—-SNS—-SNS—CHAPTER 2—SNS—SNS—

Sounds began creeping into Sam's consciousness as he lay there, and he wrinkled his forehead, confused if they were in his dream or in the room. He had been alone so long now that any sound at all immediately put him on high alert. The sound grew louder, and he identified it as someone running through bushes and ground cover, which was odd, since he was in bed in the cabin… His eyes flew open abruptly, and then he blinked several times to try to determine what he was actually seeing. He was in a forest of some kind at night, although he didn't feel the wind and cold. In fact, he felt…strange. Glancing down, he jumped in shock - or he would have if he had a body to jump with. Instead of seeing himself, he was looking down at someone else's body, as if he was in them. Even stranger, he knew exactly who those legs belonged to…they were very distinctive legs…

"Dean!" he cried excitedly. There was no response though, and instead his point of view was moving, shifting back and forth as Dean assessed some incoming threat. Suddenly they were running, tearing through the forest on some unseen path that Dean was clearly familiar with. Ducking behind a tree, Sam could not actually feel Dean's breath coming in gasps, but somehow sensed it anyway. "Sammy, it's more than time to get me the hell out of here!" his brother muttered, before quickly shifting and swinging a strange sort of weapon at an ugly creature, separating its head from its body. Another one took its place, and Sam found himself in awe again of his brother's skill at fighting. A few minutes more, and the attack appeared to be over. They slumped down onto a stump, Dean wiping at his face to remove the blood spray. Sam couldn't figure out if he was possessing his brother - if he was, he had no control - or if he was dreaming, or what exactly was going on, but he could not help himself…in spite of the horror of the landscape Dean apparently was trapped in, he was overjoyed that he was alive. And if he was alive, that meant there must be some way to find him.

"Dean, I am going to get you out of here." he promised, wishing Dean could actually hear him, wishing he could give him some sort of comfort or encouragement. He watched as Dean picked idly at the calluses on his hands.

"Sammy, you would laugh so hard if you could hear me now, talking to nothing." Dean said, startling Sam from his thoughts. "I hope you're ok, wherever you are. I'm sorry for leaving you alone. I'm so glad you didn't end up in purgatory too, but I miss you so much…" He stopped, even as Sam exclaimed, "I knew it! Purgatory!" He shut up quickly as Dean was continuing, "Damn Cas, he thinks he's a monster magnet and took off. Wish he'd get it through his dumb ass that we're better together…!" He sighed, and Sam echoed him. So Cas was there too. Suddenly Sam felt a pull, drawing him away from his perch within Dean.

"NO!" he cried, "Not yet!" He could still see Dean's limbs, but he could also see the bedspread in the cabin. "Don't give up Dean, keep fighting. I'm coming for you!" he yelled, even as he jackknifed in the bed, sitting up abruptly and opening his eyes to the same view he had seen for the past several months. This time, however, he rose quickly and with purpose went about his morning ablutions. He wouldn't have been able to explain it to anyone who had asked, but he knew - KNEW - that what he had just experienced had not been a dream, but had actually been a view of his brother, alive, in purgatory. A short summoning spell later, and he was facing a very pissed-off King of Hell.

"Do you find it amusing to pull me here whenever you damn well please?" roared Crowley. "I am not your pet. I've left you alone, Moose, but so help me - "

"Oh shut up Crowley." Sam retorted. "Answer my question honestly and with the information I need, and I won't bother you again."

"Fine, what." he groused.

"Is there another way to access purgatory?" At that Crowley stood motionless, staring at Sam. His mouth slowly curled into a hideous smile as he put two and two together and instantly knew the reason for the question.

"Dean in purgatory? How delightful! I do hope that feathered idiot also joined him there?!"

"I need to get him back." Sam said, hating the desperation in his voice. "Is there a way?"

"No." Crowley responded flatly, "Now let me go." But Sam was having none of it. "I'll make a deal. Anything. Please."

"Did you not pay attention to the mess with the angel? There were a lot of specific steps needed, including a BLOODY ECLIPSE, mind you, and it still went all to shit. So no, I have no way to get your precious Squirrel out of purgatory."

Sam stared at Crowley, trying to judge the sincerity of his response. Eventually, though, he concluded that he was indeed telling the truth. Reluctantly he scraped at the devil's trap, and seconds later Crowley was gone. Disappointed but not out of options, he ran back to search through the mess of books, cursing his laziness in re-ordering them, until finally finding what he had been looking for. Gathering the ingredients for this spell would take longer, and the ramifications…well, he wouldn't think of that yet. So he set to work.

—-SNS—-SNS—SNS—SNS—

"Invoco Mortem.
Te in mea potestate.
Defixi.
Nunc et in aeternum."

The flash from the summoning bowl temporarily blinded Sam, and when he could see again, he was face to face with a very irate Death.

"Before you kill me, please, please, just listen." Sam begs hurriedly. "I would have asked you to come nicely, but I only had the binding spell…I'm so sorry." Death says nothing, just glares, so Sam swallows, mouth suddenly very dry, and continues. "I - I called you to ask you for your help, please. Dean is trapped in purgatory, Cas too - "

"I know." Death interrupts in his slow but impatient drawl.

"Please, is there any way you can free them?" Sam asks desperately. Death stares at him with disdain.

"In case you have forgotten who I am…" he begins, as the glimmering chains around his wrists disappear like wisps of smoke, "I am Death. You are less than a pimple on the backside of a donkey."

"I know, sir, I know." Sam says, desperate and groveling at this point. "And yet, I'm asking. Dean doesn't deserve purgatory. He saved the world, he saved me. He saved it twice actually, because he killed the Leviathan leader…"

"You of all people, Sam, " Death said calmly, "should know not everyone gets what they deserve. In fact, most don't." Sam doesn't really want to unpack all that is being said in that statement, so he pushes back.

"Can you - will you help me?"

"I will not."

Sam stares in shock as he sees his last hope slip away. "Trade him for me. Let me take his place." he pleads desperately.

"No Sam." Death says, not unkindly, "I don't do deals."

"Then kill me now." Sam retorts, "because I can't continue to live knowing I couldn't save my brother. Please, just end it now."

Death looks at Sam with what he could swear was compassion, and his voice is soft but firm when he finally replies, "It is not your time yet, Sam. You must go on."

"No." he whispers brokenly. "Just, no." Even as he says this, Death is gone. Suddenly the cabin is too much. Everywhere he looks it's Dean, it's Bobby, it's everything and everyone he's lost. He starts grabbing items from drawers and tossing them in his duffel. Five minutes later he's carefully covering the Impala, hitching his bag over his shoulder, and walking down the road.

—-SNS—-SNS—SNS—SNS—

It's been…a long time. Sam has lost track of the days again, and he's honestly not sure what town he is currently in either. The rooms and roads and towns all look the same these days. He had been rambling aimlessly from place to place, taking odd jobs to cover the room costs and the little he ate. Occasionally he'd 'borrow' a vehicle when the distance between towns seemed too daunting, but more often he would walk, sleeping under the stars, waking when he got too cold to sleep anymore and resuming his plodding way towards nowhere. He had ended up enmeshed in a couple hunts that way, but after the latest encounter - killing a werewolf that attacked him and then sitting down and bawling like a baby next to the corpse - he decided it was better if he found lodging and didn't resume hunting unless forced into it again.

Avoiding people as much as possible after a run-in with a well-meaning older lady who bemoaned loudly that she could see all his ribs through his threadbare shirt and felt it her civic duty to "put meat back on them bones", Sam skittered from place to place. He had thought about ending it, and the only thing that gave him pause was the realization that he would certainly continue to be separated from Dean in death - most likely on a one-way ticket to hell, thanks to his demon blood and that whole 'starting armageddon' thing. So he worked as much and as hard as he could - picking fruit or veggies in the fields, as a handyman anywhere that would take him, stocking shelves, cleaning toilets. Nothing was too low, but nothing sparked a sense of life or purpose in him either. At night he would lay down, close his eyes, and pray to see Dean again, but that had apparently been a one-time deal. So he would rise again, as weary of soul as when he laid down, and drift on to the next town, the next job. Anything to keep moving, keep working, and not think anymore. So this is what they call the living dead he thought without emotion. Sorry Dean, I'm so sorry. I tried…