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

" " "

5

" " "

Indiana

" " "

"Crap," Sam breathed, watching the lights on the small hospital building blink, as he and Bobby drove in closer.

"You still got that mojo with you?" Bobby asked, voice low and tight, "She won't know we're near?"

"Yeah, I got it," Sam murmured distractedly, looking at the building and trying to come up with a plan, "Park a block off."

Bobby did as he was told, and pulled the Impala to a quiet stop.

"Devil's trap," Sam said, "If they're in there, we're keeping them in there and powerless. Dean and I have cans of spray paint and chalk in the trunk. We need to make it unseen, and wide as we can make it."

"I got the roof, you get the basement?" Bobby asked, "They'll get stuck in the middle wondering what the hell."

"I'll get the roof," Sam corrected, knowing that Bobby picked it for the danger. The high ground was also the most strategic and dangerous to claim, and he did not want the old hunter placed in any more harm than he had already put himself in for the sake of the Winchesters.

"Then," he said, "We spike the water supply with holy water for some sprinkler action. On top of that, We'll do a 'Dean' and PA a mass exorcism."

" " "

Sam burst out into the night sky on the hospital roof.

It was hard sneaking around to anywhere in his bulk, but he managed through it, most days. He was almost breathing relief, actually, until he unceremoniously ran into something solid and fleshy and jittery on the roof.

"Ooof!" he exclaimed, landing in a tangled heap on the floor.

His 'assailant' was a young-ish, wide-eyed, stunned-looking blond man. Whose first reaction, even on his rump on the floor, was to splash cold water on Sam's face and say, "Christ."

It took a moment for things to register in Sam's Stanford-worthy brain.

"You learn fast," he commented, wryly, blinking and wiping his face with his sleeve. Holy water. Nice.

"Winchester?" Troy Brennan asked, breathlessly.

"Relax, I'm clean," Sam said, gathering his feet and closing the door to the stairwell behind him. He offered his hand to the still-stunned doctor.

"Where's my daughter?" he asked.

"Safer than you or me," Sam said, peering at him closely, "But I think you know that by now."

"They were getting everyone into the emergency room," he said, numbly accepting Sam's help, "I was on the way there with this nurse. It didn't feel right. And her eyes kept shifting pitch black. I thought I was losing my mind. Told her I had to go to the bathroom. It wasn't so much of a lie, I thought I was gonna pee myself. I climbed up the vent. I crawled off of there, and right below me, I could hear them looking for me, shuffling, growling..." he shuddered at the memory.

Sam shoved a can of salt he had drawn out of his duffel into the doctor's arms. "Line the door, the exhaust, just every hole that leads to the roof. We can't be disturbed here. Did you do the same for my brother's room?"

"Doors and windows," Brennan replied, head nodding jerkily.

"Is he in the emergency room?" Sam asked.

"A floor up," Brennan answered, "In recovery. And I told them he wasn't from New Harmony. What are they doing? What the hell is going on here."

"No time," Sam said, as he began drawing out his writing materials, "But I can promise you this: help me, and we'll make it. And then I'll tell you what's going on."

"I'm a logical guy," Brennan rambled, "I can't just--"

"They're gonna kill everyone who was in New Harmony," Sam snapped, "And everyone who might know something about it. For some reason, my fucking salt and drawings can stop them. We can Q and A later. Just do your part."

" " "

Bobby finished scrawling on the basement floor just as his cellular phone vibrated in his pocket. He grabbed it right away and placed it against his ear. "Sam?"

"You done with the 'trap and the water?"

"Just," Bobby replied with a grunt, putting his things together. Sam had lent him Dean's duffel and all that it contained. He always wondered what was in there. Kid was like The Mask, drawing out all these weird things from the bottomless old bag. It had been John's, Bobby recognized, as most of Dean's things were, and then just appropriated. It was very casually, and just-barely-tolerably messy. He had a feeling the owner knew exactly where to find everything was, though.

"I'm with Brennan," Sam said.

"You boys with Dean?"

The veteran hunter imagined the pained wince.

"Soon," Sam replied, tightly, "But he's all salted and everything. We might have time. Meet me at the Security Room." A voice in the background – Brennan's, Bobby supposed - "Fourth floor, east side, room 4015."

"Got it," Bobby said, slinging the bag over his shoulder, "On my way now."

He kept up the stealth, as he wove his way past empty, dimly-lit corridors. While the devils traps he and Sam put up on the roof and on the basement effectively sandwiched the demons that fell in between and they were consequently powerless to leave or exert unnatural forces within it, that didn't mean a good number of them couldn't physically hurt him if he was found.

The doctor's directions were accurate, and when Bobby cautiously slid the door to the Security Room open, Sam's gun was trained on his face half a breath later.

"Cristo," Bobby said with a cool shrug, as soon as his heart stopped racing. Sam Winchester could be a scary mother when his eyes burned like that.

Sam lowered the gun, and casually introduced the two men to each other, "Bobby, Brennan. Brennan, Bobby."

"Hi," the doctor said, wincing at the awkwardness of such a meeting. Bobby just looked at him wryly. It was his Welcome-to-the-club expression, the one that pretty much told people, Yeah, life's like this. Live with it.

Bobby stepped into the room, and quietly closed the door behind him. He checked if the line of salt running along the door was still intact. Sam was focused on the series of screens posted along the wall, showing real-time caps of the shifting security cameras from all around the hospital. He fiddled with the controls on the console.

"Seems like they're all in the emergency room," Bobby said, squinting at one of the screens, "I'm making out about eight demons, but hard to see with this piss-poor resolution. They've already figured out something's going on."

The figures in question were moving in the space erratically, like a bunch of frustrated, caged animals.

"One way to find out," Sam said from under his breath, grabbing the microphone to activate the PA system.

Bobby watched, as off-the-top of his head, ol' Stanford started rattling off one of the most powerful, intricate Latin exorcisms he had ever heard of. This wasn't your simplified, Cliff's Notes version, no. Sam had gone old school and Bobby had never heard of any hunter with a tongue like that, not to mention he was reciting it out of memory.

Where the hell did John pick up this kid...?

Sam paused from the ritual, to watch the security screens and the anguished reactions to just the barest part of the ritual. "You still got a good eye, Bobby. Eight it is," he said, tapping at the screens. From a sidelong glance, he added, "And stop looking at me like that."

Bobby's brows rose, ignored the commentary. "Would you know which one Lilith is?"

Sam squinted. "Body language doesn't indicate referral to a particular leader in their group. We should hit the sprinklers. Ruby said with Lilith's 'paygrade,' she isn't sweatin' the holy water."

"So we soak 'em," agreed Bobby, "And see who ends up all right. Gotta turn on those sprinklers."

"There should be an emergency activation from here," Brennan said, "We were given the quick drill in case of a Code Black when I started. They had it installed, in case the automatic detectors didn't kick in."

"Where?" Sam asked, looking over the complicated console. He had a working knowledge of this thing, sure, but equipment specs like that weren't always standard, "And what's a Code Black?"

"That was years ago, lemme look," Brennan said, scooting over, "A Code Black's the worst that anyone can possibly think of that could happen in a hospital. Bomb threat, mass casualties, contagion, infant abductions..."

"Ever been in one before?" Bobby asked.

"No one would have ever thought about it," Brennan muttered, "But I guess today counts, huh? Here it is."

"Here goes nothing," Sam grunted, as he pressed the button, and carefully watched the screens.

" " "

Hell

" " "

They sat across from each other in that bug-infested cave. It didn't take long for Dean to realize there was an infestation of bold vermin too, these icky rats that stepped toward you, wanting to take a little bite, 'til you growl at them and shoo them away. He wondered how much longer that tack would be effective. Suckers just kept getting braver and braver...

"We gotta get out of here soon," Ruby said, probably thinking along the same lines. The rats had red eyes that glowed in the darker areas of the cave, lurking, watching. One set became two, then three, and the rest was probably busy calling all their other damned friends.

"Yeah," Dean winced.

But go where?

"I hate rats," he sighed.

Her lips quirked. He watched her face, wondering why he tended to amuse her.

"What?"

"Nothing," she shrugged, "You're likable. I didn't expect that."

His brows rose. Thinking back to another time, not too long ago at all, cooped up with another demon, not in a cave, sure, but caved in at a basement in a city drowning in sin. She had told him the same thing, basically. So did the fucking demon at the crossroads when he had sold his soul, come to think of it.

"I don't know why demon chicks keep saying that," he said, under his breath.

Ruby bit her lip in thought. "So, you've decided to stick with me, huh?"

"For now," he said, shifting uneasily. Wasn't about to admit he needed someone who knew even just a little bit more about this place than he did, no. Wasn't about to admit her presence was weirdly comforting, hell no.

"How do demons get out of here, usually?" he asked.

"That Demon's Gate of Colt was the big thing," she replied, "Everyone knew about it. All we had to do was claw our way to the mouth of the door and wait."

"Demons got out before that was opened, though," Dean pointed out, "Around ten possessions a year. Obviously the Gate hadn't been opened yet or else the problem would have been bigger. That means there are other ways."

"Some demons get summoned out," she answered, "Like Crossroads Demons. Some get wrenched out by rituals and spells that dumb humans unknowingly pull out of their asses."

"Basically if no one opens or calls from Up There," Dean said, "No one gets to get out of here."

"Yup," she replied.

"And if no one opens the Gate," said Dean, "Even if you claw your way to the top of the heap, you ain't going anywhere."

"You got it," she answered.

"So we don't get to do anything?" he asked.

"I can claw my way to the Gate," she said, almost casually, "I've done it before. Besides, if anymore screws get loose on your brother's head, that gate'll be opening soon so I wouldn't have to wait so long or fight so hard to keep my place. You, Dean... you just gotta keep hiding until you or Sam find another way."

His brows rose. You're leaving me was unsaid in the air.

"But I'm in no rush," she said, flippantly, "I'm thinking I might get a better shot out of here if I stick with you."

"Why's that?"

"'Cos when you're brother's thinking straight," she said, "He really is one of the very best. And he doesn't have anything else in his head right now but getting you out of here."

Dean bit his lip, thoughtfully. He knew that, of course. The thought of it was comforting to him, but hearing it from somebody else, especially since it was so damn easy to lose hope down here, was making the feeling stronger. He was never one for just waiting to be saved, though.

He wondered if he could approach this escape from hell thing as a kind of case. Except, of course, he was unfortunately not equipped with a geek boy and his laptop sidekick to ask. He wasn't equipped with a networked Bobby or Ellen either. For that matter, being left to his own devices to investigate wasn't promising too; how was he supposed to be asking people questions when he was supposed to be hiding?

"The uh," Dean said, as he thought, "The Gate. What is that?"

"What do you mean?" Ruby asked.

"Was it always there?" Dean asked, "You know, is it a natural link between hell and Earth that Colt just found and blocked by constructing a gate? Or did someone actually make that opening?"

"What's your point?" she asked.

"If it's a natural phenomena," said Dean, "you know, naturally occurring, then maybe there's another one like it out here and we could find it, you know, like... like..." God, Sam was always much better at giving theoretical overviews, and he never bothered to improve himself in that field because his baby brother always seemed to understand his excited, inspired rambling, "Like when people look for diamonds, or, or oil or something like that. They look at soil properties, rock formations, that shit? If you find a set of traits and you follow 'em, then you get the prize. Is there something about the location of that gate that is like any other location here?"

"Hell isn't just geographic properties, Dean--" she began to say.

"I know, I know," the hunter snapped, with his favorite undertone of I'm not stupid going unsaid, "It's just an example, all right? I'm not from fucking Stanford so suck it up. Did something happen at the site of that gate that made that fissure, that allowed a link between hell and Earth? Because whatever happened to make that hole, it could have happened somewhere else down here, 's all I'm saying. If it's not naturally occurring and someone made it, then we can find out how. Either way, it gives us something to do from down here."

"You want to search for another gate," she said, "Or make a new one."

"Welcome to the party, shortbus."

"I thought you didn't want to risk letting demons out," Ruby pointed out.

"That's why we're not gonna be telling anybody else," Dean replied, "If another exit exists, or can be made, obviously no one else knows about it, they're all piled up over Colt's gate. We can just sneak out, pretty as you please, then cover it up ala Samuel Colt. So. Was the Gate always there or did someone make it? Colt lived in the early 1800's, you said you were human when the plague was big. You pre-date Colt by four hundred years. Was the gate always there?"

"No," she replied, thoughtfully, "It wasn't."

"So what the hell happened?"

"You understand a few hundred years in hell tends to fuck around with your head," she said, "I guess I just heard about it. I'm not even sure from who. Everyone was headed for the Gate. So I went. The journey took forever. Clawing my way to the top was harder. Keeping my place there was near impossible."

"You never thought to ask how the hell that hole got there?"

"I was a little busy," she replied, dryly, "If I even thought about it, I was in no position to find the answer anyway."

"Is there anyone here who could possibly know the answer?" Dean asked.

"As it happens," Ruby said, looking intrigued, "I think I know someone who could."

" " "

Indiana

" " "

All eight demons were miserable under the holy water.

"She's not here," Sam said through grit teeth, "Damn it." He reached over, and killed the sprinklers. He picked phone receiver mounted on the wall. "Extension number to the ER," he snapped at Brennan.

"1114," the doctor replied, dumbly, looking confused, "Who's 'she?'"

Sam punched the numbers, and waited for his call to be answered. He watched the security screens carefully, at the growling and snarling demons who were trying to settle down. He kept the receiver on his ear, but reached for the microphone of the PA system. "Someone answer the goddamn phone," he commanded.

He watched, as one of the demons wearing a middle-aged nurse's meatsuit glared at the security camera but walked over to the ringing phone on the main desk at the ER.

"Sammy Winchester," she said, her voice slithery and thick.

Bobby picked up an extension of the line, and listened in.

"Where's Lilith?" Sam asked. No point in pleasantries, after all.

"Licking her wounds," came the vague reply, "She'll be more prepared for you when you next see each other. You should know by now we're still more afraid of her than of you, though. You won't be wrangling information out of any of us here, threats of exorcism or getting sent back to hell aside."

"Then I should just get on with it, shouldn't I?" Sam said, sourly.

"You should," came the mild reply, "Tell you what, though, none of these borrowed meatsuits are coming out of this alive, I can promise you that. I'm biting off this nice old lady's tongue--"

"I don't care," Sam snapped, hanging up the phone.

"Sam--" Bobby began.

"What?" Sam asked hotly, "I'm not bargaining with them, Bobby. It's a lost game. The best I can do right now is send those demons back to hell." He picked up the PA mike and continued the incantation.

" " "

When Sam finished the exorcism, a very confused and appropriately named emergency room was filled to capacity with people who have been dragged there from various sections of the hospital, with eight corpses on the ground at the main hall.

As promised, the possessed bodies did perish from a miscellany of self-inflicted injury, a very harsh reflection of their spite for Sam Winchester, and a dedication to their missing leader.

Sam, Brennan and Bobby looked around the carnage, as the other staff members numbly tried to piece the hospital back together. The familiar face of Roger Wallis, now more pale than ever, drifted toward them.

"You," he said to Sam, his tone flat and shell-shocked.

"Me," Sam breathed, watching his face. Sam once thought that there was a sense of satisfaction when people started to believe him, stopped thinking he was insane. But now more than ever, he was regretting that other people had to struggle with the evil that he sees everyday.

"So you're not crazy," Roger said, "Or I've turned. Evil things are real. Who'd have known it." He nodded at Brennan, "Doc. Sorry. I couldn't tell you anything. He got Alex, and he knows where I live--"

Brennan just waved away the apology. They were all just trying to survive a ridiculous situation, here.

"I don't know what to say," Roger finished, "I just don't anymore."

"I need to transport my brother," Sam said, looking at Roger earnestly, now, no longer threatening, "I'm thinking more cops and emergency crew will be making their way here, after this."

"I'll get my cab ready," Roger said, after a long moment.

"I'll take you to him," said Brennan.

" " "

Damn it, Sam thought as he stepped over the line of salt on Dean's door, I've seen you dead and rotting, why is this still so hard?

He stopped at the foot of the bed. If Dean was in that body anywhere, Sam wouldn't have known it. Brennan could have taken him in front of a total stranger and Sam would have believed it.

Dean was pale and still and half-machine by now, on that bed.

Like Robocop, he thought, ridiculously, because nothing made sense anyway. A choked sob escaped him, until he remembered he wasn't alone. Until he remembered that he needed to keep up his game face if he wanted these people intimidated enough to help him save his brother. Or inspired enough to think they can win. Whatever works. He cleared his throat.

"It's freezing in this room," Bobby murmured, cutting into the deathly silence.

"The machines," said Sam, "Are they sustainable in a home care setting?"

"It's possible," Brennan said, pausing in thought, "You mentioned moving him."

"I can't keep him here," Sam said, "We're running from feds and demons alike."

Brennan blinked, and then nodded as if he just came to some sort of decision. "I'll help you."

You have no choice, Sam was tempted to say, I have your daughter.

But he didn't. Volunteers were always more welcome than victims. He let the illusion of choice remain.

"Thanks."

" " "

Roger and Brennan were preparing to move out. Bobby was on the phone with Ellen outside Dean's room. It was the first time Sam was alone with Dean since he held his dead brother's body in someone else's house.

There was always something very unnatural about being around a deathly silent Dean. Not that he felt uncomfortable around silences with his brother, of course not. It's just that...well it was uncharacteristic, for one and... sometimes, Dean descended into silences that weren't easy, companionable, peaceful quiets. They were just loaded soundless-ness. Heavy, stifling. His brother's thoughts were so damn potent they were weighing down the room, the air of the Impala, wherever the hell the two of them were.

This was Dean thinking about his Deal. There was Dean thinking about his brother going dark-side. There was a version of Dean thinking about Dad. There was a quiet Dean thinking about Sam and Stanford. There's Dean thinking about dying and faith healers and beautiful, kind women with not much time left in the world. There's Dean looking at a magazine he's not reading, thinking about a life he did not have...

"I'm so fucking tired, bro," Sam said, under his breath. The tears were coming again. But he was alone, and it was okay to let them come, wasn't it? If there was one perk to being alone, it was that he could cry as hard as he damned wanted to and no one could see or hear him.

To be continued...