Author:Mirrordance

Title: Home Road

Summary:The brothers were so different sometimes.Dean after Sam died was lethal silence and a sense of suicide-Let the world end.Leave me alone.That loudly unspoken I wish I was dead.Sam was different.He had murder in his eyes.Post-3.16 and Sam finds a way.

" " "

Home Road

" " "

4

" " "

Indiana

" " "

"Is this really necessary?" the precocious teenager asked him hotly, as she was tied up back to back with the frowning EMT.

"Not for long," Sam replied with a grunt, tightening the bonds, "A nice lady will be coming by in a few hours. She'll take care of you. I just need to be sure you won't do anything crazy."

"But you already know I believe you!" Jessie whined, "I'm not calling the cops. I'm not escaping. I'm not calling my dad to say I'm free so he can screw with your brother. I won't do anything."

"Do I look like I want to take chances?" Sam snapped.

"What if I wanna go to the bathroom?"

"I asked that earlier, didn't I?" Sam retorted.

"Well when you asked, I didn't know you were gonna tie me up!"

"Live with it," Sam told her, finishing his knot with a flourish. Bobby wished Dean were here to take a look at his younger brother having to deal with a fellow-smart-ass. Proof positive for Karma.

"Ellen's an hour out," Bobby assured the teenager and the silent EMT tied up behind her.

"What else did she say?" Sam asked, as the two hunters grabbed their gear and locked the door to the condominium behind them, "Is she calling in Jo?"

"She asked me if we really needed the hands," Bobby replied, "I said yes. She said she can live with that. 'Sides... the two of them haven't been together in awhile. I'm thinking Ellen knows if there's two things that could bring her pissed-off daughter to come back to her, it would be Dean or a hunt. In this case, its both, ain't it?"

"Missouri?"

"She thinks you boys are idiots," Bobby said, "But then again so do I and I'm still here. She's coming."

"Good," Sam said with a nod.

"Whatcha got in yer head, boy?"

"Not sure yet," Sam admitted, "I just... I'm not sure how much any of us can do for Dean at this point, but either way, I feel like... like, if Lilith's declaring war, I gotta have everyone I care about in the same place, right now. Know what I mean?"

Bobby nodded, "Yeah."

" " "

I guess this makes you my star patient, Troy Brennan thought, looking down at the body of Dean Winchester. He had looked at stock photos of Dean, watched video footage online. Dean looked nothing like himself, Brennan reflected. Then again, no one in this condition ever resembled their old selves anyway.

Where the photos had shown him stocky, he now looked withered and so strangely small. There was a fire in his eyes that was obviously now absent. He looked so flat and dead and empty. Pasty white like he was translucent except there was just nothing to see inside either.

Dean Winchester was supposed to be some sort of rebel. He was so damned kinetic, in the videos. From what little Troy had seen and read, it was not a surprise that Dean's brother would be so devoted to him. Still... Who the hell are you, really?

Brennan felt like he was harboring a criminal except theoretically, this criminal was supposed to be dead, the FBI files had written him off. He was dead twice over. Possibly even thrice, if he was being truly representative. Dean Winchester had been shot dead in the process of an attempted murder. And months later he was also torn apart by a gas explosion while in police custody. And then yesterday, he was dragged to Brennan's emergency room, assuredly dead by exsanguination.

Where are you gonna be tomorrow, huh?

"Doctor Brennan?"

He jumped, at the voice of the night shift nurse of the section who appeared by the door of the recovery room.

"Christ, Cindy, you scared the crap out of me."

She flinched, and for a long, odd moment, he thought her clear, blue eyes turned pitch black on him. He blinked to clear his vision. He must be really, really tired.

"You're needed at the ER," she said, "As main attending at the time of the New Harmony emergency, there are some people there with questions."

"Oh," he replied, walking toward her, sighing and running a hand through his hair, "Like I'd know what to tell them."

She shrugged, and stepped aside so that he may walk ahead of her. She nodded at the occupant in the room, mostly machine-obscured.

"Is he from there too?"

The lie came easy. He wasn't supposed to be telling anyone about Dean Winchester, or else his daughter was in danger.

"Nah."

" " "

Hell

" " "

Dean fell for ever.

He screamed at the start, and then it kind of just faded out from there. One of the funniest things he had ever seen in his life was, was it Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey? How these two doofuses once fell in this inky black hellish hole and screamed, except the hole was so deep the first scream ended and they had to take a breath to start up a new one. Was that from there?

It was something like that.

He wasn't thinking straight.

Hell, he wasn't supposed to.

The memory of his father's death assaulted him again, mid-flight, or mid-fall, or whatever it was this weird suspension was supposed to be. Somewhere in his head, he shouted out a curse to Ruby for getting him into this incomprehensible situation, but then after that, he let himself be sucked in to his John Winchester nightmare, the way these things always seemed to grab him, no matter what he did or, in this case, no matter where he was.

Five senses: Sam's iron grip on his arm, his father on the floor, charred flesh of a failed revival, bile in his throat, dull flatline of a dead heart.

Five senses: flat, bitter taste of the tube that had come from his throat, his father's body arching from the bed, the smell of coffee on the floor, hot tears on his cheeks, and the cold, matter-of-fact proclamation of Time of death, 10:41.

He could remember everything that happened around his father's death in full, sensual glory. Five senses. A different set of five. A permutation of all the different sets. Five times five times five senses... God, he thought, Make it stop.

" " "

Dean opened his eyes slowly, and took a deep, shaky breath. Someone left a running lawnmower in his chest. He coughed roughly, and focused his gaze on the face that hovered above his.

"Rough landing."

Ruby, he thought, groaning as he pushed himself up to his elbows. Hell. Right.

He looked around him. He was in a dark, stiflingly hot cave of rough, red-brown rock. The lighting was a dull orange coming from the mouth, about twenty or so feet away from them. They were in deep, and the sandy ground beneath him was moving.

"Eww," he exclaimed, realizing the damn place was crawling with bugs.

"Don't be such a girl," she told him, settling back on her haunches before him as he pushed himself up to sit. They looked at each other for a long, measuring moment.

"How long was I out?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Long," she replied with a shrug, "Hard to tell, out here. Long enough for me to find us a hole and drag us inside so yeah, long enough."

He reddened a little in embarrassment, he thought, and was relieved for the cover of the nauseatingly dull, orange light.

Ruby tilted her head at him in an expression of wonder. "It's going to get easier."

"What do you mean?"

"The visions," she replied, "I know you're getting them. Everyone does. It's going to get easier."

"Ha," he scoffed, finding the idea hilarious.

"It is," she insisted, "But then again, that's what you should be afraid of."

"Why?"

"Hell isn't just physical torture, you know that," Ruby explained, "They show you things, make you think things. You're an easy one to read. I bet it has something to do with the late, great daddy Winchester, mommy, and of course, little Sammy."

Dean contemplated lying. Realized he was too exhausted. "Two out of three," he admitted gruffly.

"They'll get to Sam soon enough," Ruby assured him, knowing full well that it was thoughts of Sam that haven't tortured Dean just yet; otherwise, he'd be a worse mess. Sam was his greatest weakness.

"They're saving the worst for last," she continued, "You ah... you wanna know what could possibly make a man forget that he was once human, out here? You want to know how to make a monster? They do it in stages. The first thing they do is kill your hope. To kill hope is to shrink the world. There is no tomorrow, there is no elsewhere but here. There is no escape. There is no salvation. This is it. This is forever."

Dean thought about that. Thought about being chained as he had been, the world around him unmoving and unchanging. All there was was his screaming, and his voice was beginning to run out. No one could hear him. He was alone. There was nothing there but him. There was no one there but him. There was nowhere to go. There was no tomorrow, there was no elsewhere but there. There was no escape. There was no salvation. That had been it, forever--

"And then," Ruby continued, "They make the inescapable unbearable. They will come at you with the worst that could hurt you."

Dean imagined, and it was so easy to imagine despairing things in this hole, that the chains that kept him immobile and suspended would have tightened, taking, taking just a little bit more flesh, making him scream, assuring him that there was always enough breath to scream in pain, in hell. Of all things that could have been made eternal, there was always enough breath to scream in pain. But this torture would have been nothing, nothing at all next to the memories of his mother, father and brother dying. Again and again. Over and over. Watching it, from every conceivable view--

"But pain is good for one thing," she went on, "It's clearly external. It was something you were subject to. Something you had to suffer. Because there was pain, you knew there was a you to feel it, to fight it, to survive it. Some people think of hell and equate it to the worst possible pain, and in a sense it's true. Out here, it is easy to inflict pain. But only the best demons know how to push pain to the point where the you it is subject to actually dies. The you dies when the pain becomes so great that it is easier to be numb, easier to forget, than to bear it. You love so much that you hurt. You hurt so much that you would rather not love. In choosing not to love, you have damned yourself. You see... the best demons know that it is your love that turns you to hate, because love and hate are not opposites, Dean. They are brothers.

"So tell me," she asked, "Back there. Thinking about your mom and dad. Was it getting any easier?"

For mom, yes, he realized, and it was like a kick to the gut. If he had more time, he might have started looking at different things too, in his visions of his father.

"No," he lied.

"Good," she said, not at all looking convinced, "Many souls here overload, short-circuit, and then move around not seeing, hearing, not feeling. Empty shell people, doomed to walk in their aimless circles. Others become unbearably selfish, unrestrained in pursuing the things that they want. Relentless. Unrepentant. The progression is not too hard to imagine, is it? Here, all you have to look out for is yourself. If you think about it, we both know someone who's been down that monster road and who'll undoubtedly be heading that way again."

"Who?" Dean asked, though he already had his suspicions...

"Sam."

" " "

Indiana

" " "

"Hang on," Brennan said to the nurse leading him toward the emergency rooms, trying to make a grab for his insistently ringing phone. It snagged on the lint of his doctor's coat pocket.

"You may wish to handle that later, doctor," she told him, mildly, "People are waiting for you--"

He shot his head up at her in irritation, his temper shortened by weariness and frustration and just the general strangeness of that night, "God, Cindy, hang on, will 'ya? They're not going anywhere, for chrissakes--"

He paused and frowned, when she winced again. He blinked at the minuscule sight of her pale blues going pitch black again.

"I am losing my mind," he muttered to himself, fishing for his phone and finally successfully drawing it out.

"You have a dirty mouth, Doctor," she told him.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping away from her and answering the call, "What?"

"Brennan," It was Sam Winchester - "I need you to do something for me."

"Great, what now--"

"Shut up and listen," Winchester snapped, "We don't have much time. Every window and door to Dean's room, I need you to line it with salt."

"What?!"

"Just do it," Sam said, "Right now. Now. This moment. I got Jessie--"

"I know, damn it," Brennan spat out.

"It's a hospital, you got a church there, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Grab some holy water," Sam said, "Grab a sip, and keep a flask or a jar or any container of it on you. Anyone there starts acting weird, splash them with it, all right? Something's coming for the people there. I'm headed that way but you need to act fast, all right? Watch out for electrical disturbances. And pitch black eyes, especially when you say God's name--"

"What?" Brennan asked, breathlessly, stealing a glance at the nurse blinking at him expectantly.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Sam said, "But--"

"Say that part again," Brennan said, lowering his voice, "About the eyes--"

The lights overhead began to flicker.

"Oh crap," Brennan breathed, as the line got cut off.

" " "

"We need to go faster, Bobby," Sam said tightly to the older hunter, who had a white-knuckled grip on the speeding Impala, as he pocketed his cellphone, having written off the call as dropped.

"Don't I know it," Bobby muttered, pressing on the gas.

" " "

Hell

" " "

"What?" Dean asked, brows furrowing.

"Sam," Ruby replied with a shrug, "He's been down that road before, and I'm betting he'll be headed that way again."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Her eyes bore into him, narrowing in thought and lightening in realization. "Well, well. Good old Sammy. How typical, keeping secrets again."

"What the hell are you talking about?" growled Dean, sounding infinitely more threatening, even if the words had been said once before.

"Easy," she told him, mildly, weighing her words, "You know that mystery spot incident?"

"How the hell does everybody know about us--"

"Your resident trickster has a soft spot," she said, "And a big mouth. Demi-gods are supposed to be beyond picking sides but our lives are just games and bets to them. He fell for Sammy's puppy dog eyes, like most everyone does."

"You're not making any sort of sense--"

"You died," she spat out, "Every day to him, for over a hundred days. In every conceivable fashion. He was made to watch, every single time."

"I know that," Dean said, uncomfortably, "He did not turn into some sort of a monster--"

"That was just stage one, idiot," she snapped, "Sound familiar? There was no hope, there was nothing he could do. And then the inescapable was made unbearable. It hurt him, every time. After that... well, you died and you died for real. No more repeating Tuesdays. No more second chances. He thought watching you die over and over was killing him, but the finality of it was worse. You died, and didn't come back. He lived with you being dead for months, Dean. Months."

"But it wasn't real," Dean said, "And I came back--"

"Everything about it was real," she corrected him, "His reactions were real. His pain was real. Time moved like it was supposed to. You were dead for months. He looked for distraction, killed everything that got in his way, working his way toward your killer. You wouldn't know him if you saw him, Dean. None of us did."

Dean frowned, in memory.

You sure you're okay?

I just had a really weird dream.

He wondered, why his brother suddenly seemed so different. In his mind, he slept on a Tuesday and woke up on a Wednesday and his brother just. wasn't. the same. He couldn't put his finger on it. Lonely eyes. Consuming quiet. That one time he brought provisions good for just one, and Dean couldn't find the heart to give him a hard time about it because he looked so damn ill-at-ease and so inexplicably angry at himself.

"But he wasn't a monster," Dean said, quietly.

"He killed Singer," Ruby said, flatly, "In all fairness, he also suspected him of being the trickster, but he wasn't sure. He was willing to risk it. He was willing to risk somebody. This doesn't sound new, does it? And now here you are. Dead and hellbound. Would it be so strange to think he'll be finding novel ways to damn himself just to get you out?"

"He'll be fine," Dean insisted, his mouth unbelievably turning dryer, "He's Sam. My brother. He'll be fine--"

"It's love that turns you to hate, remember?" she asked him, "They are not opposites--"

"He won't turn," Dean said, flatly, "Anyway, it doesn't matter, 'cos I'm getting myself out of here."

Before Sammy does something crazy, he thought, but kept it to himself.

He smiled a little, in self-deprecation, "But that's the question of the fucking century, isn't it? How the hell do I do something like that?"

TO BE CONTINUED...