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.

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Home Road

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12

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Hell

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They were bound to come, the visions about Sam.

The realization struck him like a stab in the gut. Like a demon's invisible hands raking through his insides and turning them into outsides.

But the moment it started, god, he couldn't wrench himself away, because the visions always started with comforting things. Like mom and her night gown, dad and his scent. He was going to be given a chance to know his brother through and through, through the borrowed eyes of a dark god, sure, but still. It was Sam and as always, Dean could never resist him.

The vision brought him to the very, very first time he met Sam. He forgot he remembered. His mom was just huge with carrying another life inside of her. With her insistence and encouraging smile, Dean had tentatively reached for her rounded belly, and it was the first time any of them ever felt Sam move.

Quickening, they called it. Dean liked the word.

Mom said the baby kicked at his touch, but Dean knew different. He touched his mother's belly, and he insisted the baby had reached out from inside too. Sam wouldn't kick at him, for crying out loud. She laughed and indulged him.

He couldn't wait to see Sam. They were friends even before he got out. The bestest. He knew right off the bat that from then on he had a sidekick, for tossing footballs and television and music and games and Lucky Charms and Mac and Cheeses and--

He remembered the first time he saw his brother. The baby was funny-looking, and he didn't make a whole lot of sense. He did strange things, made weird sounds and jerky movements. He had the firmest grip, and Dean remembered the first time Sam held him, little fingers curled around his index finger. Warm and sure, as if the baby was just as sure as he was that they were really onto something here.

The most-off things amused baby Sam, like the yellow star hanging over his head, which he liked more than the G.I. Joe Dean had been so willing to lend him. Maybe he ignored it because he knew Dean didn't really want to give it up yet. And he always laughed at Dean, even if he wasn't doing anything funny.

Dean could not have known Sam any better than he did in that vision. The first time they met, god, the first time he touched his brother. The first smile, the winking dimple on his cheek, the first tooth. Dean remembered exactly how he said his first word – the voice, the tone, the accompanying gurgly grin...

He thought he would never smile again, after mom died. But Sam had exclaimed "Dean!" before anything else (sure, it sounded like a bark since the kid probably picked it up from how their dad always snapped at him but what did that matter?), and he felt as if his face was breaking in two. That was Sam's first word, and Dean kept it to himself until Sam said "Dada." Because dad felt bad enough as it was, with their mom dead.

Dean remembered Sam going to school for the first time, glancing behind him at Dean, unsure. Dean raising an eyebrow at him and waving him off, encouraging in his own way. He remembered what Sam was wearing. He remembered how his brother's jacket creased and folded when he squared his shoulders boldly, and Dean remembered the very first step Sam had taken toward the building.

It was, he realized, the very very first step Sam had taken away from him. Because until Sam had gone to school, Dean was always just an arm away. The memory of that first day superimposed itself with that first step toward Stanford. And Sam had looked just as scared and just as brave.

Dean was reintroduced to every single parcel of his brother.

Just before Sam would be wrenched from him.

Like they had taken mom, and they had taken dad. They were going to make him watch every piece of Sam die. The light in his eyes, the fading dimple, the slack mouth, the limbless body--

He was back in Cold Oak.

No, he decided.

He'd already found a way to outsmart this goddamn hell-hole. It was he who died there, not Sam. He burned in Kansas, he burned in hell, and he was stabbed in Cold Oak too.

Pain, like, white-hot...

Pain, like, white-hot...

Pain, like, white-hot.

" " "

"My back," Dean gasped, and groaned, "Son-of-a-bitch--"

"What's wrong?" Ruby asked urgently, and he was half-aware of the hands that scrambled for him, blindly in the dark, first feeling his face as if she had followed his voice, and then tracing toward his back. He writhed on the ground, and found he had nothing left in him that was fighting against her misplaced ministrations.

"Dean, I don't feel anything--"

"It's nothing," he growled, after a long moment realizing that the pain was just at the tail end of his nightmare. His nightmare, of what Sam felt before died. He shut his eyes, felt the tears streak down his cheeks. Sam never even felt Dean's arms around his failing body when he called. Sam never even felt him near.

She backed off then, and in the dark, he knew nothing of her other than that her eyes were struggling to stare at him. Dean just lay on his side where he was, echoes of the pain just vanishing. His nose wouldn't stop running, nor his eyes. Crying like a wussy, but they both kept their mouths shut about it.

" " "

Indiana

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Rag doll.

Used, abused, and battered.

Torn down and patched-up.

Because it was needed.

Because it was loved.

But god, you look like a dirty mess.

One moment, Sam was on the ground, clutching his twice-dead brother in his arms, Bobby asking him what the hell did he want to do (let the body stay dead or make it fake-alive, wow, they did have a scandalous amount of options. They should have also asked, burial or cremation), and the next...

Well, when he blinked and could think straight again, they were in a different room, Dean was on a fresh bed, reattached to machines, lost blood volume replaced, binding link torn into at a nasty, gashed corner to release the dead spirit it encased, slashed veins and wrists sewn and bandaged, and the bloodstains wiped clean from his body.

Looking just like a rag doll.

"Well that's it," Brennan said with a weary sigh, and he looked at Sam with some regret, "You ah... you told me I'm supposed to keep the body sort-of alive and you'll figure out what comes back, right?"

"Yeah," Sam winced, asking, "What's he uh... got to come back to?"

Please, by all means, explain the obvious. He's dead...

Brennan hesitated. He was nervous, knowing he had to be the bearer of bad news and at the same time, knowing full-well that messengers got shot all the time too.

"Right now nothing," Brennan said at last, deciding on flat honesty, or maybe there was just nothing else to say about the situation, no diplomacy to save it, no euphemism to cloak it. Which made things worse. Dean was just literally nothing, at this point.

"The brain's dead," Brennan continued, "Flat on the EEG. And there is no bodily function that we're not doing for him. I don't know what you think you can pull back, Sam. Even if you could actually do it, I don't know if getting that soul back is going to do anything for this body. He was under a long time. Coming out of brain death is still a mystery to us. I don't know even know if he'll wake up, or at what state. There will be lost functions, at the very least. Or he can just remain like... this. We've done absolutely everything we could, you know that. I'm sorry Sam, I really am."

Sam nodded at him and stepped forward, toward Dean. He drew out Dean's amulet from the folds of his jacket, and squeezed it tight.

"I'm sorry, bro," Sam whispered to his unconscious – scratch that , make it comatose or possibly even 95-percent-dead - brother, except the room was so filled with dead air that he might as well have used a megaphone, since everyone there heard him anyway.

His adroit fingers worked around the tubes and wires, and slipped the amulet securely around Dean's neck. He patted it once, against his brother's chest. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

I'm coming Dean, he thought, I'm gonna find you.

He opened his eyes...

... and watched the necklace disappear.

He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would lead him to where his brother was.

I swear, he promised, When I get you out... and you don't want to live like this, I'll let you go.

I'll let you go, I will.

I promise.

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Hell

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Dean knew he was in trouble when he emerged from another vision of Cold Oak, breathless and shaking, and felt her hand on his ankle, awkward sure, but making some sort of weird effort to remind him he was not alone.

The touch barely registered.

Like Sam felt nothing when Dean held him as he was dying and oh god--

I think I'm dying.

The realization brought unexpected tears of regret to his eyes.

I don't wanna die.

I don't deserve to go to hell.

He'd only ever cried for others. For his mom, for his dad, for Sam. He felt sorry for himself often enough, sure, it was just who they were and the situations they were in, sometimes. He grinned. He bore it. He went on. But this, he did not expect. He was losing his mind, he was losing himself, all when he didn't even have much to begin with.

Blunt instrument.

They don't need you, not like you need them.

Worthless...

Worthless.

Worthless since the day you were born.

He was reintroduced to every piece and parcel of himself.

From the day he was born to that night in New Harmony, he sat through a god's eye's view of his life. He'll never know himself any better than this.

His senses were heightened, in his memories. He felt like a god, seeing everything, knowing everything there was to know about himself. He was seeing himself through indulgent, borrowed eyes. Eyes that lent him every bit of himself, only to take all of them away from him, make the pain last longer, make the loss more compl--

" " "

Lucian opened the door to Dean's cell himself.

With bated breath, Sam peered into the dark, and found Ruby sitting cross-legged on the floor, squinting and blinking up at him, as if the dull, natural light of hell was blinding. Her hand was resting on his brother's ankle, and Dean was lying on his side, his back to the door.

Sam pushed his way forward, and fell to his knees next to his brother, pressing large hands against Dean's shoulder, pushing him to lie down on his back so he could see his face.

You look like New Harmony all over again, he thought, shakily. Pale face. Vacant eyes. Just like in New Harmony, as if you're not here anymore...

"Dean," Sam said, urgently, shaking him, "Dean. Wake up, damn it."

He pulled his brother close, not caring that he was being seen by demons, or those who were his enemies. Not caring for much of anything at all, except he wanted to know that Dean was still in there somewhere, that he hadn't been too late.

"Dean, please."

He lowered his head against his brother's, and clutched at him tighter.

"Please."

Dean stirred, and emitted a low, guttural sound that Sam had only ever heard once before, back in the lair of that wretched Djinn, that one other time his brother had been taken away from him.

"Good to be home," Dean murmured, his voice a feathery breath on Sam's forearm, and Sam's eyes watered in relief.

"Thought I lost you," Sam said, gruffly, resettling his brother against his chest. He felt Dean shrug against him, not bothering to say, You almost did.

But I didn't lose him then, Sam thought, And I haven't now.

"Sammy," Dean breathed.

"I'm getting you out of here," Sam told him vehemently. He adjusted his grip, placing Dean's arm over his shoulder before he rose to his feet. Ruby was seated on the floor, looking up at him with eyes that were both haunted and hopeful.

"I want her too," Sam said, to Lucian.

"She was not part of the deal," Lucian told him, easily.

"Lilith being inside my brother's body wasn't either," Sam pointed out, "But I still killed her."

Lucian shrugged, "That was within bounds--"

"There's the letter of an agreement," snapped Sam, "And its spirit. Lilith being inside Dean violated the latter, and you still got what you wanted."

"I forgot you were to become a lawyer," Lucian sighed, melodramatically. But his eyes were alight, still reeling from his victory, and anxious about mobilizing the rest of his plans now that Lilith was dead. He's almost forgotten what happy was like. The magnanimous mood was disarming.

"You know there are many lawyers in hell," Lucian murmured at him, but Sam was in no mood to indulge him, just stared at him darkly.

"Fine," Lucian said, with a casual wave of his hand, "Take the frill. She's just a lot of trouble here. But try not to exorcise her and send her back. I already have my plate full."

Ruby didn't have to be told twice. Nor did she bother to pretend she wasn't relieved, or grateful. For all her cool menace, she did not want to be stuck in a dank cell in hell (Who did?). She scrambled to her feet, and grabbed Dean's other arm and slung it over her shoulder too. She looked baffled and uncertain, staring at Sam, before she concentrated on the floor.

He realized it was as much of a "Thank you" as he was going to get, a beat before he tried to think about when the last time she could have said it was, or when was the last time she ever felt grateful for anything in her long, un-dead life.

"Let's go."

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Lucian, like Azazel, ran a tight ship. None of his demons trailed after Sam, Dean and Ruby as they trekked out of the stronghold toward Sam's gate. Theoretically, the level of discipline and organization should have been feared, but at that moment, Sam did not care. His world shrank, when Dean died. Nothing else mattered outside of them getting the hell out of hell.

It wasn't a long walk at all, to his gate; the amulet had led Sam's feet exactly where he needed to go to find his brother. The demons were behaving (he couldn't believe he was thinking that), at least, as best as they could. But he remained antsy and nervous, and Ruby noticed.

"What?" she asked him, quietly.

"What what?" Sam muttered at her irritably, glancing at her over Dean's lolling head.

"You're on edge," she pointed out, "What's going on?"

"I'm not messing around with the deal, if that's what you mean," Sam said.

"Then what?" Ruby asked.

"Nothing," Sam muttered, and just kept on walking. She didn't pry further. She was supposed to be a quick study, after all, and has been hanging around Dean too much.

They walked on.

"You're worse than him," she muttered.

"What?!"

"Nothing."

He sighed, unsure why he should be offended that a demon liked his brother more. But the weird thought made him smile a little bit, thinking about Dean being liked by his enemies. His brother had the weird ability to fit in in most places... or, well, making them fit him, at any rate.

Dean had bashed around with their dad's friends, who all treated him like he was one of the club, talked to him like he was fifty years old, even his dad's cliquish Marine buddies, as if he had been in Vietnam with them or something. He blended in prison, in a bar, hell, even with kids in a playground. He picked up college coeds, suburban soccer moms and bar girls with equal ease.

Sam frowned at his brother's head, chillingly remembering his broken, vacant eyes, looking like he belonged with the un-dead too.

"Maybe you're just indiscriminate," Sam muttered, shifting his grip.

Dean groaned, and jerked, as if physically struck.

"Dean--" Sam exclaimed, when Dean pulled the arm wound around Sam's shoulder toward his face to clutch at his head, unknowingly pulling at Sam's.

"Lie him down," Ruby said, already shifting to do so, "Don't let him ride it too long."

His eyes shot to her, confused but not knowing what else to do. He lowered his writhing and groaning brother to the ground. He looked sick, and... and... frail. Moving in painful jerks, strangled, wordless sounds coming from set jaws and a snarling mouth, as if something inside him wanted his mouth open and closed at the same time, warring against itself. His hands were fisted so tight bones and veins bulged.

"I don't know what he sees," Ruby explained, preoccupied as her wiry hands worked on Dean's, prying the fisted digits open, "But I have heard him rant about your mom. Your dad. You."

"Yeah," grimaced Sam. And what else would Dean's hell be but that? Hunger, thirst, incessant pain and torture, he can live with that, he has before. But mom on the ceiling, dad in hell, Sam in Cold Oak... that was something else together. This was Dean's hell.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked her, when she grunted, finally able to pry Dean's fingers loose. She grabbed Sam's hand, placed it over the back of Dean's, and pressed both against the amulet on Dean's chest.

"Bring him back," she told him, softly.

And after a beat, the tension gradually left Dean's body, deflating him, limbless on the ground. Sam didn't breathe until Dean's chest rose in a tortured inhale.

"The sooner he's out of here..." she sad, her voice drifting.

He blinked, and nodded. He hesitantly released his older brother's hand, but left it resting against the amulet.

"Come on, tough guy," Sam said with a grunt, as he pulled Dean up by the shoulders, bracing the dead-weight of his brother against the left side of his chest. He put an arm around Dean's back and under his knees, poising to lift him.

"We won't tell anybody, I promise," Sam gabbed, nervous and just anxious to leave, "It'll go faster this way. The demon's strong, but she's kinda short."

"I happen to like this body," she snapped, but spotted him anyway when he rose to his feet with his burden.

"I was just thinking you looked thin, bro," Sam chuckled, breathlessly, "Guess I was wrong."

"I think this is karma," Sam said, almost casually as he walked, noting that Ruby stayed unobtrusively behind him, "All those times you had to carry me around. It's not very fair, though, is it? You got to do it when I was a kid. This is hardly the same thing."

"You were fatter then than now," Dean breathed against his brother's shirt, making Sam grin.

"Welcome back, Jerk."

"Took you long enough, Bitch," Dean growled more than a beat delayed, as if this was something he was trying to get re-used to, "Put me down."

There wouldn't have been any arguing with that, so Sam did as he was told, but kept Dean's arm about his shoulder. Dean carried maybe 25 percent of his own weight and everything else he had plied on Sam.

"Lilith's dead?" Dean asked, flatly, as they walked.

"Yeah," Sam said, "And we get a reprieve from invasion 'til 2061."

"Invasion," Dean growled, "'Cos that's exactly what it'll be, Sam, you know that, right? We could have let 'em have a go at each other like the Dems with Obama and Hillary while the Republicans partied. Now... you got just one guy sharp as yellow-eyes, and every demon on his corner."

"It's a long way away, Dean," Sam told him, quietly, not at all feeling guilty about his choice, knowing full well that come hell or highwater, if he could do things over, he'd still do the same thing, "If they can get themselves together, so can we."

"We'd be ancient by then," Dean pointed out, "I feel like... like we're passing it on to someone else or something, this damn war."

"Maybe," Sam conceded, "But maybe it's not supposed to end with us, either."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe we're not the sword to the hilt, bro," Sam said, softly, "Maybe we're just the tip. With every life we save, all these people we bump into with what we do, we change minds, man. That's your army there."

"Megalo-"

"No, Dean," Sam insisted, "I'm serious. I told you, I told you before I needed to feel that it's not just you and me in this and it's not. It's Bobby and Missouri and the Harvelles. It's even the thrice-damned Ghostfacers, I don't know. It's a lot more people besides that."

"It gets dangerous," Dean told him, honestly, "When we start thinking this isn't our responsibility."

"I'm not saying that," said Sam, "All I'm saying is we can start over. We got time. Oceans aren't boiling, frogs aren't raining from the sky? Let's get you your strength back first?"

"Yeah," Dean snorted, wearily, "Well when I fed you that line, I gotta point out you did nothing for me there."

"Well it's true this time," Sam pointed out, "Besides... this is me."

"So what?"

"When'd you ever say no?" Sam said, triumphantly.

"I say no," Dean muttered indignantly, sounding tired and defeated.

"You wanna get into this Dean, really?" Sam teased him, nudging him a little because he was drifting away again and that made Sam nervous, "You want to subject yourself to the indignity of going into an argument we both know you're gonna lose?"

"I wanna subject to you shutting up," Dean growled at him, though they both knew he didn't mean it, not really. Banter with Sam meant he was almost – if not already – home.

Sam smiled at that, before the look turned wistful, and he was uneasy again.

"What?" Dean asked, sensing the reclaimed tension in his body.

"You really don't," Sam began, quietly, looking ahead at the road before them blankly. The wasteland was familiar, and he knew they were nearing his gate, nearing his secret exit from hell. Strange, how your loves change the way you look at things. Suddenly hell if Dean was there was bad but not-that-bad...

"What?" Dean pressed again, impatient because any negative shift in his younger brother's mood worried him.

"You really don't say no," Sam said, "And sometimes you should."

Dean stopped walking, and wove a little but successfully stayed on his feet when he stepped back from his brother. "Sam?"

Sam averted his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean growled, grabbing his kid brother by the arm, "What? What did you do--"

"No, nothing like your stupid deal or dad's," Sam said, "Nothing like that."

Dean's grip tightened only a little.

"Kinda wish it was," Sam admitted, "'Cos if it was a deal like that, you'd have just shot up awake and be as good as new. Like I did."

"Sam, what are you talking about?" Dean asked.

"You're not doing so good up there, Dean," Sam said, deciding to just get it all out there. It was the fair thing to do, and Dean deserved to know the truth.

"You died, Dean," Sam said, voice shaking, "I did everything I could. I did. It's just... I don't know what you'd get back to, Dean, I really don't. The docs say you've lost functions. If you wake up at all. I ah... I didn't know what to do, Dean. I don't know what to do. So ah... I promised I'd get you out of hell and I'm going to. But if you ah... if you don't want to live like that..."

I'll unplug you myself.

"If you don't want to live like that," he said again, finding he was unable to finish the though, "You just gotta say so."

I'll let you go.

Dean stared at him, looking scared for a moment, before his expression softened to pensive, and wistful.

To be continued...