Author's Note: So you all handled it better than I thought. Good job. Do we assume he went to Hell?
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Sam stood strangely silent as Bobby lit the pyre. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder as the flames devoured everything it touched. They had all sat vigilant for pyres before; John's had been the most recent and it seemed too soon to be doing it again.
Bobby wasn't sure how Sam managed to keep himself together. Maybe it had been the freezing cold shower or the half bottle of gin that disappeared from the table. Maybe he was going to let Bobby and Alice guide him toward some semblance of rational and let Dean go once and for all.
Somehow Bobby doubted it. Sam was just as hot headed as any other Winchester.
They stood there until the pyre collapsed, the supporting structure burned through. Only when the sun began to set did Sam bother to acknowledge them. "Where do you think he is?"
Alice glanced at Bobby; she wasn't sure what Sam meant.
"You know where he is Sam," Bobby said slowly as he nodded to the fire.
"I didn't mean his body. I meant his soul," Sam replied as his eyes bore into the flames.
Bobby choked on the thought. Of the two of the boys, Sam had always asked the tough questions. "I don't know, Sam."
At that point Bobby had steered Alice back to the house, leaving Sam alone with the fire.
"He's been out there a long," Alice said as she peered out the dusty window into the near dark.
"He'll be back in when he's ready," Bobby said as he stirred the pot of chili on the stove.
She pulled herself from the window and dropped into a kitchen chair. Books and papers were still piled high on the table and the Fay scroll was hanging precariously off the back of a chair. "Where do you think he is?"
"He's outside," Bobby said with a frown. "Does everyone around here need a map?"
"No. Sam's question…where you think Dean's soul is," Alice asked carefully. "I know what we've been assuming…any chance we're wrong?"
Bobby shook his head. "I can't begin to imagine what it would take to ensure Dean Winchester getting into Heaven, especially when he's made so many enemies up there."
It was nightfall when Sam slipped into the house. He ignored Bobby and Alice sitting at the table and took the stairs two at a time before disappearing into the small room he often shared with Dean. The whole house shook as the door slammed behind him.
"So what now?"
"Either he stays here and gets back on his feet or he takes off and we don't hear from him for a year or two," Bobby said as he set a beer in front of her. "Want to wager on which he'll choose?"
Upstairs, Sam was throwing clothes into his duffel bag. He didn't know where he was headed but he wasn't staying at Bobby's. He needed to get on the road, find something to hunt, something to kill. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the one across from him, the one Dean had always used. Sam let out a shaky sigh and ran his hands over his face. He was bone tired but he wanted to be away from the silence that Dean's absence was creating. The whole house reeked of sadness and regret and there was no way he was going to stay around just so Bobby could keep an eye on him. His dad was gone and now his brother. John's mission had been to avenge Mary and Dean's mission had been to keep Sam safe. Sam's only desire had been to have a normal family; now he didn't even have the one he had occasional hated.
He grabbed his duffel bag and bound down the stairs as fast as he could. Bobby was waiting for him by the door.
"Where you headed Sam?"
Sam dropped his duffel bag at the door and headed for the kitchen, ignoring Bobby. He ripped the door open to the cellar and headed down. He froze at the sight of the dead Fay that had been wrapped up in a sheet and tossed aside, forgotten in the frenzy to keep Dean safe. He gave it a nudge with his boot. A fleeting memory of Dean's fearful screaming pulled at Sam's exhausted brain. Dean had been terrified, locked down and unable to defend himself, while Sam had failed to comfort him. Dean had been there for him his entire life and Sam had repaid him by leaving him alone. And now he was gone.
Sam fell to his knees and punched the carelessly wrapped corpse, over and over. Only when he was deafened from his own shouting did he stand and head toward the darkness of the panic room. There was something he couldn't leave without.
He stumbled over the fallen door to the panic room and began sifting through the debris. The dim light filtering in through the open door wasn't much help, but he didn't need to see. He knew the fabric by touch. He let out a shaky breath of relief before yanking the jacket loose from the cot it was caught under. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he took one last look around the room he had imprisoned Dean in. Suddenly feeling the smallness of the room, he headed for the door. He had to get away from it.
Alice was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips. "Sam, what are you doing?"
"Leaving," he said as he slid past her and headed for the front door.
Bobby was standing by his bag, ready to stop him. "Sam, I want you to think about what you're doing. You need to wait—"
"For what!? I can't get him back, can I? You made damn sure of that! Was his body even cold before you were out there building that damn pyre?!"
Bobby's face turned red. "Sam, you might not have noticed but you were holding his body for the better part of—"
"It doesn't matter, Bobby! You did what you always do! Jump in and take over! What about what I wanted? I could have gotten him back!"
Bobby stayed silent as Sam grabbed his duffel bag and shoved his way out the door. He disappeared into the darkness, the Impala roaring to life a minute later. Bobby and Alice watched from the porch as the taillights faded and the rumble from the engine disappeared.
"Just like John… he can't see anything but his own grief."
"And that's what I'm worried about," Bobby muttered.
###
The course of the next few days was tough. Alice and Bobby didn't speak much as they worked. Alice got rid of the Fay corpse while Bobby sat by the phones, waiting for any word of Sam. He had called around and asked a few hunters to keep their eyes open for him. He didn't know what Sam would try, but Bobby knew it wouldn't be a smart choice. He had spent years watching the Winchesters tear themselves apart and while he could expect it, it never got any easier.
If Sam turned up dead somewhere it wouldn't be a surprise to Bobby.
It was nightfall of the fourth day when Alice began packing her books up. She was done. Bobby had asked for her help to determine what had been after Dean and she had done that. Her job was over, for now. She carelessly tossed the Fay scroll onto Bobby's desk. She had no intention of dealing with Crowley, even if only to return the scroll. She would go back to being anonymous and untraceable.
"How are you getting home," Bobby asked, calling from the kitchen. "Your motorcycle isn't going anywhere."
"Anything I can borrow?"
"I'll find you something."
She hesitated before heading into the kitchen. "You sure you're okay with me leaving? If you want help fixing the panic room door, l can stay," she offered.
Bobby grunted. "If you're looking for an invitation to stay, the guest room is free. Guess my cooking has improved."
"Don't kid yourself Bobby."
"Stay if you want to stay."
"I'm only offering to help fix the damn door. You want my help or not?"
"I don't care about the door. I'm tempted to hunt down Sam but I don't think he'll be easily found. He'll go underground until he's done whatever it is he's decided to do."
Alice leaned against the stove, watching the pot. "He's angry. He'll probably do a little reckless hunting; hopefully get banged up enough to need some downtime. He'll end up back on your couch soon enough."
Bobby shook his head. "I think you're missing a few steps."
"Like what? The part where he makes bail?
"There's a few steps to grieving, Alice. A good bar fight ain't one of them."
She cocked her head to one side, counting on her fingers. "I think there are five steps for grieving. Whiskey, tequila, gin…I think there are five of them…let's just add beer and vodka and call it five."
"Idjit, it goes denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Your list is a recipe for hangovers, not grieving."
"Eh, same thing."
Bobby chuckled again as he pointed to the table. "Is that how you've been handling all your bad news over the years?"
Alice shook her head. "Sometimes. I like to hunt when I'm feeling bad. Deer if it's the right season. Maybe the occasional revenant if there's one around. How has Sam handled this kind of thing in the past?"
Bobby thought back to when John had died. Sam had gone through all the right steps and while regret and guilt had followed him for months, he had come out fairly unscathed. As Bobby thought back to the months he had tracked Sam after Dean had gone to Hell he cringed. Sam hadn't ever gotten past anger and bargaining. Luckily Dean had ended up topside before the kid put himself in a permanent grave.
"He's not the best at handling grief. Not as bad as Dean…"
"How did Sam handle things last time this happened? When Dean went to Hell."
Bobby frowned, an unbid memory coming to the surface. "He became an addict…"
Alice turned in her chair. "To what?"
"Demon blood."
###
Sam sat in the Impala until the taillights from the old truck disappeared down the dirt road. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. His face was scruffy; he didn't know when he had last shaved or even slept. He averted his eyes as he adjusted the mirror. He didn't want to see himself; the anger and pain and mostly the desperation he couldn't hide. His phone rang. It was Bobby again. He turned it off and chucked it in the glovebox; the voicemail box was full and he didn't care to hear whatever crap he was going to say. Probably that he needed to let it go. That he needed to find a way to move on.
Sam climbed out of the car with the small box in his hand and a knife in the other. He didn't bother to look down the intersections; it was so remote he had only seen one vehicle in the last four hours. He buried the box of tokens and turned to wait. He knew this would work. It had to.
He waited for an hour. And then another.
"Get your ass up here," he yelled. "I want to make a deal!"
He waited another hour before kneeling to dig the box back up. Tears of frustration were welling in his eyes. Even Hell wasn't talking to him these days.
"Leave it in the ground," a feminine voice called out from behind him.
Sam dropped the box back into the hole and turned around. It was the typical cross roads demon, some pretty young woman who had been unfortunate enough to be possessed. She raised her arms and spun; the ruffled dress twirling as she did. "Pretty one, isn't she? I like the pretty ones," the demon said with a coy smile and a flash of black in her eyes. "I bet you do to."
"I'm not here to play games," Sam snarled. "I want to make a deal."
The woman moved closer and laughed. "Of course you do. You're a Winchester."
Sam said nothing, waiting for her to get down to business.
"Who do you want this time?"
Sam paused for a second. "I want my brother."
She laughed. "Doesn't everyone?"
"I mean it! I don't want the ten years. You can have me now! Just bring his soul to me!"
She stood silent for a minute, swaying just enough to make the dress swing back and forth with a slight rustle. "You know, I wasn't supposed to answer your call. I'm breaking all the rules."
"What rules?" Sam asked as he tried to ignore the desperation mounting in his chest.
"You boys are off limits. No deals, no talking, no nothing," she explained as she walked around him, her finger slowly tracing his shoulders until she was facing him. "Even if I wanted to make you a deal… which I do…I can't."
"Says who," Sam demanded.
"The King; we all have our orders," she said, feigning sadness with a faint salute. "I'll have to live with the regret. Better luck next time."
"Wait—"
Sam looked around, unsteady on his feet. "Shit! Come back!"
Only the sound of crickets and a faint whippoorwill call could be heard in the dark. Sam scrambled to grab the box out of the hole and sprinted to the Impala. There was another crossroads demon about three hundred miles away. He could try again.
###
Bobby woke to the soft sound of a door closing somewhere in the house. He knew it was probably Alice but you couldn't be too cautious. He pulled the shotgun from under his bed and trudged downstairs. A soft breeze filtered in through the front door, making him pause. He could see her silhouette, sitting on the steps. He glanced up the stairs back toward his room. He knew he needed sleep. With a shake of his head he pushed the door open and headed out. She didn't acknowledge him as he sat down next to her.
He pulled the bottle free from her loose grip and set it out of reach. "Can't sleep?"
"I can sleep; it's the nightmares that are keeping me up."
"Of what?"
"The pyre. Doesn't seem right. His childhood ended in a fire…seems wrong for his life to end the same way."
"His life ended on my couch, not in the pyre," Bobby said, correcting her.
"Same thing," Alice muttered with a flip of her hand. "It's depressing. All hunters end in a pile of ash. No headstone, no sign they ever existed."
Bobby grunted. "This is swell way to spend the night. I don't remember you being this depressing to drink with."
"We had less to be depressed about back then," Alice said with a sad smile. "Times were simple."
"Nothing's ever simple, Alice," he noted. "Maybe we were just had less conscience about what we were doing."
"Probably. Where do you think Sam is now?"
"No idea," Bobby said. "His voicemail's full. I can't leave any more messages. He'll call when he's ready."
They sat side by side and shared the rest of the bottle until the sun rose. Bobby knew Alice needed to leave. She never stayed in one place to long, not when there wasn't a need to stay put. It could be months before he heard anything from Sam. He didn't need her moping around waiting.
"I've got a job for you," Bobby said as the sun finally pushed the shadows back from the yard. "It's about Dean."
She pushed her reddish hair back and looked at him, surprised. "The job is over, Bobby. We couldn't save him. What else was there to do?"
"His bones…"
Alice shifted uncomfortably. She knew the pyres didn't always destroy everything; bones were often sifted out and buried. "What about them?"
"What you said earlier, about hunters not having graves or headstones. I know you have a plot for Dean, next to your husband and son. When we dealt with Dean being possessed by the wendigo, John told me about it. I know you were hoping it wouldn't ever come to that but…it has. I want you to bury his bones and ashes."
Alice nodded slowly. It was a job; a personal one but still a job. "I'll leave in a few hours."
###
Sam staggered out of the car and fell to his knees, digging the hole in the hard ground with his bare hands. His fingers bled from the rough gravel but he didn't notice. He didn't even know what day it was. He climbed to his feet and waited, his hands twitching as he glanced around impatiently. He knew this was the right crossroads. It had been listed in his dad's old journal and Sam knew the demon that used it was still doing business. And by the look of the empty holes in the ground it looked like the business was good.
An hour later, he sat in the dust and ran his hands through his disheveled hair. This had to work. Crossroad demons ran a business and he was a willing customer, if only they'd answer his call. He didn't even realize he had dozed off until someone stroked his face. He fought through the tired fog that had settled over him and squinted up into the morning light. Black eyes smiled down at him. "Hello Sam."
He scrambled to his feet and moved back, nearly falling as he did.
"Looks like someone's on a bit of a bender," the woman crooned with a wide smile.
"I'm just looking for a way to help my brother," Sam said. He was getting desperate. "I want his soul."
"I can't help," she said with a pout. "You're just my type too…a little bit sad, a little pathetic…"
"I'm not pathetic," Sam argued angrily. "I want his soul. Now! I'll give you mine."
She clicked her tongue and shook her head slowly. "I can't. You're off limits."
"I don't care! Hell's been after us forever, now suddenly you don't want me?! Make me a deal, dammit!"
"I'd get in big trouble. And you don't want to know how Crowley punishes his underlings."
"I don't care! I want a deal!"
"No can do, Sammy boy. Maybe next time."
She blew him a kiss just as she disappeared, a twinkle in her eye as if denying him was a great game.
Sam yelled his frustration and grabbed the box from the hole. He would try again. And again. And again. He'd do whatever it took to release Dean's soul from Hell.
Sam staggered back to the car and pulled the map from the glove compartment. There had to be another crossroads demon nearby. He'd keep going. He didn't have a choice.
###
Bobby watched as Alice carefully loaded the crate into the truck. She'd been silent most of the morning, but Bobby noticed a spring in her step. She needed purpose; even if it was something as morose as burying someone's remains. She turned and climbed the steps one more time. They looked at each other for a minute before she shrugged.
Bobby adjusted his cap and glared at her. "You waiting for a hug?"
"Over my dead body. How about a handshake?"
Halfway through the handshake Bobby pulled her into a hug. She smiled into his shoulder. "You're going soft, old man."
"Old?! I'm a spring chicken compared to you!"
She laughed, her youthful face hiding her biggest secret. "You'll call me about Sam, right?"
"I'll call when I find him," he muttered.
She nodded and headed for the truck. "Keep yourself out of trouble, Singer!'
He watched her leave, the last of Dean's remains going with her. After she turned the corner and disappeared he headed for the phone. He'd keep trying. Eventually, Sam was bound to answer.
###
Sam couldn't be bothered to wait until nightfall. He had driven all night to the next crossroads. The car was parked precariously on the side of the dirt road and the driver's side door still hanging open. He used the flat side of the blade to dig a hole before carelessly tossing the box down in the dusty soil. He swung around, looking for the demon who was supposed to appear. He was alone.
He took a staggering step back, nearly falling over his own feet. Exhaustion was eating at his body but until his mind could rest he'd keep going. Someone would make a deal with him. They had to.
He was asleep behind the wheel, still parked half in the ditch, when he heard his name. He rubbed his burning eyes and glanced out the open window. One beckoning wave from the black eyed woman was enough to send him scrambling from the car. This one was dressed in leather and denim, not even old enough to drink.
He halted in front of her, running his fingers through his hair. "I want to make a deal."
"No dice," she said as she tipped her head to the side. "You already know you're not going to get whatever it is you want."
"I want my brother!"
"And why would any of us help you?"
"You can have my soul!"
"That tarnished thing? Sam, really, I can do better," the demon said with a smirk. "Look at me. I could lure any bright, shiny new soul into my web. Now look at you. You reek of desperation. You're pathetic. You're powerless—"
Dean's knife was in her throat before Sam even realized he had drawn it. "Don't say that!"
Sam held her gaze as he pulled the knife free from her flickering body. Her warm blood was trickling down his arm. As she fell to the ground, Sam lifted his bloody hand to his mouth. "I'm not pathetic. And I am not powerless. Not anymore…"
So….we're doing it alright. Demon blood.
Send me your thoughts! I'd really appreciate it!