Hi there! So, I wrote another chapter. I hope you like it, or have something say about it, or, like, want to crush my fragile, blossoming writer-heart, because all comments are good comments.
The first thing Dean did when he woke up is check on Sam, who was, strangely, not in his proper place.
"Goddammit," Dean said, punching the pillow. "Little bitch better not use all the hot water." Only then Dean realized the water wasn't running. Which was, you know, not completely unusual considering how long Sam takes primping or jacking off or whatever. Dean rolled over and drifted back off to sleep. The clock said 8:37.
Dean woke up again at 9:23. He really needed to pee. Sam was still in the bathroom. His brother was ridiculous.
Dean rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the bathroom door.
"Hate to be the one to tell you, Princess, but ugly isn't something you can wish away." He yelled.
Sam was quiet behind the door. Dean could just picture him sighing and pushing around his terrible hair. Dean pounded on the door twice, and then decided to wait his brother out, sitting outside the door, slamming his legs into it repeatedly. Ten minutes later, Dean had had enough. He grabbed the single wire hanger in the motels tiny closet, and stomped back the door.
"One more minute, Sammy, and I swear to god, I'm coming in."
Dean grumbled, and reached to pick to the lock. The handle turned easily in his palm.
"Shit." The bathroom was cold and empty. The shower was completely dry. Sam hadn't been there all morning.
"Bitch better be picking me up a goddamn glazed donut."
Dean cursed again and headed toward the Impala, pushing back the panic with slow, in-through-your-nose, breaths. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sam, just as he was pulling out of the parking lot. It went to straight to voice mail.
"Godfuckingdammit."
Dean was calling Sam again when he saw the note, written on a pink post it Sam had somehow acquired. Dean couldn't think of anything very clever, which should say something. There was an address, and a shitload more, but Dean wasn't really concerned with that.
Sam ended being laid across a crossroads, looking unfairly hot, and also very much dead. The hair was pushed back from his face, his hands folded (um, so, actually, this was definitely a finer point of a certain someone's Master Plan), and his whole body smelling vaguely of vanilla. Dean knew because he sobbed into Sam's button-down shirt, for like, several hours. Which is embarrassing.
Eventually Dean got up enough strength to go and vomit in the nearby grass. He also picked up Sam and put him the back of the car. He screamed, he cried some more, and only then did he get it together enough to summon a demon.
Her name was Karen, and she was surprisingly kind about the whole thing. In that, you know, demon-y sort of way.
"I'm surprised you haven't blown your brains out yet." She said, popping a loud, obnoxious bubble.
"I'm not really in the mood for small talk, sweetheart." Dean said, voice barely shaking, "Now tell me what the fuck you did with Sam."
Karen rolled her eyes, and plopped down in the gravel road, crossing her legs.
"Relax, babe. I come bearing gifts."
"Let's just get this over with." Dean said, staring down at her, "My soul for Sam's. You get who you ordered in the first place."
"Whoa now, that's some heavy stuff your asking me to do. I just want to have a chit-chat, Deany-Pie."
"I want you to do this quick clean. Right now, take me, give Sammy back. It's a fair trade."
"God, does anything get through that stupid skull of yours?" Said Karen, "I'm not here to make a deal. I'm here on orders, and we've got some things to discuss. Now sit yourself down. This is going to take awhile."
Karen was very supportive when Dean started crying. "Fucking pussy." She said, digging out a tissue.
"I hope you know how much I hate doing this." She said.
"Demons lie." Dean said, "I don't believe you."
Karen sighed. "You want to try a million demons, they're all gonna tell you the same thing. Sammy is getting out of hell when he finds himself a way out. You're not getting in, it's impossible, and I'm sorry. This has to suck. But Lucifer wanted your little boyfriend-"
"Brother."
"Yeah, sure. He wanted Sam specifically, and no one really knows why. I'm just supposed to be the bearer of bad news. Even though, there's like, a note and everything. I guess everyone knew you'd be too stupid to actually read it."
"There's a way." Dean said, turning to get back in the Impala.
"Um, no. There really isn't. I'm not trying to be all metaphoric about the journey just being difficult. You physically cannot get into hell. There are Dean-Winchester alarms rigged up to make sure you keep your cute little self on earth. Getting into hell truly is not an option you possess."
"I'm calling Bobby." Dean said, whipping out his phone.
"Oh mother of god."
Bobby, as it turned out, was as helpful as ever. He promised Dean he would do some research, and hung up. Karen looked at Dean expectantly.
"Bobby's doing some research." Dean said.
"Okay. You let me know when he finds something, in, oh, I don't know, never."
"Funny."
Dean got back in the car, and slammed the door behind him.
"Where you going?" Karen asked as Dean started the car.
"I'm finding Sam a way out of hell." Dean said, pointedly ignoring his dead brother's reflection in the mirror, and the empty passenger seat, and the huge, gory hunk of him that was sliced out of his ribcage, and stung like a mother. This is, of course, symbolic.
"God speed on your pointless quest, Dean Winchester." Said Karen, giving him a little wave.
Dean focused on not crying anymore.
