It was a long trip back.
John could hear muffled voices that came in and out, but it was hard to focus on them. His brain was a kaleidoscope of tortured, fragmented images, endlessly replaying, driving him back into the darkness.
Someone raised his head and held a cup to his mouth. The cup nudged his lips open and tipped some water in. He choked a little before his body remembered how to drink, then he gulped thirstily.
Water. Sweet, cold and wonderful. It pulled him back a little bit more from the darkness. He hung there, uncertain and afraid.
"Dad?"
John managed to pry his eyes open just enough to see Dean hovering over him.
"Dad!" Dean's face broke into a relieved smile.
"What . . . what's happening?"
"You're all right, Dad," Dean reassured him. "We got rid of that fucking demon."
"Demon?" his father mumbled, confused.
"Don't you remember?"
John stared uncomprehendingly at him. Slowly, painfully, his splintered memories startled to coalesce. With a sudden, painful jolt, they came together and he closed his eyes reflexively, gagging. "Oh, God."
Dean squeezed his father's hand. "Dad, it's over now."
"Never, I would never hurt you boys," John said desperately. He struggled to rise.
Dean pressed him back down onto the couch. "Take it easy, Dad. Give yourself a minute."
"Where's Sam?" John demanded.
Bobby appeared behind Dean. "He's outside. He'll be in soon."
"Bobby."
John's voice held a fervent plea, something Bobby had never heard from him before. Pity in his eyes, he nodded. "I'll go get him."
John lay back and listened to Bobby's footsteps as he left the study and paced down the hall toward the front door.
"Dad?"
John looked apprehensively at Dean. "Sam – is he . . ."
Dean's face held a complex mix of worry and guilt. "He's pretty messed up, Dad."
"I need to see him, Dean, I have to tell him – "
"SAM!"
Bobby's shout echoed throughout the house, the report of a gunshot following close on its heels.
"Sam!" Dean wrenched his hand from John's grip, yanking his gun out from underneath his coat. As he bolted from the room, the boom of Bobby's shotgun filled the house.
Dean came out the front door at a dead run. When he hit the yard he staggered and went to his knees, heart slamming in his chest at the sight before him.
Still and bloody, Sam's body lay in the middle of the yard, Bobby standing frozen in place beside him.
"Sammy?" Gun falling to the ground, the taste of fear bitter in his mouth, Dean sprinted to his brother and dropped to his knees beside him. "No, no, no."
"Jesus." Eyes blown wide with shock, Bobby's shotgun hung loose in his hand. "Jesus."
Dean stretched out a shaking hand and touched Sam's face. "Sammy?"
There was a clatter from the fence in the scrap yard as someone scrambled up over it and fell with a thud on the other side.
Growling, Bobby swung up his shotgun and let off a blast in that direction. "You murdering bastard!"
The blast didn't even register on Dean. Brain stalled, heart frozen, he stared down at his motionless brother. "Sam?"
Sam didn't wake. Didn't open his eyes. Didn't grin up at his fool of an older brother, laughing at the terrible trick he'd played.
Unable to move, unable to breathe, Dean's brain raced frantically, trying to find a way out of this unspeakable hell. This couldn't be. Couldn't.
A tentative hand touched his shoulder.
Dazed, he looked up. Bobby stared down at him, face set in harsh, grief-stricken lines. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so damned sorry."
"No. No." Dean leaned over and kissed his brother's bloody lips. "No."
"Dean." Bobby crouched down beside them. His mouth trembled as he looked into Dean's shattered face. "Let's get your brother into the house."
Dean ignored him, his entire being focused on Sam.
Struggling to hold it together, Bobby grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "Dean. Let's get Sam into the house."
Dean looked around the cold, barren yard and at last nodded. Bending over, he picked up Sam's upper body and waited until Bobby took his feet. Then, together, they staggered toward the house where John clung to the front door, his face a ghastly white.
As the two men passed him with their terrible burden, John looked into Sam's lax face and his heart broke.
Mary. Our boy.
"Shut the door," Bobby grunted. "And fuckin' lock it.",
Mind reeling, John fumbled the door shut and slid the bolt back, then followed them unsteadily into the study, tears flowing unchecked as his youngest was laid on the couch.
Leaving the Winchesters standing over their boy, Bobby moved quickly to pull the curtains over the windows. Once he was sure they were hidden from the outside, he strode back to the couch.
"Dean, go get me some hot water and clean cloths," he ordered brusquely.
Dean looked at him dully. "What?"
Bobby drew in a ragged breath. "Your brother's alive, Dean."
"Alive?" Dean stared down at Sam, a fearful hope rising in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, boy. I'll explain in a minute. Don't waste time. Go. Hot water. Clean cloths."
With a last desperate glance at Sam, Dean ran out of the room.
Bobby leaned over Sam and pulled back an eyelid. He grunted in satisfaction.
Legs shaking underneath him, John leaned over the couch and laid a trembling hand on Sam's throat. Feeling a weak but steady pulse, he glared at Bobby. "What the hell?"
Ignoring the glare, Bobby went to his desk and rummaged in one of the bottom drawers for his medical kit. "Right now we three are the only ones who know that Sam is still alive," he said tersely. "We need to keep it that way."
SUPNSUPNSUPN
The silence was dark and sweet. Sam couldn't see, couldn't hear. It didn't matter.
Nothing mattered, because he didn't hurt anymore.
He floated, warm and safe.
At peace.
After a time, things changed.
He lay inert on a sandy beach, basking in the heat of a midday sun, a soft breeze caressing his body. There was the sound of distant gulls on the air and the comforting pulse of the ocean.
He remembered nothing, knew nothing, was nothing.
He drifted.
Peace.
After a time, things changed.
"Sam?"
Sam opened his eyes.
He lay in the middle of a lush green field, rife with flowers in full bloom.
A single bee flying by paused and hovered in front of him for a long moment. They studied each other. Then Sam sat up and climbed to his feet and the bee gave a kind of friendly little dip in the air and buzzed away.
Eyes following the tiny creature's progress, Sam's gaze drifted over a somewhat larger creature.
"Sam?"
His gaze tracked back and rested on a golden-haired woman sitting a few feet away in the middle of a large white tablecloth.
She smiled, blue eyes glowing with happiness. "Hello, sweetheart."
After a little puzzling, Sam said, "Mom?"
"I've waited a long time to meet you," said Mary Winchester.
Sam stared at her for a beat, then his gaze floated away again, following the progress of a pair of gamboling rabbits. Presently, he caught a peripheral movement and looked over to see his mother opening a large picnic basket. She smiled at him again. "Hungry?"
Sam wasn't. He wasn't really anything, but when she started lifting food and plates and glasses out of the basket and setting them out on the tablecloth, he drifted over and sat down beside her.
She handed him a glass and he took a sip. Chocolate milk.
"I love chocolate milk."
"I know." She carefully arranged a pretty assortment of finger foods onto a paper plate and set it in front of him. "Eat up, now."
He stared blankly at the plate until Mary guided his hand to one of the sandwiches, then ate quietly, watching her.
"Am I dead?" he asked at last.
"No." Mary selected a piece of thickly-frosted chocolate cake and placed it on a plate.
"Are you dead?"
She sighed and folded her hands into her lap. "Yes, Sam. I am."
Puzzled, he cocked his head to the side. "Why are you here? Why am I here with you?"
"Because it's been so very long since I've seen you." Mary hesitated. "Because I wanted to see you before you go back."
"Back?" Sam chewed that over. "Back where?"
Her smile held a hint of sadness. "Back to your brother."
SUPNSUPNSUPN
Bobby reached across the bed and laid a hand on Sam's forehead. It was as cool and fever-free as when he'd checked it an hour ago.
The wound hadn't been as bad as it had first appeared.
Sam had a concussion and a deep graze that promised one hell of a headache when he finally decided to wake up, but nothing more serious than that. Bobby couldn't find any reason for the boy to still be unconscious. Strike that. No physical reason.
He looked over at Dean, waiting impatiently on the other side of the bed for the verdict.
"Sam's fine, Dean. The I.V. is keeping him hydrated. You, on the other hand, look like hammered crap."
"Come on, Bobby! It's been three days!" Dean's eyes were red-rimmed, shadowed with exhaustion. "Why isn't he waking up?"
Diplomacy wasn't Bobby Singer's strong suit; tact not a close-held friend. But, knowing just how little sleep Dean had gotten over the last few days, and just how worried he was about his brother, he chose his words carefully.
"A few nights ago, you two had a pretty big blow out."
Dean's face went blank with surprise.
"I'm not askin' what it was about," Bobby said. "I heard enough to get a good idea."
Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, unexpected tears filled his eyes.
"Sam was afraid that breaking John away from that demon would break up the two of you," Bobby went on doggedly.
Dean took a shaky breath and nodded. His eyes fell on his brother's sleeping face and a single tear escaped, skating down his cheek. "I had to do it, Bobby." His voice was hoarse. "I had to get Dad away from that demon."
"Hell, boy, course you did. I never expected anything else. Whatever else he is, he's your father. You'd never be able to live with yourself if you'd left him like that. Sam knows that."
"I told Sam it would just be until we got Dad on his feet again, but he didn't believe me." There was more than a little hurt in Dean's voice.
"He wanted to believe you. But I'm guessing Sam doesn't think he's worth the sacrifice."
"That's crap!" Dean was furious. "Sam's worth anything! Everything!"
"Dean, just look at it from your brother's point of view. He's got demon blood inside him and he's slated to lead some damned demon army. You think he likes puttin' you in the way of that?"
Dean huffed out an angry breath. "Like any of that matters to me."
"It matters to Sam. He's scared he's gonna get you killed. And with John back – that act he put on for the demon a few days ago, that wasn't an act. Your brother thought you were gonna choose to go back to your old life. Back to your father."
"Well, he was wrong." Dean's eyes flicked to the open door, listening to the silence in the rest of the house.
The silence, John's silence, was deafening. He hadn't said a word about the two boys' relationship, but his unspoken protest hung thick in the air whenever he came into the room, which wasn't often. The deep, unhappy confusion in his eyes said more than anything he could have said out loud.
Bobby sighed. He was full up, for now, with Winchester drama. "I'm gonna go get something to eat. Once he wakes up, you two need to talk. And this time, you need to make him believe you. For now, why don't you see if you can get some sleep, so when Sam does haul his lazy ass outta bed you'll be awake for it?"
With a final check of Sam's I.V., Bobby left the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.
SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN
Dark eyes bleak, Sam put his sandwich down. "Dean doesn't want me anymore."
"Oh, sweetie, you know that's not true." Mary lifted a forkful of chocolate cake to his lips and watched with satisfaction as he ate it. "Good, isn't it? It was Dean's favorite, when he was young."
Sam frowned. "Dean likes pie."
His mother laughed, a clear bell-like sound. "Dean likes everything. But he loves you." She laid a hand on his knee. "Can't you hear it?"
Sam started to shake his head, then stopped, brow wrinkled. He could hear – something. A slight buzz at the edge of the world. More a low drone than anything else.
"What's that sound?"
Mary didn't answer. She just watched him, hands folded loosely in her lap, a trace of sadness in her eyes.
Sam concentrated on the sound, trying to sort it out. As he listened, the noise gradually separated into sobs and broken words.
sorry – come back – you and me – we – love you -
Dean.
A lance of pain arced through his head and he gasped. "Mom?"
Mary put an arm around him and pressed her face against his shaggy head, holding him steady until the pain lessened.
"I don't know what to do. I can't do this anymore, Mom. I can't." There was no self-pity in Sam's voice, only a deep well of black despair. "It hurts there. Everything hurts, all the time."
"I know, love." Mary hugged him even harder, tears pooling in her eyes. "You need to talk to Dean. Tell him what you want. Things will get better, I promise."
Sam shook his head. "He'll leave me. He's all I've got."
"Oh, sweetie. Haven't you been listening? You've got nothing to be afraid of."
The utter conviction in her voice stilled the fear in Sam's heart. The certitude in her eyes gave him the strength to at least hope.
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, too, sweetheart." Mary smiled through her tears. "But I've kept you here long enough. Listen, Sam. Just listen."
Keeping her face in his heart, Sam closed his eyes and concentrated on the voice inside.
samsamsammysammysammysammysammy
Things changed.
Sam opened his eyes.
SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN
I sweated blood on this one. Let me know what you think.