone and immediately punched in Sam's number. Instead of ringing, though, all he got was a series of beeps.

"We're sorry," the feminine recorded voice said. "You have reached a number that has been disconnected."

Damn it! Dean slammed the phone back down on the receiver before feeding it more change. This time, he punched in Bobby's personal landline. The number hadn't changed in twenty years, so something would really have to be wrong not to at least get a ring. To Dean's relief it did in fact ring and it only had to do so once before it was picked up.

"Yeah?" Bobby's voice came over the landline like a godsend.

"Bobby?" Dean said.

"Yeah?"

"It's me."

"Who's 'me?'" For a second, Dean was disappointed that Bobby didn't recognize his voice.

"Dean." Before he could say any more, the line went dead. Again, he hung up the phone and fed it more change. It still didn't take more than one ring for Bobby to pick up.

"Who is this?" he asked in lieu of greeting.

"Bobby, listen to me," Dean tried to say, but it fell upon deaf ears.

"This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya."

The line went dead again. Dean knew better than to waste his change trying to call again. Bobby wasn't going to believe it was him until he saw him. Hanging up the phone, Dean took a deep breath and tried to shake off the weird feeling in his head. It didn't work, probably because he drank that water too fast.

Dean turned to look back out at the street and considered his options. He had no idea where he was, how far he was from Sioux Falls, and even if he did know those two things, he had no way to get there. He could hotwire a car, but there were too many witnesses around at that time of day. He had two-hundred forty dollars, but he had no idea if that would be enough for a bus ticket, never mind if there was even a bus depot nearby. That left him with trying to hoof it as far as he could and hope for the best. Maybe he'd be able to hitch another ride. All he knew was that he couldn't stay there anymore. He needed to put as much distance between him and whatever craziness he'd bared witness to as possible.

Collecting all his things, Dean started his trek out towards the road. Knowing that Sioux Falls was likely to be north of wherever he was, he started heading in that direction. It was all he could do, really.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

It took Dean an hour of straight walking to find a car that looked abandoned enough to steal. In that time, he learned he had woken up in Pontiac, Illinois, but not much else. He also drained another bottle of water faster than he probably should have. To that point, he hadn't experienced any ill effects, so that had to be a good sign.

The car that Dean found was an older model parked out in the middle of a field. There were no people or buildings nearby and traffic was completely dead, so he took the opportunity while he could. Hotwiring the car proved easy and it was in good, running condition. The only hurdle that presented itself was the car's need for gas and the exorbitant rate gas stations were charging for it. ($4.50 a gallon, were they out of their minds?) It was worth it, though, just to get to Bobby's pronto with the added benefit of air conditioning.

The ride up to Sioux Falls took a few hours, which gave Dean time to think. Specifically, about what happened and what was still happening. There was so much he didn't understand. How did he come back from Hell? What happened in that gas station? What was that vision he saw and who was the man talking to him in it?

The vision particularly left a cold spot in the pit of Dean's stomach. He didn't even see anything, only a flash. There wasn't even anything particularly threatening about it. It was just filled with an immeasurable amount of coldness, sorrow, and pain. The pain hit the hardest, the way it carried through the man's voice as he spoke.

"When I experienced a moment of true happiness… It would take me forever."

Dean banked off to the side of the road and just barely made it out of the car before he spilled the meager contents of his stomach all over the ground. Yep, he shouldn't have chugged down all that water that fast, and he shouldn't have chased it down with half a bag of M&Ms.

It took about a minute or so for the heaving to stop. Several cars passed by, honking their horns at Dean's haphazard emergency parking job as they went. One couple was courteous enough to slow down and ask if he needed any help. Dean gave them the best assurance that he was fine that he could and waved them on. Thankfully, they didn't linger.

After that, Dean forced himself to get behind the wheel and back on the highway. Throwing up hadn't helped anything. His head was still throbbing and his back ached. The only thing that changed was that he now tasted vomit at the back of his throat. He uncapped another water bottle and (slowly this time) took a sip to wash it down. It was only a slight bit of relief, but Dean was more than willing to take it.

For the rest of the drive, Dean didn't dare eat anything and kept his water consumption down to a few short, slow sips several minutes apart. He kept both his eyes and his mind on the road. He didn't let his thoughts drift back to the vision. It was probably irrational – because he only threw up because he didn't pace himself with eating and drinking correctly – but just to be safe, he kept his mind empty of everything except for his destination.

It seemed to work out for him, as Dean didn't throw up again. In fact, his stomach felt relatively settled by the time he pulled up at Bobby's. That was a relief at least and with that concern gone, there was nothing to deter Dean from running right up to the door and slamming his fist against the wood.

The door swung open and hopeful relief took over Dean as he laid eyes on Bobby. He didn't look at all different from when he last saw him. Dean almost cracked a smile while Bobby's eyes narrowed.

"Surprise," Dean said, hoping the lightness of the remark would help ease the situation. It didn't.

"I…" Bobby's mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find the words. "I don't…"

"Yeah, me neither," Dean admitted as he stepped forward through the door. "But here I am."

Bobby was quiet for a moment longer. Dean thought he might still be stunned with disbelief and was caught off-guard when Bobby slashed at his face with a silver knife. Dean dived his head to dodge it, catching Bobby's arm and trying to push it a way. Instead, Bobby pulled Dean behind him and slammed the back of his fist into his face. Dean stumbled backwards but managed to rebalance himself and ran through the archway into Bobby's office, trying to get a safe amount of distance between them.

"Bobby," Dean called out. "Bobby, it's me!"

"My ass!" Bobby moved towards Dean with the knife raised. Thinking fast, Dean pulled an office chair between them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!" Dean held out a hand and Bobby came to a stop. "Your name is Robert Steven Singer," Dean stated as fast as he could. "You became a hunter after your wife got possessed. You're about the closest thing I have to a father." Bobby started to lower the knife a bit and Dean took that as a good sign as he straightened up. "Bobby, it's me."

Bobby still seemed to be stunned for a second but broke out of it enough to push the chair out of the way and take a few steps closer. Slowly, he put a hand on Dean's shoulder. Again, Dean found himself close to a smile. That was, until Bobby tried slashing at him again. Dean avoided the knife and grabbed Bobby's arm, this time successfully managing to pin it behind him.

"I'm not a shapeshifter," he insisted.

"Then you're a revenant!" After a bit of a struggle, Bobby managed to break free of Dean's grip. Dean let him, as he had managed to free the silver knife from Bobby's grip. He held it up for Bobby to see, along with a placating hand.

"Alright," he said. "If I was either, could I do this with a silver knife?"

Dean rolled up his sleeve to expose the tender – and now apparently scarless – skin of his arm. Slowly, he dragged the knife across it causing a thin line of dark red blood to spill out. His breathing staggered against the pain, but otherwise he was unaffected. Dean looked up at Bobby to see a mind-boggling mix of confusion and comprehension take over the other man's features.

"Dean?" he finally said.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you." Dean stepped forward. In a breathless show of emotion, Bobby met him halfway and pulled him in for a tight hug. Dean let the relief wash over him that his surrogate father finally believed him. They remained in the embrace for a moment longer before Dean finally pulled back.

"It's good to see you, boy," Bobby said.

"Yeah, you too," Dean returned the sentiment along with a squeeze of Bobby's shoulder. Now that the joy of the reunion was ebbing aside, Dean could see a hundred different questions forming behind Bobby's eyes.

"But how… How did you bust out?"

"I don't know," Dean said with a minute shake of his head. He looked to the side for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts. "I just, uh… I just woke up in a pine box…" Just as Dean turned to look back, cool water splashed right in his face. He took a second to blink the water out of his eyes and spit out the little that flew into his mouth. "I'm not a demon either, you know."

"Sorry," Bobby said with a shrug. "Can't be too careful."

As they made a quick detour to the kitchen so Dean could dry off, he explained everything that had happened to him since he woke up. …Well, not everything. He told Bobby about the weird encounter he had at the gas station, but he left out the part where that overwhelming sound triggered a vision that he couldn't explain. He didn't know why, but the idea of saying anything about it just felt wrong. He didn't have a legitimate reason as to why that was, it just felt like something he was supposed to keep to himself. So, he did.

It didn't do much to change the oddness of the events, however. Bobby was still trying to wrap his head around it as they walked back into the office.

"That don't make a lick of sense," he said.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Yeah, you're preaching to the choir." Behind the desk, Bobby turned to look back at him.

"Dean," he said. "Your chest was ribbons. Your insides were slop, and you've been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of Hell and back in your meat suit…"

"I know," Dean said. "I should look like a 'Thriller' video reject."

"What do you remember?" Bobby asked.

"Not much," Dean lied. "I remember I was a Hellhound's chew toy, and then lights out." He could still hear screams echoing in the back of his mind. "Then I come to six feet under. That was it."

"And this girl at the gas station," Bobby said. "Who was she?"

"Don't know," Dean said. "I invoked the name of Christ in front of her and she didn't react. So, not a demon."

"You didn't try anything else?" Bobby asked. "Salt, silver, holy water?"

"Bobby, I just dug myself out of my grave," Dean said. "I wasn't exactly fully prepared."

"And the noise?" Dean shook his head.

"Don't know," he said. "The girl seemed just as affected by it as I was, so I don't think it was her. Had to be something else." Bobby sighed as he sat down in his chair. Dean shifted gears to other concerns. "Sam's number's not working. He's not…?"

"Oh, he's alive," Bobby assured. "As far as I know." Dean nodded.

"Good." Then, it hit him exactly what he said. "What do you mean, as far as you know?"

"I haven't talked to him for months," Bobby explained.

"You're kidding," Dean said, incredulous. "You let him go off by himself?"

"He was dead-set on it," Bobby said as he got back up from his desk.

"Bobby, you should have been looking after him." Bobby knew that's what he wanted, right; that after he was gone, Bobby would look after Sam? Hurt slightly tainted Dean's tone and the look in his eyes.

"I tried," Bobby asserted, his eyes locking hard on Dean. "These last months haven't been exactly easy, you know – for him or for me." Dean looked down, feeling the weight of his guilt. "We had to bury you." That brought up a good question.

"Why did you bury me, anyway?" he asked, looking back up.

"I wanted you salted and burned," Bobby said. "Usual drill, but Sam wouldn't have it."

"Well, I'm glad he won on that one," Dean remarked.

"He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow." The gears started clicking for Dean. "That's about all he said."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"He was quiet," Bobby said. "Real quiet. Then he just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him, but he don't wanna be found." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Damn it, Sammy," he said.

"What?"

"Oh, he got me home okay," Dean said, anger building up in his tone. "But whatever he did, it is bad mojo."

"What makes you so sure?" Bobby asked.

"You should've seen the grave site," Dean said. "It was like a nuke went off. Then there's this…" He slipped off one half of his button-up and rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt, showing off the raised burn that marred his skin. Bobby jumped as soon as he saw it.

"What in the hell?"

"That bad?" Dean asked. "I've got to admit I haven't really gotten around to looking at it real close yet."

"Dean, that's a handprint!" His eyes went wide.

"What?" He tried to angle his arm to get a more complete look. He tried to see what Bobby was talking about but couldn't. It just remained an amorphous burn shape to him. "You're joking."

"I'm not," Bobby said, outright serious. "It's a fully-formed human handprint." Dean started to reach out to poke it. "My guess is whatever yanked you out of there left it's mark on you." Dean shuddered at the thought and pulled his sleeve back down. Of course, the thing that saved him would want to brand him like cattle. That was just the sick, sick world that they lived in.

"Yeah, that," Dean said. "Or they rode me out."

"Why?" Bobby asked.

"To hold up their end of the bargain." Disbelief crossed Bobby's face.

"You think Sam made a deal?" Slowly, Dean nodded.

"That's what I would have done."

It's what I did do.

After a well-guessed call to a cellphone service provider, Dean found out that Sam's cellphone was still active, just under a different number. He asked the woman on the other end of the line to turn on the GPS for him – claiming that he lost it. He then logged into Sam's service account online (which again, he made way too easy to get into) and found it located in the town of Pontiac, Illinois – where Dean had just come from.

God damn it, Sammy! He should have kept his eyes pealed for any signs that his brother was nearby. Though, short of spotting Baby, he wasn't sure there was anything he could have really done to find him besides running through the streets of Pontiac screaming "Sammy! Sammy!" like a crazed abusive spouse at four in the morning. It was disheartening to think that he could have been that close to his brother and not even known it, but Dean couldn't let that affect him.

Seeing as he was facing another seven-hour (possibly longer as rush hour was starting to set in) car ride back to the place he just was, he figured it was as good a time as any to use the bathroom and get some of the lingering dirt and blood off his hands. Washing up, he splashed some cool water on his face. Although he'd been drinking water and under air conditioning the entire ride up, Dean still felt overly hot. It was like the entirety of his skin was burning with electricity. It didn't do much to help his nerves, which still felt a little shaky – though nowhere near the inexplicable terror he had felt before.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Dean's eyes drifted over to his shoulder. Seeing as now he had the time; he slipped his button-up sleeve back off and rolled up his t-shirt again. Now that he had a clear, stark reflection there was no doubt that the burn on his shoulder was in the shape of a handprint. Although initially startled by it, Dean reached his other hand across and set it down directly on top of the mark.

Then there was pain. Not from his arm, surprisingly, but from inside his head. Dean squeezed his eyes shut against it, but despite that he was still faced with a scene playing out right before him. The same scene from earlier.

The same man faced him. The same emotions played through Dean's body, only this time it was just a bit more intense. His heart stuttered in his chest.

What the hell is this?

"I always wondered," the man said as he took a step towards Dean. "Ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what it could be; what my true happiness could even look like, and I never found an answer. Because the one thing I want… It's something I know I can't have."

He snapped out of it as he abruptly pulled his hand away. Bracing his hands against the sink, Dean took a few deep breaths to settle himself. It didn't help much. He still felt some level of terror and anxiety gripping his being like a violent current. He tried splashing more water on his face but it didn't work. He still felt hot, nauseous, and above all, afraid.

What is wrong with me?

Thank you to Little One and READINGREADER for their comments on AO3, as well as READINGREADER, idcishipit, midge_x, dndgvyd, and the two guests who left kudos! Thanks also go to Catgodess92 for the follow on FFN! It really means a lot!

I hope you're all still enjoying this story. I know my first author's note was kind of confusing, so I'm gonna just restate what you need to know.

All you need to know about Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is Skye's storyline from Season 1 and 2 (so basically just her back story.)

All you need to know about Supernatural is Seasons 1, 2, and 3 (as this is a Season 4 re-write) and Season 15 (for very apparent reasons.) So basically you need to know all of Supernatural. I just phrased it that way to make it seem less daunting, but instead it caused confusion. So, sorry about that.

Remember kids, you can have anything you want.

Originally uploaded to FFN on 2/14/22.