Because in MY purple-sky world, Sam would never not look for his brother so I'm going to ignore how Season 8 started...And as I warned you previously, I'm going to tinker with Cas and his abilities.
"You're not going down there!" Sam whirled on Benny, fists clenched as he prepared for the physical fight, that in his current condition, he knew he didn't stand much chance of winning.
"No." Benny agreed calmly. "I'm not."
"What?" he stuttered, unable to turn his emotions on a dime, he failed to grasp why Benny had capitulated.
"I'm a lot of things Sam, but stupid isn't one of them. I'm not rubbing it in your face, but I'm stronger than you are and it'll be easier for me to pull you both up then it would be for you to…"
"I don't need your help to climb out." Sam bit out tersely "I can do it myself."
"You're assuming you won't have to carry him out."
Sam's eyes closed, nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply in an attempt to keep control. Seeing his brother lying, unmoving at the bottom of a huge hole in the ground had knocked him senseless. He didn't know how badly Dean was injured, only had Benny's assurance he could still hear two heart beats as proof Dean was alive and reality was fast setting in that he'd have to accept help getting Dean out. He didn't respond to Sam and Benny calling his name or the light they shone into his face, though to be fair, it was a long way for the beam to reach, or the rocks they flung at him, some large enough they would leave bruises where they'd hit him.
They'd found him because Benny had abilities beyond those of a human; could see in complete darkness, could smell blood and hear a heartbeat. Benny'd led them to a rotted, half-caved-in wooden lid to a long ago abandoned well, that despite having a man of Dean's size crash through it, remained covered in leafs and vines and shrubbery that completely and entirely hid it from the human eye. It was well off any path and how Dean had managed to fall through it would have to be explained by Dean himself.
Sam was torn. Could he bring himself to trust the vampire to get them both out? Trust the vampire to save not only Dean's life, but his own as well? If Benny left the rope tied off to a tree and down the well, took Dean and left, Sam would be able to get out. IF he let Benny go down the well, the vampire would be the first to reach Dean, be the person Dean first saw…be the person Dean responded to, be the person Dean accepted help and comfort from…..no…no…no fucking way.
"If you dick him over…." Sam swallowed hard, emotion getting the best of him and choking his voice off.
Benny didn't respond. He tied his rope into a make-shift harness, handed it to Sam and tied the rope Sam had brought to a nearby tree, testing his knots before tossing the opposite end down the well.
"If he's…." Benny identified the look on Sam's face as fury. "If we need help..." he amended, and waggled the cellphone in his hand. "I know you don't want to call in outside help but the rangers are minutes away…don't be an ass."
"We can get him out."
"Yeah." Benny agreed. "We can….but …." he hesitated.
"But. What.?" Sam growled.
"It might not be best for him if we do." Benny explained as gently as he could. "He…..his heart beat is faint and slow Sam….."
Sam stifled his fear, put all his trust into his brother's belief that Benny was a good guy, picked up the rope and lowered himself over the edge of the hole. He wanted to descend with his backpack but decided it'd be better for him to maintain his balance without it. Once he was down, Benny would pull the rope up, tie it to the backpack and lower it down.
"Sam….." Benny began. "Stop thinking of what you want and start thinking about what's best for…"
"I hear you." he paused, his hand clutching the rope all that remained visible, the rest of him down the well. "I'll…..you can hear me…..I'll let you know."
Sam had maintained hope, held on to the belief that Dean would be O.K. when they found him; that when he'd seen his brother lying, still and unresponsive to their shouts at the bottom of a deep hole in the side of a mountain, he'd simply been asleep. That hope and belief went poof the closer to the bottom he got and disappeared completely by the time his feet touched the ground.
He turned his flashlight on and swept its powerful beam around, up, down and around. How Dean had survived the fall could only be chalked up to their cursed luck. The well wasn't deep, he could see Benny's anxious face peering down at him, if not read his expression but it was deep enough, no one would have been able to ascend the smooth walls without the aid of a rope. What was surprising was how large it was. Hand-dug wells weren't known to be wide enough to house a car the size of Dean's beloved Impala.
Studying the floor, he could see where Dean had been mobile at some point; could see both foot prints and hand prints in the muck. A closer look at the walls showed muddy hand prints that suggested Dean had attempted to climb out. The smell that assaulted his nostrils had Sam wrinkling his nose in distaste and cemented his belief that Dean had been in the well since Sam had been taken to the hospital.
Shaking off morbid thoughts and quelling the fear that was ripping his gut apart, he stepped over to where Dean lay sprawled on his back, one hand close to the wall where a trickle of water from the wall dripped steadily over his palm. Heart in his throat, knot of tension and fear and emotion bouncing about in his belly, he crouched down and laid two fingers against Dean's neck.
"Dean? Hey, Dean, hey, can you hear me? Dean?" he dropped to his knees, flashlight held between his teeth. "Dean, hey come on man, time to wake up and yell at me for taking so long to find you." he kept up a litany of nonsense about pain-in-the-ass brothers and the Winchester never-ending life saga of bad luck and ill-advised choices as he checked Dean over for broken bones, internal abdominal injuries and dislocated joints. "No? Figures, bet if I was a hot brunette with a rack of D's you'd be moaning about how bad you feel and how you needed to be taken care of. Am I right?"
He heard Benny yelling somewhere above him, thought he heard him actually call Sam by name but he didn't respond, too focused on getting a response from Dean. Having completed his examine to his satisfaction, he turned to retrieve his backpack, expecting to see it sitting at the end of the rope where he'd touched bottom.
Nothing.
Though reluctant to leave Dean's side, he stood up and went to the middle of the hole opening and looked up. Oh, Benny was there all right, peering down at him, shouting and waving but Sam couldn't hear him. Anger flooded his head and murder invaded his senses. After all this, after everything, after pushing down his own mistrust and ignoring his instincts and putting aside deep-seeded trust issues to trust a vampire to have, not only his back, but his injured brother's as well, he'd been played for a sucker for the second time in his miserable adult life.
The roaring rage in his head blinded him to all else. He couldn't function or think or react. His ability to hear and see and think became non-existent and despite what Benny felt about Sam's defeat of Gordon, if Benny were within reach right this very second; Sam would rip his head off with his bare hands. Somehow, someway, someday, Sam would find a way to make the traitorous vampire pay.
Benny was hanging over the edge of the hole, shotgun aimed directly at Sam's head. What better way to rid himself of the two hunters most capable of taking him out then to shoot them dead in a hole in the ground out in the middle of nowhere. No one would ever find their bodies and maybe two people would even notice them missing. Sam doubted the police in the small town would notice their disappearance, let alone report two FBI agents missing. He'd been a John Doe in a hospital the next town over, only ten miles away, and no one had come forth to identify him as an agent working a case in Cowley.
Benny'd even made sure there was little to no hope of them calling Cas for help. Good Sam, real good, way to go. He was sure betrayal showed on his face but was also as sure, even with Benny's superior eyesight; the vampire wouldn't be able to see just how devastated he was. Hell, the vampire didn't even need to shoot Dean unless he contained a shred of decency and simply took the shot to put Dean out of his misery. Well, least Dean wouldn't die alone.
Of course, perhaps Dean wouldn't die at all. Maybe Benny only wanted Sam dead. Out of the way so his friendship with Dean could proceed without the complication of an untrusting brother in the way. No brother around to protest when Benny called Dean for help or moral support. Unlike the bond between Dean and Cas, the bond forged between Dean and Benny had never included Sam to begin with.
So he stood, glaring up at Benny, mind throwing murderous thoughts his way, refusing to give the vampire the satisfaction of last words. He waited for the taunts, the sarcastic goody-bye; the smirk he knew would be on Benny's face even if he couldn't see it clearly. Saddest thing was Sam would never know if Benny killed Dean or saved him.
"JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY HIMSELF!" Benny roared. "DUCK, you dumb ass! DUCK!"
Duck? Seriously? Duck? What the hell kind of I'm-going-to-kill-you taunt was that? Of all the stupid, lame-ass…duck. Frick-fracking vampires...duck. God-damn vampire couldn't even…..duck!
While Sam remained still and continued to hurl mental insults Benny's way, his body, took the notion to obey. He hit the ground as if felled by a mighty invisible punch, arms thrown up to protect his head, instinctively rolling towards Dean as the air exploded around him and he was showered with the remnants of…..salt? What the hell…?
Benny was still shouting but Sam was unable to make out more than the occasional word. The backpack smacked to the ground so close to his head, he felt the weight of it against his neck. It landed with a clang of metal striking rock and something hard butted his ear. He moved to sit up, the backpack had been thrown, not lowered on the rope that remained dangling and Benny was gone.
"Benny?! BENNY?!" Sam shouted until he was hoarse but no vampire appeared. "Dammit." Sam turned in circles, loaded shotgun in hand; flashlight sweeping arcs along every wall into every round corner but there was no sign of a rock salt splattered spirit. Like there would be. Realizing he was shaking, he went down on his haunches to root through his pack. Wasn't much he could do down here, but he could offer Dean some clean water and get him dry and warm.
So, Benny hadn't wanted him dead. Hadn't meant to shoot him and leave him to rot in a hole in the ground. Apparently, he'd been trying to shoot what Sam guessed to be Harold, the spirit who, for whatever reason had materialized in the well. Chances were he'd been the one to lead Dean off the path and was responsible for his fall through the rotted lid. Course that was all speculation; other than the fact Benny had shot at him – no Sam, be fair, over his head, - with rock salt, Sam had no proof Harold had made an appearance.
Great. So, now he had a brother to rescue, a well to climb out of, a missing vampire to find and oh yeah, a spirit to permanently dispel, because it was obvious it wasn't about to allow them to leave. Somewhere was Dean's duffel which had salt, lighter fluid and matches. Were they to find it and the shovels he and Dean had carried with them, as well as the actual graveyard, they just might be able to dig up the bones and put Harold to rest hopefully once and for all and then finally get his brother the help he needed.
Sam snorted. Right, he was putting his faith in Benny.
Convinced the spirit was truly gone for the time being, if it'd been there at all, he turned his attention back to his brother. He didn't' know what had happened to Benny. Didn't know if a spirit knew how to identify a vampire and be able to kill one and if it could, if it had to do it the same way a human did. Perhaps Benny had led it away from the brothers or had gone off to find the grave…Sam didn't know. What he did know was Dean had neither roused nor responded to the gun fire. Both the spirit and Benny were gone and Sam needed to focus on his brother and getting him out of the well.
"Dammit Dean." when Sam blocked his brother's nose from getting air, he didn't swallow the water Sam dribbled into his mouth. He tried slapping Dean awake, tried smelling salts, tried chafing his wrists and neck with cold water…nothing. "Come on….come on….you can't do this to me…not here…not now….you can't." he pulled his cell from his pocket but as expected, it searched for service.
Without Benny's help, there was one way to get Dean out. Sam wouldn't be able to climb out with Dean slung over his shoulder, not without someone pulling them up from the top. He hated to admit Benny was right about that. The only way for Sam to get Dean out was to secure Dean in the harness, leave him while Sam climbed up the rope on his own and then once safely on firm ground, pull Dean up.
He could always call for help once he reached topside. The more he thought it, the more likely he'd do so. Dragging Dean up the walls of the well, unaided could result in serious injury. He hated, absolutely loathed the idea of Dean remaining in the well alone so once he was up far enough to make the call, he'd give directions best he could, toss the phone to the grass, let them follow its GPS signal to their location and return to stay by Dean's side.
Decision made, he maneuvered his brother out of his wet coat and t-shirt, then paused, mind tripping over the absence of something but couldn't place what and continued to manhandle the limp body into his own t-shirt and coat. That left Sam wearing only his long-sleeved shirt but he didn't care. Next, he manipulated Dean into the rope harness, lingered a moment longer than was necessary with Dean in his arms, then gently dragged him to the wall and propped him up, unable to bring himself to leave his brother with his head in the muck.
"I'll be quick." Sam promised. Stepping away from Dean was more difficult than he'd thought but he forced himself to walk over and grab the rope. He gave it a quick tug to ensure its sturdiness and….covered his head when pebbles and twigs and debris came raining down to whop him across the face.
**000***
Benny ran. He ran with a speed and agility even vampires weren't known to possess. He jumped and leaped and he dodged. Damn, but floating spirits could move fast! He'd seen Sam safely to the bottom of the well, had waited with bated breath - yeah, ironic - for a signal to dial 911 but one hadn't come.
He'd tried to shout down to Sam but for whatever reason, Sam hadn't been able to hear him. Then the reason had become evident. Recalling the stories Dean had shared while in purgatory, spoken between them to pass time; he'd grabbed the shotgun and fired into the well. The last thing he'd seen had been Sam standing and looking upward.
Harold had chosen that moment to leave the well and reappear opposite the opening of the well. Benny had fired a second time but rather than dispersing like spirits were supposed to do; Harold had turned and melted into the trees. Benny had taken off in pursuit with Dean's abandoned duffel he'd found near the well opening after Sam had descended. He didn't see a shovel, but how deep could a hand dug grave be?
He knew he didn't have long; Sam wouldn't be patient or content to remain in the well. Benny also knew Sam would believe him to have up and left them there. He supposed he couldn't really blame the man, but it still stung. He skidded to a halt in a clearing just in time to see Harold disappear over a patch of grassy ground that when viewed with a critical eye, could be square. He turned in a circle, visualizing a crude fence from there to there to there with a gate over there…...
Ah-ha. At last, the cemetery.
Wasn't there supposed to be a marker identifying the graveyard? He saw no headstones either and there was supposed to be a marker for each grave. He ran in a circle within the square, darted first in one direction, then another, kicked with his feet through the briars and brambles, poked with a stick...nothing. Where the hell had that damn ghostie gone and why had she disappeared? Benny froze.
She? Harold had been dressed as a miner-forty-niner when he'd appeared behind Sam and when Benny had set off in pursuit. Some things Benny could see quite clearly, others, not so much, but one thing he was damn sure of: no miner had ever worn skirts.
Son-of-a-bitch! Two spirits? Did he care? He'd been led to this cemetery, that's all that mattered…he blinked; he must be seeing things. He wasn't sure how this ghost – spirit – whatever, thing worked but he didn't think they could change their appearance. He cursed, blinked again, rubbed his eyes and looked again. Sure enough, hovering over a patch of grass, off to his left, was the flimsy visage of – yes indeedy sweetie, a skirt. He shook his head, looked away and when he looked back, there was nothing.
Now frantic, he ran the short distance, flung himself to his knees and tore at the grass with his bare hands in search of something, anything that would prove to him he wasn't committing suicide, courtesy of Sam, by wasting his time digging nowhere near the graves. He flung chunks of earth and wads of grass left, then right; threw clumps of dirt and pebbles over his shoulders as fast as he could rip them from the ground...nothing.
Yowling in frustration with the appearance and actions of a mad man gone, well, mad...his fingers encountered a rock they couldn't lift. He instantly calmed and brushed the dirt aside and there it was...a flat slab worn too smooth for any names chiseled by hand to remain. Soon, he revealed five headstones, all in a row but from left to right and right to left, each and every one was unreadable and he didn't have the time to dig up five graves.
Oh Bloody Hell!
The air above the graves swirled and blew from a wind felt nowhere else and the fourth stone from the left shimmered. Benny didn't question what that mean; he made his decision and began to dig with his hands in the grass below the fourth headstone from the left. He hadn't gone far when he encountered fist sized rocks. So, no coffin and not deep. Sending out a prayer of thanks, Benny got to serious work.
***000***
Sam stood, exhausted, with his hands bracing his weight against the wall, forehead resting against the cool trickle of water. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't climb out; he'd spent the past hour trying and had gotten no further than six feet from the bottom. He'd been pelted first with pebbles, stones and twigs, then when he'd gritted his teeth and braved the shower of debris, with rocks and tree limbs that knocked him off the rope. A fall could do him serious injury and he couldn't risk that.
He'd tried and failed to hurl his phone up and out of the well. Even flinging it repeatedly and catching it didn't keep it airborne long enough for the 911 call to connect. Calling and praying repeatedly for Cas hadn't produced their wayward angel, Benny hadn't returned and Sam couldn't think of what else to do; they were screwed. He turned his back to the wall and slowly slid down until his ass hit the ground; Dean, who had yet to rouse, by his side.
He assumed he was cold because his ass was sitting in wet mud. It wasn't until he blew his breath out that he realized the air around him had gotten colder. He cautiously got to his feet, walked over to peer up the well and stupidly tugged on the rope. Had he been at all in his right mind, he would have remembered Harold did not want him out of the well but exhaustion and despair and guilt had teamed up to render him stupid.
A whisper of air behind him made Sam turn around where he came face to face with a very pissed off Harold. He launched himself at the shotgun that lay next to Dean, ran straight into an invisible wall and fell flat on his face, cracking his chin against a rock on the ground. Fighting off tears of frustration and pain, tasting blood and spitting it out, he rose from the muck on his palms, raised his head...and his hair was parted by yet another shotgun blast. Going flat, he contorted his neck to look over his shoulder and saw the lingering wisps of Harold as he dissipated from the rock salt.
"What the...?" he pushed off his chest and pulled his knees under him to gain a somewhat sitting position. He fished for his fallen flashlight, coming up with it and swung its beam to reveal Dean holding the shotgun across his lap. "Dean? Dean...hey, hey, hey...you with me? Dean? Talk to me...say something."
"Sammy?" he rasped out.
"Yeah, yeah, it's me, it's Sammy..." he scrambled on all fours until he was hovering over his brother, whose wide eyes didn't even attempt to shield themselves from the first light they'd seen in days. Sam dug through the bottomless backpack and withdrew a canister of salt. Dean watched him without comment as Sam sprinkled a thick circle of salt around them, pulling Dean away from the wall to complete the circle. "Hey...no fading out...stay with me."
"Cold Sam." he rasped. "Cold and dark and alone down here."
"No, no, no...you're not alone, I'm here and it's not dark...see? Right here, got a light." Sam fumbled the blanket around Dean's shoulders and hugged him tight. "See this? It's a blanket…..that's it…..hold it tight."
"I'm breaking out. Gonna dig, gonna claw my way to the top...'cause I ain't giving in...I never say die...I'm giving it all I've got cause I'm breaking outta hell." he clutched the blanket tight. "I don't know the meaning of death."
Singing. Dean was singing. Sam had no idea what he was singing about but he was singing. He hefted Dean into his arms and held him upright when he attempted to lie down. When Dean finally realized he wasn't going to be allowed to have his way, he begged for water, drinking greedily until Sam took the bottle away from him then he whined in protest.
"I know...I know...you can have more in a minute..." his attention was diverted as Harold materialized next to the dangling rope. He shifted Dean's weight to one arm and leveled the shotgun with the other. They were safe for the moment in the circle of salt and he could shoot Harold until he ran out of ammo, but it would only send the spirit away for a short period of time and those periods would grow shorter each time he was dispelled.
He fired and Harold vanished. Dean flinched, squirming and Sam lowered the gun to lay across his lap so he could hold Dean with both arms. "Dean...hey...can you talk to me? Are you hurt? HEY!" he grasped Dean's jaw and gave his head a gentle shake. "ARE you HURT?"
"Ow?" Dean blinked, hand latching tight to Sam's sleeve. "No...owiiieeee."
"Yeah." Sam fired at Harold again. "Whatever that means." his aim was off, his hold on the shotgun awkward, what with his arms full of shivering, shaking older brother who was singing nonsense again. He fumbled and juggled and managed to reload the shotgun, ready when Harold materialized again...only to go up in flames with a screech before Sam could get a shot off. "Aaah...okay." he struggled to his feet, dragging Dean up with him and over to the rope. "We're leaving."
"Back to the light of day?" warbled Dean.
"Sure." he hesitated, really reluctant to leave Dean alone. It was pretty definite Benny had been the one to put to Harold to rest, so he should be back soon and Sam would really like his help getting out of this hell hole.
"I'm at the bottom of the well-elle-eelll ell." Dean sang. "It's a loooong way down, to the bottom of the well-elle-eelll ell, I've gotta get out..."
Fuck waiting for Benny. "CASSSSSSssssSSSS..." Sam threw his head back and yelled. "CCCASSTTIEELLLEELLL!"
But it was Benny who responded; who came calling his name, yelling at him to hold on, that he was coming and would get them out and everything would be alright. Sam was so relieved to finally see the vampire hanging upside down at the top of the hole he didn't balk at the orders thrown at him.
He tied the rope to Dean's harness, tucked him, still snuggled in the blanket within his arms with his back securely against Sam's chest and reached around him to grab the rope. It was going to be a long, difficult climb even with Benny's help. Should he lose his grip on his brother or his grip on the rope and fall, Dean wouldn't fall with him, he'd be held by Benny who was steadily pulling them to the top.