I'm back! And I have a funny story. We've had bad storms coming through all week, and on Saturday night my dad decided to pack up the camper in the dark after I'd already gone to bed and drive the ten miles that it would take us to get hime. I got to sleep in my own bed until two, when I got woken up by bad weather and a tornado warning. One actually touched down in Omaha, but missed us. I can't imagine being stuck in a twister at a campground...

Anyway, now that we've taken inventory of our family (who live near the touch-down spot) and our shingles (which are stil intact) as well as our trees, cars, and camper, here's chapter 10!

Chapter 10

Maybe Redemption Has Stories To Tell

He wasn't sure how long he'd stayed in the sewer, just watching that muddy water fly by, but he knew that nearly everyone back at headquarters was asleep by the time he finally decided to return to the company of living, breathing beings.

Sam lay on a hard cot and stared up at the stone ceiling, wishing for sleep, for release, for a way to subconsciously sort out the events of the day. It seemed an eternity ago that he'd had Bela's fresh blood on his hands, that he'd been unable to feel anything at all. It seemed like eons since he'd been possessed, had watched himself do unspeakable things as a cold feminine voice laughed in his head.

He struggled to close his eyes and keep them closed, to block out the day and what it could mean. It was impossible, what Dean had suggested.

Suggested, or flat-out said? a cool voice in the back of his head whispered, because let's be honest here, buddy-boy. You watched that thing rape her, and you are kinda the spawn of Satan. It all adds up, right?

He would have retorted, would have said something, but held back. After all, there were sleeping things all around him, undoubtedly dreaming of what was to come the next day, the battle to be waged. He didn't want to risk waking them up.

Something tapped the bottom of Sam's foot, and he cracked his eyes open, almost scared to see what it was. Dean was standing at the end of the cot, an amused expression on his stolen face. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Trying to sleep," Sam whispered, "you have a problem with that?"

Dean grinned. "Come on, man," he said, turning and motioning for Sam to follow him, "got something to show you."

Sam followed, realizing just how easily the action came, how much he trusted this man who acted and spoke and even walked like his brother, but looked nothing like him. The younger hunter was operating on blind trust here, and not caring at all if he was being played. Hell, he didn't even suspect it. Somehow, it was all ok, just as long as he wasn't alone, as long as he could pretend that he'd gotten his brother back.

The pair wove through the cots and scattered sleeping bags, making their way to the back hall where Bela's office sat. Sam wondered where they were going, but didn't bother to ask. He'd missed being able to trust people. It was a good feeling.

Dean led him through a door that stood open at the end of the hall, flipping a switch and illuminating the room with a single bare bulb. Two beds had been pushed against the far wall, with a small table and broken lamp separating them. A cracked mirror hung over a small dresser on the other side of the room, near a table and chair that sat in the corner. A few bad paintings hung on the walls.

"What is this?" Sammy asked. He knew what it looked like, but not what it was actually supposed to be.

"It's my room," Dean said with a grin.

Sam looked over the décor once more. It made sense, he supposed, in a twisted way that could only belong to his brother. Growing up, all they'd really known were motel rooms. It seemed reasonable that, given the chance to have a room all his own, Dean would model it after what he'd always known.

And there were two beds. He tried not to dwell on that.

"How come you get your own cushy room and everyone else gets cots?" he asked as his brother closed the door.

"Because I'm special," Dean replied, "so are Jo and Bela. We're the Big Three, in case you missed it."

"The Big Three?"

"Yeah. As in, Lex, Clark, and Lana. I'm not Lana, by the way."

Sam grinned, walking to a bed and pulling down the sheets, testing the mattress and finding it to be superior to the cot. "And how does one become a member of the Smallville cast?"

"First off," Dean said, digging through the dresser for something suitable to wear to bed, "you have to be pretty. So, sorry, but you're out. Tell you what, though, maybe you can be Jason. He was fun to hate, maim, and kill."

"Great. Just what I've always wanted. A signed death warrant. Seriously though, what's up with your evil council of three?"

"There were more," the older man said, giving up his search and sitting down on the edge of his bed, looking at Sam. "It started with Bela. She found more people. Everyone acted as a soldier, but the really experienced ones got to help with the decision making."

"You and Jo are considered experienced?"

"It was me and Jo, yeah, but there were others. That vampire, Lenore. Rufus Turner acted as a consultant, refused to fight. We had a witch and another vamp that you never would have heard of. And Meg."

"Meg?"

Dean nodded. "Meg. She sided with us after you tried to kill her. Not that you didn't get around to it eventually, but…"

"So everyone you just listed," Sam said, "they're all dead? All but you and Jo?"

"One of your goonies got Lenore when she was out on a feed run. Rufus died in his sleep. Old age. The witch was poisoned by a member of her old coven that she thought she could trust. We got her back, by the way. The other vamp was killed in a fight, nothing more than a scuffle, but the other guy had a machete. Meg was on an undercover mission-"

"Like what you do?"

"Yeah. Only she got caught. I like to think I'm smarter than that."

Sam sighed, letting himself slide under the covers, relishing the warmth that suddenly flowed through his system. It couldn't have been the thin sheets. He looked over at Dean, finding himself getting used to the new body, the kid fighting as a soldier in a war that he never should have come to know. Then again, that sounded exactly like the Dean he'd always known.

The older man stood up and crossed the room to turn off the lights, plunging the small room into darkness. Sam could hear him going back to his bed, climbing in, covering up. "Good night, Sammy."

For a moment, he forgot how to respond, had spent so much time missing those words that when he heard them he was dumbstruck. He barely managed to reply, to send out his own nightly wishes for his brother. It was really happening. He'd really gotten his brother back. Had searched the world and found a way, as messed up as the end might have been from his original plan. He'd succeeded. There was just one thing he needed to know.

"What was it like?"

Soft rustling sounds, most likely Dean shifting in the other bed. "What was what like?"

Sam wasn't sure if he should ask, if the subject was sore, but he kind of needed to know, to satisfy a sick curiosity innate in all humans. "Hell."

Dean sighed. "Was wondering when you were gonna ask." He fell silent for a moment, and Sam was afraid that maybe he'd said the wrong thing, made the older man mad. Then Dean spoke, easing Sam's doubts and fears. "Meg said it's a prison made of bone and flesh and blood and fear."

"Is it?"

"No. Not at all. I mean, it's no vacation, but it ain't that bad."

If there was one thing Sam knew about his brother, it was when he was lying. It was subtle in his features, but shone from his eyes, echoed in his words. "Really?"

"Yeah. You need to stop worrying so much about me. I can take care of myself."

"What should I worry about?"

"You know that thing we talked about earlier? Back in the sewer? That's what you should worry about. Doing right by what you've got left instead of focusing so much on what you've lost. Just let me go, Sammy."

"You know I can't do that."

Dean sighed. "Not completely. But you have to try, man, because questing after something you'll never find is gonna kill you inside. You really wanna wind up like dad? You wanna ignore your responsibilities to your family chasing down some damned, dirty demon?"

"You're not-"

"Because that's what you're doing, whether you like it or not. And just like dad, you're gonna destroy yourself. Only you're gonna end up taking everyone and everything down with you." The soft rustle of the sheets sounded again, signaling that Dean had turned away, that the conversation was over. Sam wasn't about to let it go so easily.

"You really expect me to do that? To give up on you and go running to someone who probably hates me? How do I even know you're telling the truth? Demons lie."

The bait was set, but Dean didn't bite. A soft sigh, barely audible, told Sam all that he needed to know about that. He'd gone too far, hit a nerve, made an even bigger mess of things.

"Look, man," he amended, "I didn't mean-"

"Go to sleep, Sam. Big day tomorrow."

Sam sighed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the dark ceiling. "You can tell me the truth, you know. You can tell me what it was like."

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Imagine being helpless. Not being able to help yourself, or your family, or anyone that you love. Imagine being in constant pain. Having your body cut and pulled and bent in ways it isn't supposed to be. Imagine calling for help and knowing that no one's going to hear you or care. Imagine being alone for all of eternity. That's Hell."

"No," Sam whispered, "that was the last two years."

"But you didn't have to be alone," Dean pointed out, his tone indicating that the subject was closed. And, Sam realized as sleep began invading his body, pulling him from his muddled thoughts and twisted reality, he had a point. Hell was what you made it, where you made it, when you made it. And he'd certainly made it.