This version is a little different from the canon version , Instead of the canon reunion, this one is ugly.
Purgatory was hell, but at least hell had rules.
Dean Winchester was used to fighting for his life. But this? This was different. There was no rest, no safe haven, no moment to breathe. Every second in Purgatory was a battle, and every moment without a blade in his hand was an invitation to die.
But the worst part wasn't the blood, the monsters, or the constant chase. It was the silence. The absence.
The absence of Sam.
At first, he held onto the belief that Sam was looking for him. That his little brother—his only real family—was out there, turning the world upside down to bring him back. He imagined Sam in some dusty library, ripping through old books, tracking down leads, calling every hunter he knew.
Dean survived on that thought.
Until the days stretched into weeks. Until hope started to rot inside him like a wound left untended.
He'd lost track of time—there was no real way to measure it here. But however long it had been, it was long enough for reality to sink in. Sam wasn't coming.
And that hurt worse than anything Purgatory could throw at him.
--
Back on Earth
Sam Winchester sat in a small, dimly lit motel room, staring at nothing. The hum of an old ceiling fan was the only sound, rattling quietly in the background. Beside him, Amelia slept peacefully, her breathing soft and steady.
She didn't know what haunted him.
Because Sam didn't talk about it. About Dean. About how he used to wake up in a panic, thinking he heard his brother's voice. About how he had considered looking for him—until he convinced himself there was nothing to find.
Dean was dead. He had to be.
Right?
The alternative was worse. Because if Dean wasn't dead, then Sam had abandoned him.
And Sam didn't think he could live with that truth.
--
Purgatory – Dean's Breaking Point
Dean crouched against a rock, blood coating his knuckles. The body of a creature—some hybrid of a ghoul and something nastier—lay at his feet. He was exhausted. It wasn't just physical, though his body felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together with barbed wire.
It was the mental weight. The sinking, hollow feeling.
"Sammy…" His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
Nothing.
No answer. No sign. No hint that anyone was out there looking for him.
For the first time in his life, Dean felt forgotten.
Maybe that was the truth. Maybe Sam had just moved on. After all, Dean had done all the fighting for them. He was always the one clawing his way back to Sam. Maybe, when the roles reversed, Sam didn't think it was worth the effort.
Something inside Dean cracked.
He slammed his fist into the ground, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. The anger burned white-hot in his chest, but beneath that, buried so deep he didn't want to acknowledge it—was grief.
Sam wasn't coming.
He was alone.
And for the first time, Dean stopped waiting.
--
Months Later – The Reunion
Rufus's cabin light was dim . Sam stood near the table, tension in his shoulders. He had gotten the call—somehow, somehow, Dean was back.
He didn't know what to expect. Relief? Guilt? Fear?
But when the door slammed open, and Dean stepped inside, Sam's breath caught in his throat.
His brother looked wrecked. Gaunt, bruised, hollowed out like a ghost wearing Dean Winchester's skin.
"Dean—"
Dean punched him.
The force sent Sam stumbling back, the shock of it hitting harder than the physical pain. He barely had time to recover before Dean's voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade.
"You didn't even try."
Sam froze.
Dean's eyes burned with something dangerous—something raw, something broken. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his fists still clenched.
"I—Dean, I thought—"
"Don't." Dean's voice cracked, but there was no softness in it. "Don't give me excuses. Don't you dare stand there and act like you had no choice."
Sam swallowed hard. "I—I didn't know how to look. I thought you were gone."
Dean laughed. But it wasn't real laughter. It was bitter, jagged. "Oh, you didn't know how? That's rich. You always find a way when it's something that matters to you, don't you?"
Sam's stomach twisted.
Dean shook his head, taking a step back. "You know what kept me going in that hellhole? You. I kept telling myself, 'Sam's looking. Sam's out there, doing everything he can to bring me home.'"
Dean's voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"But you weren't. You weren't even trying."
"Dean…"
"You left me." The words landed like a death sentence. "You left me to rot in that godforsaken place, and you just—what? Moved on?"
Sam wanted to explain. Wanted to say something. But there were no words that would fix this.
Because Dean was right.
He had left.
And there was no taking that back.
The silence stretched between them, thick with everything they couldn't say. Then, without another word, Dean turned and walked away.
Sam let him go.
Because for the first time in his life, he wasn't sure Dean would ever forgive him.
--
What do you think ? Did you like it ?