We'll Always Have Kansas : Chapter 2 by asesina

Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns Supernatural.

A/n: Thanks for the reviews. I was going to leave the story as an open-ended oneshot, but I decided to add another chapter and build on the first one.

Let me know what you think!

"Well everything was easy then, so sweet and innocent
But your demons and your angels reappeared
Leavin' only traces of the man you thought you'd be
Leavin' me with no place left to go from here
Leavin' you so many questions all these years"

-Sheryl Crow, "Always on Your Side"

Dean Winchester swallowed nervously and lifted his cell phone to his ear. He could hear his ragged breathing become shakier with each passing moment, but he could only hear static on the other end of the phone.

He was about to hang up when he heard a tiny, unsure voice croak,

"Dean?"

"Sammy?" Dean shouted. His own voice was unrecognizably desperate and low.

"Dean, y-you're alive?" he heard the voice exclaim. The speaker sounded so much like Sam, but Dean didn't want to get his hopes up. This could be some kind of cruel trick.

"Is this really Sam?" Dean asked. He felt his heart began to beat wildly as he waited for 5 interminable seconds for Sam's reply.

"Yeah, Dean. I just—," he faltered, taking in an audibly shuddering breath.

"Sam, what's going on?" Dean asked frantically. He searched in vain for Sam, looking wildly left and right as he strained to hear Sam's quiet voice.

"Dean, I thought you died," Sam admitted.

"I thought you were dead as a doornail too, Sammy," Dean said. He couldn't hide the unmistakable quaver that snuck into his voice as he said his little brother's name.

"Yeah, well I guess I'm not," Sam said. Dean could hear his breath hitch.

If he didn't know better, he'd think that Sam had been crying.

"Dean, where the hell are you?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean was gripped with an overwhelming desire to find his little brother and make sure that he was whole, safe, and just to see that he was really Sam again.

"Sam, I'm in Lawrence. Where are you?" Dean demanded as he began to run down the quiet cul-de-sac.

"You're not gonna believe me, Dean, but I'm in my old bedroom," Sam said softly. He was about to say something else, but the line suddenly went dead.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean called frantically. He looked at the cell phone display and saw that the call had been dropped.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. Dean raced down the street, frantically searching for the two-story Colonial that they used to call home.

Dean didn't recognize any of the homes on the left side of the street, so he jogged across the road and began looking for it on the other side.

He suddenly spotted a pink Cape Cod that was vaguely familiar to him. An old lady used to live there with her bum of a grandson and 15 cats.

"Mrs. James," he muttered to himself. Images of her house all decorated for Christmas floated through his mind, and Dean felt a pang of nostalgia as he realized how long ago that really was.

He had missed out on so many memories in this town.

Dean was brought back to the present by the urgent need to find Sam and tell him what the hell had just happened.

Sam had sounded distant on the phone, almost broken in a way. He definitely didn't sound like the Anti-Christ.

Did he?

Dean hoped to heaven that it wasn't a trap as he wandered down the sidewalk towards his childhood home.

When he finally arrived at the mailbox, Dean's breath caught in his throat. He stared at the house with a dull sense of wonder as he pondered the surreal nature of it all.

"There's no place like home," he thought with a grimace as he walked down the cracked cement path to the front door. The grass was sickly and yellow in the late afternoon light, and it was covered with dandelions and onion grass.

Dean noticed a distinct lack of cars, bikes, and other normal touches of humanity around the house.

Something was definitely up.

When he reached the front door, Dean put a tentative hand on the door knob. He was surprised to see that the door wasn't locked, and he felt for his .45 just to be safe.

Dean kicked open the front door and held the gun at arm's length as he cautiously made his down the hallway. The house was eerily silent and disturbingly clean. For an abandoned house, it was sorely lacking in both dust and spider webs.

"Anyone home?" Dean called out.

No answer.

Dean slowly made his way up the stairs. He winced every time the old wood creaked underfoot. How the hell could he sneak up on anyone if the house threw a hissy fit every time he put his foot down?

Dean paused in front of the door to Sam's room. He braced himself for a struggle as he pulled his leg back and kicked open the door with a powerful blow.

"Sam?" Dean called. The room appeared to be empty, but something wasn't right.

Dean tried to shake off the creepy feeling that taunted his mind and caused him to shiver involuntarily.

"Dean?"

"Sam?"

Dean whirled around and was stunned to see Sam standing less two meters away from him.

He lifted his gun and aimed it squarely at Sam's chest.

"Why should I trust you?" Dean demanded. He instantly felt guilty when he saw the desperation in Sam's hazel eyes.

This was definitely his brother.

That, or a really convincing shape-shifter.

"Dean, please," Sam begged. He raised his hand in protest and took a step closer to Dean.

"Shoot me if you have to. I don't care, man. I just wanted to see you one last time," Sam said softly.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam said quietly. His voice cracked mid-sentence. Sam hung his head dejectedly and blinked back tears and Dean slowly lowered his gun.

"Sam," Dean said firmly.

Sam looked up and stared directly into his big brother's eyes.

"We've got a lot to talk about, man," Dean said. He put his gun back in its holster and turned to look around the room.

"Hell of a lot of memories in this place, huh?" he said slowly, attempting to break the awkward silence that had fallen over the room.

"Dean," Sam said softly. He crossed the distance between him and Dean and drew his brother into a tight, desperate embrace for a moment. Dean's eyes widened, but he patted Sam awkwardly on the back when he felt his brother's shoulders shake with a muted sob.

"Sam, what was that for?" Dean asked quietly.

"Dean, I thought you died," Sam said. He let a few tears fall from his eyes before hastily wiping them away.

"I screwed up, man," he added, putting a hand on his forehead as he lowered himself into a sitting position.

"You could say that again," Dean mumbled.

"Sam, how much do you remember?" Dean asked suddenly.

"I can still feel it, Dean," Sam said softly.

"What do you mean, Sam?" Dean inquired. He knelt down in front of Sam and looked directly into his eyes.

"I remember killing you," Sam said simply.

"Well, ya did a hell of a job killing me, Sam," Dean said with a smirk.

"No, I remember seeing the flash of a sword and I just dodged it. Someone else was inside of me," Sam admitted.

"Lucifer," Dean spat.

"Yeah. It was all him, Dean. I tried to fight it, but he completely took over. I would've never killed you," he added, looking directly at Dean.

Dean knew that he was telling the truth.

"Do you know about the rest of the battle? A lot of shit happened, man," Dean said slowly. He was cautious with the details. He wasn't sure if Sam had the same instant angel-amnesia that he did.

"Well, I know that I gave in," Sam said dejectedly.

"I did too, man," Dean admitted with some half-hearted commiseration.

"What else do you know?" Sam asked. He shifted his position so that he was sitting Indian-style on the carpet.

"Well, I got a visit form Cas," Dean said.

"What did he want?" Sam asked.

"Well, he basically said that the Apocalypse is over and that I'm supposed to usher in a new era of peace or something," Dean said with a shrug.

"Your deal sounds better than mine," Sam replied in a quiet voice.

"What's going on with you, Sam?" Dean asked in a firm voice. He tried to fight off his desire to return to his role as protective big brother.

"Well, I was visited by an angel too. She said that I had given in to temptation," Sam began.

"Woah, woah. She? Sounds like your deal is better than mine, Sam. I always get harassed by the male demons and male angels. You get all the fine supernatural broads," Dean said with a grin.

"Come on, Dean. She looked like an old lady," Sam said.

"Really? Oh," Dean said apathetically.

"No, she really looked like Scarlett Johansson," Sam admitted.

"Ok, now I'm interested," Dean said. He maneuvered himself into a more comfortable position as he readied himself for Sam's story.

"She said that I wasn't beyond redemption, but there was a catch. She said that I had to be purified before I could enter paradise," he continued, furrowing his brow as he tried to make sense of the angel's revelation.

"Why did she bring you back to Lawrence, Sam?" Dean questioned.

"I don't know, man," Sam said with a sigh.

"Maybe they wanted us to meet each other. We could've been like Cain and Abel, but we both survived the Apocalypse," Dean mused.

"We're more like Castor and Pollux," Sam replied with a slight grin.

It was the first time Dean had seen him smile in a long time.

"Are you about to get all Greek mythology- geek boy on me?" Dean asked with a smile.

"Yeah, actually. Castor and Pollux were twins. Pollux was immortal, but Castor was mortal. Castor died and Pollux asked Zeus to let him share his own immortality with his twin. Zeus turned them into the Gemini constellation so they would always be together," Sam said softly.

Dean paused to take in the meaning of the myth for a moment.

"Maybe we're like them, or maybe we're like Romulus and Remus," Dean countered, a tiny bit proud that he remembered something from mythology 101.

"I'm surprised you remembered that," Sam said with a grin. Dean shrugged and motioned for Sam to continue his story.

"The angel told me that I was doomed to wander, Dean. She said that I would slowly begin to remember my old life before I became Lucifer's vessel. She also said that I wouldn't be spared any of the details of the battles," Sam said with a wince.

"It's the same thing with me and Cas, Sam. I don't remember everything about becoming Michael. I remember feeling pretty badass, but I don't know why I said yes. I guess that I had had enough of your shit," Dean said with a frown.

He regretted saying that, but he couldn't gloss over the fact that his little brother had been Lucifer's vessel.

The devil.

Holy shit.

Dean smirked and suggested, "maybe they should make t-shirts for us saying something like 'I was an angel's bitch' or 'my ass belongs to the devil'. Maybe something about surviving the Apocalypse and only getting this stupid t-shirt."

"How about a big red, horned 'I'm with stupid' sign with an arrow pointing at yourself," Dean added. Sam frowned impatiently.

"This isn't about novelty t-shirts, Dean. We have to figure out our own paths now, and it sounds like we're supposed to be doing two very different things," Sam said.

"Well, I'm supposed to lead the people of the world to peace, and you've gotta wander the earth. You can travel a lot faster by car," Dean said.

"I don't know, Dean. My journey is more about self-discovery. I'm supposed to do my penance before I can be cleansed. It's almost like purgatory," he reasoned, pausing to think about the implications about what he just said.

"Sam, did any of this angel and devil shit ever make sense?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Sam finally admitted.

"Okay. Here's the deal, then. The angels have told us that we can do whatever we want now, right? But it seems like they're trying to tell us what to do again. I'm supposed to be a hero and you're supposed to be a mopey angst boy. How is that any different than before?" Dean asked.

Sam glared at him.

"Look, Dean. I'm tired. I don't remember anything except for the fact that I almost killed my brother and I likely wiped out half of the earth's population. Even if Lucifer is dead, there has to be anarchy somewhere. What about the demon army? What about the lost souls of the people who were slaughtered during the Apocalypse?" Sam questioned. He furrowed his brow even further until a crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"That's your thinking pose. I recognize that anywhere," Dean said with a grin.

"Just give me a minute, Dean," Sam said in exasperation.

"Sam, I think we should---," Dean began. He stopped short and stared wide-eyed at Sam.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam asked with annoyance.

"Sammy, don't move," Dean said quietly. He raised his pistol and aimed over Sam's shoulder.

"Die, you freaky bitch!" Dean screamed. He fired a bullet straight through the smoky wraith that floated above Sam's head.

She shrieked in pain, but she continued heading towards Sam.

"You'll pay for killing me, you bastard!" she screamed shrilly as she clawed at Sam's head and tossed him across the room.

"Sam!" Dean yelled.

He stared into the wraith's dark, empty eyes and fired another bullet through the female apparition. She turned to Dean in annoyance and grabbed him by his collar.

She threw him at the wall with ease, and Dean smacked the wood with a sickening crack.

Sam's eyes fluttered open just in time to see his brother get thrown against the wall.

"Dean!" he called.

Dean was out cold. A pool of blood was growing rapidly under his head.

"Dean!"

TBC…