Sorry I haven't written anything on this in so long. I simply didn't have the time.
So apparently, asterisks don't show up on . Who knew? And there were lots of pretty, happy little asterisks running around frolicking in the last chapter.
Thanks to reviewers for your helpful insights and praise.
Disclaimer: see Chp 1.
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Less than fifteen minutes later, Sam Winchester stepped from the tiny bathroom in clean clothes and wet hair. Ellen looked up from her post at Dean's bedside, shocked to see Sam wearing a cream colored button up with an adobe paisley print, the sleeves rolled up just short of the elbow, with a white tee underneath barely showing at the collar.
"Well, I'll be," she said, standing. "I haven't seen you lookin' this spiffy in years!"
Sam shrugged, letting a half smile cross his lips. "You know, I figured if Dean was gonna come too soon, maybe he should wake to someone he actually recognized."
Ellen pulled him into a hug. "It's about damn time you showed back up. We've missed you... But I think that scar kinda gives you away."
Sam chuckled silently. "Yeah. How's he doin'?" He released her from the hug and moved to Dean's bed, instinctively checking for a pulse again.
It was Ellen's turn to shrug. "No change that I can see, but at least he's not screaming anymore."
"Where's Bobby?"
"He went to find Dean some clothes, said he'd be back in 'bout an hour." She sat on the foot of the bed. "We'll head out to get the Impala as soon as he gets back."
Silent for a moment, Sam walked over to the window and moved the curtain only slightly to peek out. "No, don't be ridiculous, Ellen. You guys haven't even slept yet, and it doesn't look like Dean's going to be needing the car as soon as I'd hoped."
"Don't give up on him, Sam." She laid a gentle hand on Dean's sheet-clad leg. "He's been through a lot. It'll take some time."
Both were quiet for a few minutes, though Sam moved over to his bed and sat down facing Dean. Eventually, Ellen rose and headed for the door.
"Can I get you anything?" She asked softly as she placed her hand on the doorknob.
"Whiskey, straight up," he responded with a smirk.
She only smiled and shook her head slightly as she pulled the door to behind her.
((((((((((((((((Dean's Dreams)))))))))))))))))
"Dean!"
"Sammy??" Dean called, unsure if he was actually hearing his name.
"Dean!!" He heard it again.
"Sam!?" Dean tried to stand, but seemed to be stuck in some sort of cement. Wherever he was, it was very dark. He had thought Sam was calling to him. It would be good to see Sam, he felt like he hadn't seen him in ages, but he felt like he'd just gotten to this place.
There was something wrong, though. He didn't know quite what, but something was nagging at him. There was some reason, something very important that he had been kept from his brother. He just couldn't remember what. And what was the substance holding him?
"Sammy?? You'll have to come to me! I can't move!" He shouted, and in the distance he again thought he heard his little brother's call.
Can he not hear me? I can hear him, and I can yell louder than he ever could, so if I can hear him, he should be able to hear me. Dean thought.
He struggled fiercely against his unseen bonds. If Sam couldn't get to him, then he'd just have to get to Sam. "Sam!!"
Dean continued to struggle, wriggle, twist, squirm...anything he could think of to break free. He could not see what was holding him, but it was very effective. Fight though he may, he knew that this was not something to get angry about, just something that needed to be conquered, like the many other tribulations in the strange, strange lives of the Winchesters.
"Sam!"
"Hahahahaha..." a maniacal laughter issued from behind Dean, though his imprisonment would not allow him to turn and see from who, or what. "'Sammy, Sammy, help me Sammy!'" the voice began to mock him.
"Who's there?"
"Why Dean, I'm hurt you don't recognize my voice." The speaker paused, as if giving Dean time to sort through the newest clue in a puzzle game.
For his part, Dean was wracking his gray-matter to try to place the voice. After a couple of minutes, he put forth a guess. "Rumplestiltskin? No, no, I'm sorry, you're Thumbilina?"
"Aw, nice try, but no cigar. Surely you'd remember me if I stuck some pretty young mother to the ceiling and lit a crib on fire."
"Azazel, you son of a bitch!" Dean called into the dark, knowing that there was a yellow-eyed demon wearing some poor bastard's meat near by. He was beginning to get a little more concerned about his well being now that he knew Sam's was not the only voice in the dark. Shit, his thoughts immediately whisked away from his own well-being, Is he wearing Sam's meat?? The voice did sound an awful lot like Sam's.
But the demon interrupted his concerned thought chain. "Aw, careful now, that'd be my mother you were speaking of...if I had one, anyway, I'm sure I'd love her, and want to protect her honor."
Thankfully, the voice no longer resembled Sam's at all; in fact, it now sounded like the unfortunate janitor whom Azazel had been possessing when Dean shot him.
"You're dead. I killed you. How are you here? What do you want?" Dean squirmed, he wasn't sure why, but he could feel that he was very familiar with not being able to move, not being able to control his extremities. It was starting to get very old, very fast.
"Want? Oh, I already have what I want. Little Sammy leading my demon army, you rotting in Hell...what more could a guy ask for?"
It all came flooding back to Dean. He was in Hell. The reason he couldn't move, yesterday (or was that last week?) he had been shredded once again by the Choronzon. But he was certain that Sam was not leading any demon army. If Sam was ever going to use those powers Azazel had provided, he would have done it to keep Dean from going to Hell in the first place, like that bitch Ruby had tried convincing him to do.
"You're lying," he said, directing it simply into the darkness. "He would never do that."
"Ha ha ha...you've been gone a very long time, Dean. You always touted the glories of family...all for one and one for all, right?" The voice moved in a circle around Dean, it's source pacing slowly around the room. "Well, imagine Sam, left all alone... One for himself."
"Lyyyingg!" Dean shouted childishly.
"Am I? People do desperate things in desperate times. Just remember what you did, what really got you here. You're so pathetic, Dean; you couldn't even deal with your brother's death. You Winchesters really are all alike. What do you think Sam's been up to since your death? What extremes do you think he could have gone to since he already killed that red-eyed bitch you went whining to?"
Dean didn't respond, his mind consumed in it's own depths seeking any possible memories that could prove certainly one way or the other. He couldn't believe that Sam would ever go 'dark side', something that Dean had specifically forbade, practically begging Sam to stay true to who he was and not dependent upon some demon's power.
But that was really it, wasn't it? Dean had to beg Sam not to do it. Sam had spent almost his entire life resisting authority, John, and Dean. And without Dean there to prevent it, how could he know that Sam hadn't?
I have to get to Sam! Dean thought frantically, struggling harder against his unseen bonds.
As he struggled, the voice in the darkness simply continued to laugh maniacally.
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Author's Note:
Since the last thing I wrote was prior to Season 3, I had to encorporate Ruby into this (sorry, to those of you who hate her). I'm a little rusty, hopefully I did it justice. There will be more.
(On a similar note, poor Lauren Cohen. Love her, hate that character. Too bad it didn't work out for her. I wish her luck on her career.)
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