Sam forced his lungs to expand, taking in a long, fortifying breath, instantly tasting hot grains of sand at the back of his throat, small dry clouds of earth kicking up at the weak breeze, the white sun beating down on the three lonely figures standing smack dab in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, sweat already collecting at his hairline, beading down a slow path along his temples before running into the rough patch of the stubble now lining his jaw, praying to God and everything that he considered holy to steady the unwanted tremors itching through his fingertips as he cradled something so old and delicate against his chest, the almost nonexistent wind already taking it's toll on the fair pages. Sam didn't worry though, wasn't even looking down at the open pages he had spent the last month and a half painstakingly translating and then memorizing, forcing himself into learning the tones and inflections of a dead language he'd barely even heard of, let alone knew what it sounded like, but that had only been one of the various obstacles they'd faced just to get here and not even the most challenging.

It had taken summoning seven, seven completely different unrelated spirits who had spoken the Adai language fluently in the time that it thrived for Sam to be convinced that he was saying it right, translating everything perfectly, and even then he would have summoned seven more except that Dean had started to get uncomfortable, saying it wasn't their job to mess with things, 'god damn humans Sammy,' that were already at rest, though it really had been Bobby's iron fist that had stayed him chalked covered hands from creating any more symbols, warning him of how frickin delicate the walls between the living and the dead were, going so far as the make the same comparison with the sheer will of determination and just plain insanity. In hindsight bringing Bobby into this hadn't been one of his better ideas because in a lot of ways he was just like their dad, old fashioned, strongly believing that their were certain lines human's should never cross, and back then Sam had understood the weight of those words, remembering Dean's hints after that whole Jeremy Frost case about the circumstances that had made Bobby a hunter like them, but that didn't mean he had to agree and after a week or two he'd just given up on trying to explain himself.

His older brother had been easier to handle even though it had come to a breaking point just about a week or so ago where Dean had stormed out of the motel room they had been living in for the past month, all hells and bells in his production, spending the whole night at some seedy bar before he came back the next morning, half drunk and yelling at him for being so frickin stupid, for closing himself off, for not paying attention, before he'd started tearing the place down, destroying hours of meticulously placed work from the walls, for all purposes seeming like he no longer cared that his own life was on the line and what he was ripping apart was, at this point, his only chance at salvation and that had scared the shit out of Sam. He'd left his table, not caring what books crashed to the floor as he crossed the room to his brother, forcing all of his thoughts to the present, grounding himself as he reached out to a resistant body, taking half-hearted punches without even daring a block as Dean cursed his name to the high heavens, calling him a manipulative son of bitch, hissing that he wasn't some frickin case that needed to be solved, that all they had was each other and how dare Sammy forget that?! His eyes had already grown wet by then, the false bravado of his research, his mission, firmly torn down by the sheer force of nature that Dean had become, the elder man still trying to keep a distance though he'd stopped fighting, and all Sam could do was beg forgiveness, for losing himself in the crocked maze of his mind, and that he'd never meant to hurt him, but he was just so damn scared, explaing that he couldn't lose Dean, not now, not EVER, but he couldn't live knowing that his older brother hated him either so he had to forgive or else Sam was sure he'd go insane.

A day that had started with sharp, heated words ended without another book being touched, shredded paper laying forgotten in heaps on the floor as pain and fear slowly transformed into pure need and lust, bodies literally aching from weeks of denial, clothing torn recklessly as they fell onto their king-sized bed, Sam sucking on his brother's tongue until he got past the taste whiskey to something that was purely Dean, just hot, wet, and so good, while his brother's strong hands moved to brand every inch of his skin with their heat, starting off only a tad clumsy from the alcohol before they started performing like the fucking works of art they were. Sam took Dean in, muscles tense at the burn before he simply melted, back arching as every thought, memory, word whittled itself down to one name over and over and over again, trusting Dean to take what he wanted, what he needed as they both road the wave before crashing, each other's names getting lost in the sound. They laid there panting, limbs still tangled, foreheads touching before Dean moved, sliding out with a hiss before he fell onto his side and instinctively Sam shifted, long, sated limbs wrapping around his brother's form for warmth, for comfort, unabashedly cuddling up close as if they were kids again without a care in the world except back then they'd never known the comfort of skin on skin contact or how deeply you could allow yourself to love another person once you ignored what other people might think.

That day Sam had allowed himself to forget, to lose himself in the familiar comfort of his brother's touch as they ignored the world outside of their four small walls, talking in half whispers about nothing, anything, before the need would return leading Sam to straddle the body of his smaller prey before attacking, taking, claiming everything that he never wanted to part from, everything that he would die fighting for.

Among the span of countless days that bled together in his memory, that one stood as an oasis in the desert, a firm reminder of everything he'd ever hoped for, everything he stood to lose, and though he'd taken care to be more attentive, more generous and detailed in his explanations on whatever tidbits Dean chose to pick on, and resigned himself to a strict minimum of five hours in bed a night, the fire under his feet had grown hotter, the sound of sand slipping through the invisible hour glass in the back of his mind suddenly louder, making him push harder and maybe Dean had been right. Maybe towards the end he had been a manipulative bitch, smoothing over each of his brother's concerns, silencing his excessive questioning with a wide-eyed, naked glance that showed the tremendous leap of faith, the enormous amount of hope he was putting on this to work for Dean, to work for them, and more times than not the sight had cause his brother to back down. Sam hadn't consciously noticed it at the start, but Dean had always said something that he just hadn't gotten till recently, something about how his eyes, as ordinary as they were compared to his brother's hazel gaze, always seemed to reflect the world and every hope and dream he had in it. At the time he hadn't understood, still didn't really, because in his mind Dean was his world and any hopes or dreams he had was all tied up into this working, in Dean living, and if all it took was just a look to keep his brother patient, to make him let Sam do this, then he'd stare at him every frickin minute of every frickin day.

It hadn't taken that much of his attention though, and when Bobby showed up, all the supplies he'd requested in the back of his ford pick-up, they were almost ready, and though the older man had complained, had nit-picked had worried, Sam had bulldozed every objection down with confidence, trusting firmly in his research, even willing to bet his life on it and so, with one last rough kiss with Dean hidden back behind the truck, the time had finally come for Sam to put his money where his mouth was.

It was Bobby that fidgeted this time, standing not three feet away from him, the handle of a shot gun clenched firmly in his fist as if he expected everything to go horribly wrong and that they'd be opening a frickin second gate to hell when it did, but at that point Sam pushed his presence out of his mind, pale brown irises finally falling, catching a familiar set of hazel in its decent which he gave a small smile to, before they fell onto the page, printed glyphs now as familiar to him as his own birth certificate might, before he opened his mouth and began the chant.

Sam started with confidence, keeping the words well paced and articulated, sounding like the hiss of rustling leaves or moving water as the verse went on, summoning a strength hidden deep within nature, attempting to tap into the highest power of the great chain of being in life and funnel it through center of the Flower of Life sigil in which Dean stood, the geometrical figure Sam had taken hours to painstakingly draw on the earth's surface, the ritual demanding to be a place where nature had gone awry, the whole point being to fixed the natural order, to restore proper balance, not only to dried up, drought starved land, but to Dean's own life for that had been unnaturally capped off. He read on, voice growing louder as the once gentle wind started to pick up force, climbing faster and faster in speed as the lines of the symbol Dean stood in the middle of began to glow, branded into the earth as power began to gather at its center.

Sam barely dared to hope, barely dare to breath, as forced himself forward, beginning the first line of the last verse that would enact the power gathered when a stab of white hot, blinding pain suddenly ripped into the base of spine causing him to choke on words at the inexplicable sensation before long legs buckled beneath him without warning, the ancient book falling uselessly from his finger as his knees refused to support his weight, hands only managing to cushion half of the hard fall as pained confusion instantly transformed into blind panic. He couldn't feel his legs! He couldn't-!

Pain broke apart his frantic thoughts, lungs suddenly seizing up on him as the taste of blood started to fill his mouth and he didn't understand what was happening, even though they'd always known the risk, even though he'd always known... but none of that previous knowledge helped him now as the edges of his vision began to fade, the dust around the circle settling restlessly with the enchantment incomplete, and Sam couldn't stop the tears now, not even if he'd had the time to because he'd been so close! God, they'd been so close, but he'd failed them. He'd failed Dean and he'd never be able to forgive himself. Nev-

*

Fire threatened to burn the very flesh from his bones, thunder resounding from the flames he fought, eyes sightless, naked flesh melting to expose raw muscles as he stumbled forward blindly, all senses erased from the pain as he was slowly cooking from the inside out. His screams attracted the attention of others, quadruped beasts with black pits for eyes, skeletons visible through the pulsing wads of meat and intestines that comprised their bodies, razor sharp teeth growling and snapping, hungry for flesh, blood, and bone.

His right arm was seized just below the elbow, bone straining before cracking under the vice like grip as muscles and sinews ripped, veins left torn open exposing blood that evaporated into the heated air as the limb was seized from him, leaving him to stumble against the embers that had melted the meat off the soles of his feet, the pain all consuming. The second beast, however, did not get such an easy feast, the mongrel aiming to take a calf before he turned out of the creature's path, a black anger rising quickly from the exposed ribcage where a withered heart remained clumped between two black husks that might have once be lungs, and as the devil made its second round on him something deep within the remains of his shattered mind exploded, sending the beast flailing backwards into the flames, the sound of meat and bone ripping filling the black holes of his inner ears before all of the power suddenly rushed home, cocooning his body in a translucent pocket of power that blocked out the heat of the flames and he curled what was left of his damaged body in on itself, waiting for the throbbing pain to lessen as the remaining dogs found themselves torn to shreds second later after coming into contact with his new shield.

It would take hours for the body to regenerate into anything passing for what he had once been and instantly he knew where he was, what had happened, who he'd inadvertently left behind, memories long forgotten once again filling himself with a growing sense of rage as he shield pulsed with renewed power. He hadn't meant to forget. He hadn't meant to EVER return to the place and Ruby... Ruby the fucking bitch had left him to play the fool, become his own worst enemy and Dean... he would never see Dean again.

Within the depths of the first gate of hell Samuel's roar of pain, despair, and rage echoed through the flames, the fire seeming to intensify with his passion, driving a chill through all lesser demons who heard it and causing an unexpected fear before many suddenly exploded, ripped limb from limb as an inexplicable dark force leaked from the once human's wounds seeking vengeance, seeking blood.

A half a soul seeking completion that it would never again find.

The midday sun was hot and unforgiving above them.

It had to be at least a hundred and five degrees out here, and there was absolutely no relief. Even the light wind that kicked up little dust clouds of desert sand did nothing to cool. It only seemed to emphasize the heat. Push it into your face. Practically scorching any exposed skin.

By this point the light T-shirt he wore was already soaked through with sweat. It dripped down the back of his neck from his hairline, stinging a little along his slightly reddened flesh. He was sure he'd have a sunburn there before the day was over, and couldn't help but think maybe he should have worn some sun block after all. He licked his dry lips nervously. Tasting salt. Sand. He imagined he could still taste Sam as well, or maybe he only wished he could.

Sammy... Dean's eyes never left the younger man. Even as the sweat that trickled down from his brow stung his eyes, and the harsh glare overhead made him wince, he didn't look away. Didn't close his eyes. He couldn't have even if he wanted to.

Dean stood still and silent within the center of the intricate circle of glyphs he knew he'd never have the hope of understanding. But though he did not know their exact meaning, he certainly knew what they were for. Sam had explained everything to him a few weeks ago. Or had tried to explain, as much as he could, what he planned to do.

The ritual was complex, and nothing like Dean had ever heard before. Dean had never even heard the language the ritual was written in, much less the people who had come up with it. He had no idea how Sam had found it either. Probably did not want to know, and he had been more than a little skeptical at first allowing Sam to try it.

It, if it worked, might be the key to releasing Dean from his deal with a demon. His soul in exchange for Sammy's life. Everything else they had tried so far, had failed. Even Ruby, who had once told Sam that she could help him, had admitted later she only said so to gain Sam's trust. There was no way to save him from the pit, she had confirmed. He had tried to tell Sam not to get his hopes up too much. That this might not work... but it had been hard not to become a little bit optimistic in the face of Sam's hope. Sammy had seemed so sure. This was it. He had finally found the answer...

Of course, there had been another reason why Dean had been reluctant to let Sam try the ritual. It was the same reason he had refused to let his brother attempt others. It was the reason why Dean had been so angry at Sam when the younger man admitted he'd taken the newly 'fixed' colt and gone to a nearby crossroads by himself. Summoning the demon, and after she explained she could not break Dean's deal because she did not hold the contract, Sam had killed her.

'Are you out of your fucking mind!' He had screamed into his brother's face when Sam had told him, right before Dean had pulled the younger man into a desperate crushing hug. What if trying to kill the crossroads demon had been enough to break the 'clause' Dean had sworn to? That he could not try to weasel his way out of the deal, or Sam would die again. Just drop right where he stood and stop breathing...

Dean didn't know what he would have done if that had happened. He probably would have died himself, right along side his brother, a bullet wound still smoking out of the back of his head. He had made Sam swear never to do something like that again, even going so far as threatening to kill himself right then and there so his brother would have no choice but to let him go. He even scared himself a little then, knowing how far he was willing to go to make sure Sammy stayed breathing. Even sending himself to hell early.

But Sam had explained to him how the ritual was supposed to work. Tried to anyway. Dean would be the first to admit he didn't fully understand it. It wasn't designed specifically to break demon contracts, but if it worked it would still have the same effect somehow. Seemed like a rather dubious loop hole to Dean, and he almost refused to let Sam try it, but his brother had managed to finally convince him. Explaining Dean wouldn't even have to participate in any way for it to work. Just stand inside this symbol and wait for it to be over.

Easy. Almost too easy. Really, he should have known better...

Dean listened intently to the sound of his brother's voice speaking a language he couldn't understand but he could feel the power in the words all the same. He could feel it swirling around him. He could feel it building beneath his feet. Ripples of it traveling up through the ground into his body, spreading through him. He didn't even need to look down to know something was going on inside the symbol where he stood. He could see the hope reflected in his brother's eyes. Something was happening. His eyes never left Sammy's face, and he had just begun to truly hope himself... when time seemed to stop...

Dean watched it happen as though in slow motion. He heard his brother choke on his words. A sudden mask of pain spreading over the younger man's features, and Sam was falling...

He was moving too. Forgetting all of Sam's previous warnings not to step out of the circle for any reason until the ritual was complete. As soon as he took one step he felt the building power vanish. A sound almost like a pop of air as the power was sucked away into a vacuum filling his ears. It didn't work. The spell was broken. He didn't care. He didn't care one damn bit as he dropped to his knees next to his brother. He didn't realize Bobby was suddenly there, right next to him, trying to help. He didn't even realize he was speaking, practically screaming actually, two words over and over. Sammy... no, no... Sammy... Frantically turning the younger man over with shaking hands.

Eyes that had moments ago been so full of life, so full of hope, so full of love, now only stared up at him vacantly. Dead, lifeless eyes... dead... no... no...

The crossroad demon's words whispered poisonously through his brain as though he could actually hear the words. If you try to weasel your way out in any way... Sam dies... back to rotting meat... Oh god, oh god...

"Sammy, no, NO!" Dean screamed as he shook the younger man almost violently. Slapping his face. Checking his pulse. Desperate, he started CPR. His tears splashing down across the younger man's cheeks every time he leaned in to breathe. He shook off Bobby's hands when the older man tried to stop him, knowing it was futile, but he didn't stop. Not even when his arms screamed with the effort and he choked on every breath he tried to give his brother.

"Sam! Don't do this! Come back! Give him back, please. I'm sorry! I'M SORRY! SAM!" He cried, but there was no answer to any of his pleas. No breath. No heartbeat. Only the sound of his own racking sobs as he crumbled over the body of his dead brother.

The golden handle of Ruby's dagger turned in her grip, the artificial light from the flickering Corona sign behind the water-stained bar glinting promises of death along it's sharp edge before it descended with a fluid grace, specks of warmth kissing the smooth curves of her cheeks as she stepped back, allowing room for the female, middle-aged body to fall to it's knees, a red smile bleeding open across it's pale neck, whispering tears of blood as the demon within crackled out of existence; the death of another twisted soul. She didn't give the falling body a backwards glance as she shifted her weight, pivoting on the balls of her high-heeled boots, blond tresses spilling over her shoulders at the swiftness of the gesture refracting fragments of broken sunshine, long tapered bangs of tempered gold swept across her forehead creating a sharp contrast against the endless black pitch of her eyes. The sound of wood splitting, the legs of two bar stools giving way, shattering under the clumsy weight of another demon's meat puppet filled her ears, echoing off the wall in a cacophony of desperation, her sights now set on a tall black man tearing down anything physically obstructing his path of escape with his good arm, the other hanging uselessly, leaking a trail of coagulated blood behind him, white bone protruding diagonally out of his forearm, matching damage on his left thigh.

It was pathetic.

An unwanted buzz kill that caused the delicate line of her lips to harden into a dangerous smirk, long legs cutting across the distance with a powerful stride strengthened by anger at how much time she'd been forced to waste, only gaining the smallest glimmer of satisfaction as she brought the heel of her leather boot down on the demon's exposed back, feeling the spine break with a distinctive crack that eliminated all further movement of the man's lower extremities. The resulting scream of pain was far from exquisite, but she drank in was she could get, knowing in the back of her mind that she was once again flirting with crossing a dangerous line, the demon in her wanting to rip, to brake, to taste, to cause enough irreparable damage that her enemy stood little to no chance of healing the dead human body for functional use and yet unable to leave its rotting container, not with the fifth pentacle of Mars branded deep into the flesh of his cheek. She grinned at the useful trick she'd been taught, the flash of brilliant white teeth cutting against the red gloss that painted the outline of her smile, oil slick eyes flashing as she crouched down to get closer, one boot on either side of the man's torso, catching a flailing arm in it's last desperate effort to fend off the inevitable, feeling the bones grind together under her vice-like grip before bending it tightly behind the man's back, her dagger already comfortable against the line of his throat.

"At first I thought you were actually going to play it smart and tell me what I wanted to know," Ruby's voice was sickly sweet, the sound of honey dripping over sand paper, as she leaned in close to the bleeding demon's ear, the black stench of fear reeking from the man thick enough to taste, her smile growing as sharp as the edge of her blade, "but then you had to go and piss me off... That was really a bad move on your part."

It was quick, the sudden grating pop of bone forced out of its socket, accompanied by the numerous subtle snaps as her grip crushed the bones in his hand, enjoying the tainted tears of shock and pain her actions caused, though the demon's unsightly moans and grunts of pain bored her, minutely adjusting the angle and pressure of her dagger to hint at her displeasure. The man quickly choked them down, this pain nothing compared to the blinding heat across his cheek threatening to burn away the very edges of his demonic soul.

"Now this is your last chance to play nice and tell me what I want to know." Ruby could feel the skin slowly start to give way, the static charge slowly building, eager to claim a new kill, but she steadied the hand, the promise of new intel too tempting, the familiar scene of a bar fight pitted against lesser demons under Lilith's command long since played out to the point of aggravation. She needed answers. "What the fuck is that bitch after? And what the hell does is have to do with Dean Winchester?"

The man withered beneath her before dried husks of words spilled from red slicked lips, sheer terror at what he was doing, at who he was betraying, mixed with the imminent end of his existence nearly making him incoherent. "C-co-colt-t--"

Ruby's anger flared, immediately discounting the demon's inane gibberish for lies, the pressure behind her blade increasing, human cells splitting slowly under her careful hand, blood welling to kiss the edge of her dagger. If Dean had gotten his hands on the colt she'd know about it, had been trailing the last Winchester for something close to five months now ever since Boulder City, Nevada where everything had gone so wrong. "Don't fucking lie to me! Dean doesn't have the colt."

"N-no! No!" The man shook his head violently, as if to forcefully ward off any further misunderstanding. "D-Diff-Different! Win-Winchester... g-g-gun... pr-prophecy...!"

Her grip stiffened, something thick like lead dropping in her stomach as she heard the word 'prophecy,' knowing how the weight, the power behind such a word, such an idea, could have and the slaughter such a thing could inspire, but this couldn't be right. With Azazel gone, Dean's brother cold and buried in some nondescript burial site, the Winchester's importance should of been whittled down to nothing now that there was only one left. She freely admitted that Dean's skill as a hunter was second to no other mortal's she'd met, but that had been before Nevada and now the man was broken, still fucking dangerous when he took up a hunt, but nothing close to what he had been and it'd made her job that much harder.

Where other hunters had hoped that the last Winchester might rise up like some heroic savior to lead and unite the human effort in the war these past months showed Ruby nothing more than a man waiting for his expiration date, but she understood it. More than anyone could guess, more than Dean would ever know, she understood exactly what both brothers had lost and willingly would have told all those frickin' idealists to fuck off, but held her tongue on that and more just to maintain the fake semblance of a ceasefire between them, not that it stopped Dean from hiding his animosity though. Honestly, sometimes Dean could be such a whiny little bitch.

"What's the prophecy? What does it have to do with Dean?"

The shaking under her grip suddenly increased, digging the edge of her blade deeper by its intensity, the grown demon crying pretty little black tears for her. "I-I-I...d-d-do-don't--"

Fire burned along her palm from the heat of her dagger as it claimed another victim, another soul as tribute to its power, before she wiped the wet blood on the back of the meat puppet's jacket, released her grip on the dead weight, and stood. The man had been a lesser demon, barely able to defend himself, so it had been no surprise to her that he wouldn't have all the answers, but now she'd finally caught on to a lead, a whiff of something that could be dangerous enough to change everything and she didn't have more time to waste. She had to contact him immediately.

Samuel had to know.

*

The demon struggled in the grip of his power, shrieks of terror and pain escaping as the invisible force compressed it's body, it's soul, further, the half rotting humanoid's attempts for escape clearly in vain, it's burnt meaty stub of a tongue pleading pardon as flesh and bone slowly ground away into the finest powder before simply disappearing, though where to he'd never been certain of. Some place outside of existence, neither in hell nor purgatory, just simply erased, leaving no trace of the twisted soul behind. A talent he'd only perfected this past half a century or so, though intellectually he knew that to still ascribe to counting his days in hell in mortal measurements could make even the surest soul go insane, the time difference between planes too great to keep an accurate number, but he'd never been normal in life and proved the same even after death. He supposed that's why most of those left behind, all unwilling to bow and submit to Lilith's new demon order for the mortal world, feared him as they did. He wasn't like them and the things he could... all he wanted was to be left alone. Could none of them understand that?

He sat reclined, resplendent, his long figure draped casually across a throne of pure alabaster, four thick slabs of the earthen material cut smooth, serving a brilliant contrast to the reality of the deformed figure of the demon slowly being crushed into oblivion, of the darkness of hell that surrounded them outside of the six white walls he preserved through sheer will power alone. Unlike his counter part his appearance remained human, seemingly unaffected by the hellfire of their environment, form nude, skin burnished with a soft golden hue, unmarred by years of pain, of torture, like his kin, one long leg draped languidly over the arm of his chair, an elbow propped up on the opposite, chin resting on loosely curled fingers, head tilted to the side, expression bored, brown eyelashes tickling along the curves of his cheeks as they remained closed. He didn't need the weight of his full attention to deal with this one, just like the many predecessors before it, pride and arrogance leading them to him like new vampires to fresh blood, most looking for a kill to raise their own reputations, others seeking his power for their own purposes after they discovered the full extent of what he could do.

Years of battle and blood had awoken something terrible within him after his second death, coupled with the sheer misery, the complete anguish of returning to this fiery tomb, and he had killed mercilessly, blood hungry, anger driving his mutilated form further and further to hell's center, searching for satisfaction, willingly sacrificing his last shreds of humanity to find a reprieve or some sort of ultimate end to his suffering. It had taken months to regain what powers he'd repressed in his mortal life, survival instinct alone bringing them back to his attention, precognition, telekinesis, super strength only the very tip of what he could accomplish if he focused his mind, if he gave into the darkness, the insanity, surrounding him, if he forfeited his human weaknesses and limitations. Hellfire proved to be an interesting thing, comprised of a mixture of heat, pain, and fear, it's sole purpose to burn away human sanity until nothing but sin remained, birthing new demons to contribute to the chaos of it's domain. It ate away at the mortal soul, ripping and tearing until it resembled nothing more than a shredded piece of meat held together by hollowed shards of bone, their appearance in this plane directly reflecting the condition of the their soul until it was reduced to nothing but a fine black mist, incorporeal without a human host, but able to control an unquantifiable amount of power if the mind remained strong enough.

Meg had proven that to him, searched for him, her power by then rivaling anything her father could have ever achieved, fueled by hate and spite, threatening to consume him at a time when he'd just learned to protect himself again, to shield his body and soul from the twisted hellfire. He'd been unstable, pushed to the brink, drowning in feelings of rage and constant fear, his thoughts only of what he'd left behind, of whether his next turn, the next flicker of a flame would reveal to him the sight of the soul he'd bound to himself, fervently praying to heaven from the depths of hell that Dean wouldn't follow him, that his brother could remain sane in his absence even though he'd found his own mind slipping dangerously. The idea of condemning his brother's soul with the deal they'd made tormented him, wondering for endless hours over whether he should break it, but constantly haunted with knowledge that if Dean killed himself, or tainted his soul dark enough, that only their deal could allow him to fully protect the man if the time came. In this state Meg had attacked him taking free range with his body, pounding him with vision after vision of what could be happening in the human world, of Dean drinking, hunting, fucking, dying in fractured images, following various twisted plot lines, but all ending the same way, with his brother burning in the darkest pits of hell held at her mercy.

He hadn't understood then how he'd managed to destroy Meg, to erase her from existence, a cry of rage ripping from his throat, something primal, sinful bleeding darkness into the chest cavity that had once contained his heart, his fears, inhibitions, memories, every unnecessary human emotion slowly burning away, the hot light from the fire that surround him blotted out of his vision as if a thick layer of oil was suddenly sliding over the surface of his eyes. It felt as if he was losing some sort of a fight as he gave in to the lust, the envy, the pride and then he'd heard it, an echo of a voice that deafened the roar of the flames themselves as it struck, like a gun shot, through his mind. 'Remember who you are. You are a Winchester... You are my son. Fight it Sam. Fight it!'

Nothing, not God or Lucifer himself, could have stopped the change in him, in his soul, eyes, black as a starless night, widening at first in surprise and then pain, realization, revulsion, his own hands moving to cover the pale skin of his face before they began to tear it, unable to remember what he'd already lost and hating himself for it, desperately search for anything he could hold onto, any little memory and then... and then there was a face, a slow easy smile, sex-warmed hazel eyes...

Dean.

It was months later when Ruby contacted him, her relief obvious as she recounted for him how the first week after his death had affected his brother and what she knew of Lilith's movements. It was then that they made their new arrangement, assigning Ruby to the task of keeping an eye on Dean, helping him when she could, and keeping him alive when he didn't care enough to do it himself, reporting back to him if anything changed. Now that they were separated his greatest concern had become Dean's safety and, though his brother could be his own worst enemy at times, the fact that Lilith was still above ground worried him to the point of aggravation. And so, like this, the years passed, the constant fighting, brawling, searching for a bit of peace as one of god's forsaken left to burn in the pit was only broken by Ruby's reports from above ground. His powers grew to unimaginable heights, making him infamous, before he eventually decided to settle, manipulating the hellfire around him into the alabaster home he resided in, effectively keeping away the heat and unwanted company until recently.

Like a swarm of locus demon after demon had come looking for him, much like this one, he mentally considered, who was still screaming, words barely discernable over the rawness of it's pain. "Mercy! Have mercy! I meant no harm!"

At this he could only grin, the line of his lips pulled into a sardonic smirk as he replied coldly, "We are demons... we have no mercy."

He could feel the change as fear quickly turned into desperate rage. "Damn you Samuel! May you die by Lilith's own hands after she conquers the human world! She'll tear you apart, rip your meat from your bones, drink your blood, just like she'll do to your bro-!"

The demon's resulting scream as he was abruptly snuffed out of existence was indescribable, the cruelty and pure hatred behind the action making the passing ten times more painful for its victim, but even though the demon was gone Samuel was still left growling fury, seething anger, eyes open and black as death. No one was allowed to speak of his brother here, especially in such a way, and such mistakes on other demon's parts had been enough to incite the devil within him, pushing him to the limits with his powers and back again before he ever had the chance to regain his temper.

Samuel had to forcefully push his anger aside this time, however, as he felt a familiar tugging sensation in the back of his mind, knowing that he needed to calm himself before he allowed this connection to the mortal world, all the while wondering at Ruby's unscheduled call. It didn't take long before the situation was painted clearly in his mind, the hard line of his mouth frowning at what Lilith could be planning, at what danger it meant for his brother, and suddenly he knew what he must do. He had no choice, never did when it came to Dean.

It was time.

"Ruby, collect my body and make the proper preparations. I'm coming back and this time I'm going to deal with Lilith myself."

A strong gust of cold wind made him shiver slightly, yet he refused to pull his coat tighter around his body to ward off the chill. Wouldn't have made much of a difference anyway because the material was already completely soaked through. Rain pounding down from the heavens as though trying to punish the earth below. Lightning splitting the black sky overhead and thunder rumbled across the land like the growl of a giant demonic beast. There were no stars. No moon. The thick black clouds, blocking out even the smallest amount of light from above.

In that darkness, Dean Winchester sat motionless on the cold wet ground, staring into nothingness. Looking completely relaxed, even in the middle of the torrential downpour. He didn't seem to feel the hard edges of the rock he was leaning against digging into his back. Didn't seem to care how rain and mud soaked into his clothing, numbing his skin. His legs stretched almost casually in front of him, crossed at the ankles as though he were enjoying the sun on a warm summer's day.

Just him and Sammy, sitting on the hood of the Impala, drinking a beer…

Dean's mouth twitched into a grimace as he slowly lifted a half empty bottle to his lips, another bright flash of lightning highlighted the amber liquor inside and he took another long drink of the whiskey. The bottle had been full when he first arrived. It hadn't been raining either, but he wasn't about to leave yet. He wasn't about to let anything interrupt his time with his brother.

The fingers of his other hand curled slightly, digging into the cold wet mud beneath him. Another shiver, this time not from cold passing through him. It was a funny thing. He'd spent his entire life in graveyards. Digging up and burning corpses. Graveyards had never bothered him before. But then, it wasn't a stranger's rotting corpse laying six feet under him, it was his brother's.

Dean didn't like coming here, but at the same time, he had to. Once, sometimes twice a month. He'd come with a bottle or two of Jack Daniel's, getting pissed drunk while sitting against the large rough boulder that was the only marker to Sam's grave. The crumbled remains of an old church the only witness as he stared off into nothingness, trying to feel his brother's presence. His spirit maybe. But he never felt him. Not once…

Bobby hadn't wanted him to take Sam's body. The older man thought Sam should have been cremated, like their father had been. Like almost every hunter was because they knew what could happen otherwise. Bobby probably wanted to make sure his brother's spirit would move on because, hell, if anyone had unfinished business…

But Dean hadn't listened. He'd taken his brother's corpse and drove away. Never once looking back, even as Bobby yelled after him in the dust, calling his cell phone over and over which Dean never answered. Days later he'd found the old church in the middle of the woods by complete accident. Left over from the colonial days, the forest had grown up around it and there was hardly anything left at all, but it was still holy ground and this is where he'd finally buried his brother. He'd never told anyone where the grave was. Not even Bobby who'd demanded, threatened, and pleaded with him. But every month Dean returned… waiting, hoping just to see… to hear… to feel…

Dean closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the dark sky. Letting the icy rain bite into his already freezing skin. Washing away the invisible signs of his pain. The lightning highlighted his pale skin for a moment. His features more hard, more sharp than they had ever been in his life. His hair was also longer than it had ever been. Bangs long enough to fall into his eyes if he didn't brush them away because he didn't care enough to get it cut anymore. Besides, it also helped to hide the thin white scar that started at his hairline and almost cut through his left eye down to his cheekbone. A present from a close call with one of Lilith's demons.

His fingers of his left hand twitched a little thinking about that bitch Lilith. Remembering how they'd been crushed during one particular nasty fight when one of her soldiers had caught up with him. He still couldn't bend his last two fingers completely anymore. His right knee also choosing to begin throbbing in reminder of his most recent encounter when it had been dislocated, he'd been lucky his leg hadn't been torn off completely. If it hadn't been for Ruby…

He took another long drink from the bottle to stop that particular thought. He didn't thank Ruby for saving his life then, or any of the other times she had. What did it matter? He only had a little while longer before his year was up and he would die anyway. Why delay the inevitable? Hell couldn't possibly be worse than his life now. Alone. Without Sam… even when he died he'd still be without Sam… so what was the difference?

Dean would have ended it all himself long before now. That day in fact, four and a half months ago, back in Nevada. The unforgiving sun blistering his skin as he'd sobbed brokenly, cradling his brother's dead body in his arms all day long. Only finally releasing Sam once the sun had begun sink beneath the western horizon, the heat of the day bleeding away quickly in the desert with the coming darkness and his brother's body had finally begun to grow cold along with it.

He'd kissed Sam's cold soft lips, not caring that Bobby was still sitting close by and could see him do so. The older man hadn't left his side once. Sometimes laying a hand on his shoulder that was in no way comforting, but never trying to make him move or let Sam go. Dean hadn't cared how Sam's lips had tasted like blood and dirt and death. He didn't respond to Bobby's worried whisper of his name as he rose on shaking legs and went over to the Impala. Unlocked the trunk and took out the first weapon he could lay his hands on. A Beretta 9mm modified to carry iron rounds…

He had barely pressed the gun to his head when he'd been tackled from behind. The shot going harmlessly wide as he struggled with the older man for control of the weapon. Dean cursing everything in every language he knew as they fought, Bobby's tears splashing against his face as the older man finally wrestled the gun out of his hand, practically twisting his wrist to make him let go of it and throwing it as far away as he could. Then Bobby had hit him, hit him until Dean finally grew slack beneath him and couldn't fight anymore, before pulling him into his arms and crying openly.

Bobby called him a fucking idiot. Called him selfish. Called him a coward. And finally said the one possible thing that would guarantee that Dean never tried to end his own life again. He said Sam would be ashamed of him. For just giving up. Giving up his life when Sam had sacrificed his own trying to save Dean from hell, and how dare he throw that away.

Dean had barely spoken to Bobby after that day.

The older man had been right, however. Bobby was right about a lot of things, and Dean had never tried to kill himself again. But that didn't mean he had to enjoy living. That didn't mean he had to try very hard to stop something else from ending it for him. On the really bad days, sometimes he even welcomed Lilith's attempts to kill him. Even though he couldn't understand why, even now, the bitch seemed so hell bent on doing so. He wasn't Sam. . He wasn't special in any way. He hadn't been the Yellow-Eyed Demon's pick to lead his army. He wasn't some kind of savior, and he didn't give a flying fuck about her or her war or the end of the world.

His world had already ended. Now he was just waiting for it to be over.

Dean opened his eyes slowly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded, not bothering to turn his head or reach for the gun inside his jacket pocket. It was still pitch dark except for the occasional bright flash of lightning, but he didn't need to see to know she was there. He'd gotten rather good at 'sensing' when she was near him. Hard not to, since the demon bitch had been following him around for the past four and a half months.

"Ruby." His tone holding more weariness than venom at the moment.

Ruby stared, golden hair stained a soft amber under the weight of the rain, each exhaled breath reduced to a fine mist before it was pounded out of existence, the headlights of her rental cutting through the darkness to reveal that last person she'd expected to see here now that it was finally time to make a difference, to right a mistake that had the potential to tip the scales for the outcome of this war. She mentally cursed her luck, expression tight with frustration at the unneeded complication, a hand lifting absently to message away the subtle ache that was beginning to pulse behind her temples, clothes already fitted against her like a second skin, an uncomfortable layer of ice that served as a constant physical reminder of her irritation and did nothing for her already declining mood.

She hadn't allowed herself to waste any time, conscious that every second, every minute that passed here translated into months for Samuel, pushing ninety since she'd left the bar, heading straight for what passed as the demon’s burial site, smack dab in the middle of Freakin' Nowhere, the black duffle bag that had made itself a permanent passenger in the back seat of her jeep a month ago, the reason why she hadn't needed to make any stops because in the end this had all been inevitable. She'd known from the moment that Lilith had first shown signs of her continued interest in hunting down Winchesters, after the death of Azazel's golden boy, that it would eventually come down to this. After all, Samuel had never liked other people touching what was his and he had too much unfinished business with the human world to simply rest in what place he had made for himself in hell.

Not that that idea was any less ludicrous than the fact that soon demons would be hunting demons.

There was a civil war coming that no one was expecting because, where she was sure that her friend had inspired a new kind of fear and animosity in the underworld, he had not gone without making some admirers out of Lilith’s lesser known enemies. Since the bitch’s escape from hell, with the hundreds of other demons that were now chaotically falling into some semblance of order to form her army, the passage between the two planes for any demon left behind had firmly been sealed. Many hunters hadn’t realized this yet, considering the demon population had increased drastically beyond any previous human record with last opening of the hell’s gate, but within the last year no new demon’s had reemerge from the pit despite the caliber of their power. Some how Lilith had found a way to control the passage between hell and earth and had closed the door permanently for all those who weren’t willing to become subservient to her. Though this brought up the traitorous question of how her friend planned on circumventing this little detail, Ruby wasn’t about to let lingering doubts threaten to make her waver. His prolonged stay in hell had changed Samuel, made him into something that she couldn’t rightly justify or describe in any certain terms, and it made her mind venture to think that somehow this had a hint of ‘destiny’ to it, like none of this could have happened any other way. The facts were simple.

He was coming back for Dean, but in the end he’d be fighting for humanity’s sake, for everything the demon had already left far behind him.


Ruby felt the heels of her boots sink into the wet earth, following the harsh path of light that revealed the soaked and clearly drunk figure of the last Winchester, looking more than a bit rough for the wear since she’d seen him last, the human’s words nearly lost to the rain and clearly lacking their normal wit and bite, the man not even bothering to give her a second’s glance. It fucking pissed her off but in the end it made her job a bit easier, right hand already raised, seemingly delicate fingers clenched into a tight fist, a knowing little smirk already painted across her features.

"I’m here to raise the dead, Dean."

The man never even saw it coming and seconds later he was out cold leaving Ruby to shake out her hand briefly before she grudgingly went to work maneuvering the dead weight into her grip and then over her shoulder, grunting at the effort as she carried Dean to the passenger side of her jeep. She opened the door with her free hand and worked the hunter into the available seat, buckling the body in to keep it from doubling over, cold fingers absently checking for vitals and giving brief attention to where she’d clocked him out, the area already bruising at his temple as she made the mental note that she’d have to come back when she was done to retrieve the impala. He’d never stood a chance, the alcohol she could smell on him no doubt having played its own part in his easy downfall, but it served the boy right, coming all the way out here to get piss drunk and then just sit in the rain. He’d be lucky if he didn’t catch something with such foolhardiness, but then again she’d seen enough these past months not to be surprised if he came out of this with a clear bill of health despite his efforts. Dean Winchester just seemed to have that kind of luck lately.

She shut the door firmly to keep out the rain, digging for a shovel in the back seat first, before she turned back to the grave, briefly remembering her surprise the first time she’d followed Dean here, knowing how hunters’ preferred a specific method of dealing with their dead, but was glad now at the elder brother’s stubbornness as she shoveled up the first clump of dirt and began to set a pace. It was better that Dean slept through this part, sure that, despite the fact that the man himself was guilty of doing such things, he wouldn’t have taken too kindly to the grave desecration and body mutilation of his own brother.

*

It had taken over an hour to unearth the body leaving Ruby crusted in thick layers of mud, the smell of dirt and decay caught in her hair, broken words of Latin intermixed with a language she had never heard of before, but had sounded like leaves rustling against each other when it rolled off her tongue, the fifth pentacle of Jupiter she’d sharpied onto her right palm now burned into her skin with the completion of the first step of the ritual. Even now she had to admit that she wasn’t exactly sure how everything she was doing helped their situation, but she’d taken it as a good sign when nothing had felt disjointed, or had simply fallen off, when she’d picked up the wrapped body from its wooden box and moved it to the back seat of her jeep.

They hadn’t driven far, Ruby picking some nondescript motel and paying for two rooms, one with two queens and one with a king, figuring it was all in her due as she handed over a scratched piece of plastic that she’d filched from Dean’s wallet, smiling something less pretty and more dangerous at the desk clerk until two room keys were in her hand, both thankfully on the first floor. After that it was all a matter of heavy lifting and in the end Ruby just considered herself lucky that it was closer to two in morning and that no one was out and about to question or take suspicion over the fact that she was carrying around two bodies as if they were luggage.

She took care of Dean first, working him out of wet leather and denim and cleaning up what she could with wet towels and bar soap before patting the hunter down as dry as possible and putting him into a fresh pair of boxers and sweats that she’d pulled out of a bag she’d salvaged from the impala last minute, managing him under as many warm blankets as possible, not even taking the time to enjoy the scenery as a blistered hand strayed once again to check his vitals, lingering for just a second before she moved on. Considering that she was the only other living person in the room at the moment, she took care of herself next, stepping into a quick five minute shower to wash off the stench of death and mud from her body before changing into a fresh pair of white-washed jeans and a black top, tying the wet length of her hair back and taking a moment to bandage the burn on her hand.

Ruby forced herself to take in a deep breath before she gathered the necessary supplies she’d need and moved towards the body occupying the second bed, still wrapped up in the clothe she’d found it in and started her work, already well past the two hour mark needed for the first step to take its full effect. To say that she was surprised at what she discovered underneath the fabric was a severe understatement, green eyes widening as they took in the naked body before her, the long length of it thin and pale, lips tinged blue along with the tips of fingers, but there was no appearance of decay, the skin was left unmarred, and for all purposes it looked as if the man was just sleeping and in desperate need of good meal. She snapped herself out of it quickly enough however, the press of time once again present in the back of her mind as she went about washing away the thin layer of filth off of his skin and hair, taking special care around the area of his tattoo before she took her now sterile knife to the cold skin and worked the layer of flesh containing the mark off, almost surprised when no blood came to well up at the wound’s surface, but not missing a step as she discarded the unneeded meat in a slowly growing pile of dirty towels that she’d get rid of later.

Her knife set aside she took out a felt-tipped black marker and moved to straddled the body at the waist, hand meticulous as it recreated the fifth pentacle of the Sun on the center of the man’s chest, the symbol burned firmly into her memory along with the soft whisper of words she chanted under her breath as she completed the ritual, ending it with a drop of her own blood and taking a step back, not knowing what to expect next but realizing that at this point it was all out of her hands. Ten minutes passed and then twenty and then thirty before the prone body gave a sudden violent jerk, jaw falling open, eyelids shifting upwards as the tremors continued. Ruby immediately returned to the man’s side, trying to hold him down by the shoulders before she heard a new sound beneath her, a soft hissing as if air was being sucked through a small opening, but his exposed brown eyes remained vacant, lifeless and then unexpectedly a bright light exploded between them. Her eyes teared at its intensity, eyelids closing instantly and remaining that way seconds after the light died away, only forcing them open once again when the hissing became coughing, the tremors reaching a new magnitude and then she just simply couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

The black symbol in the middle of his chest had vanished, a white ethereal light now curling above the body, seemingly caressing the dead skin before suddenly converging over the man’s open lips and escaping into the dark cavity suffusing the body with an inner light that made it glow. Then he blinked and all of her attention was now solely own those pale eyes, still absent, a thick film separating them before brown irises were startled back to life, moving frantically in their confusion before they landed on her gleaming no hint of recognition and reminding her so much of the first time they’d met in hell after the man’s first death, those eyes looking at her like he’d just seen a ghost, another woman’s name falling from his lips. She held her tongue though and waited for a change, for something more to happen, and when it did she felt it all the way from the tips of her ears to her curled toes, lips pulling back into a smile as his black pupils suddenly expanded to cover the whole area of his eyes and instantly she knew that he had done it and a soft laugh escaped her lips before she was helping Samuel take in his first sip of water in four and half months.

He seemed weak after his ordeal, eyes once again a light brown, as she rested him back against his pillow, taking a place on the edge of the bed, a warm welcome ready on her lips before she noticed something that made her breath catch in disbelief, her hand instantly moving to press against the smooth expanse of his chest, thumb involuntarily rubbing against the edge of a pale circular scar of new skin where his tattoo had once been, watching as it rose with each breath he took, but shocked as hell at what felt beneath it. A fucking heartbeat.

“Samuel, how...?”

He didn’t manage words, only able to lift a sluggish hand to fall and cover hers briefly, lips trying for something of a smile, but she could see the answer hidden in his eyes, a secret he wouldn’t be sharing with her any time soon.

She shook her head in shock, words quiet but weighted with her confusion. “I can’t believe you... Whatever you’ve done, this isn’t some simple possession. Your body was dead Samuel and it should have stayed that way even after your soul reentered it, but you... you’re heart... you forced it didn’t you? ... I had no idea... Shit, what in the hell have you become?”

He simply continued returning her stare in response, no doubt saving what little energy he had left, his touch still slightly chilled, but growing subtly warmer as time passed. Before she continued her quest for more answers, however, another detail came to her notice, the pale scar now covering his heart, one she’d inadvertently help put there.

“You left this, but why? ... With everything else you can do now why did you leave this or any of your old scars behind?” She paused before inspiration suddenly struck her and she couldn’t hide a sly smile. “Or did you keep them maybe to serve as some kind of proof?”

She knew she’d hit the nail on the head when Samuel averted his eyes and this time she held in her laughter as she lifted her hand to help turn the man’s head to face the bed just a few feet away from his own, the demon’s surprise obvious at his sudden intake of air and the weak thread of tension that worked in his body.

“It may not be such a difficult task as you thought it might and I know this wasn’t a part of the plan, but he was literally waiting there for you Samuel and I couldn’t very well leave him out in the rain.”

Ruby released her grip then, leaving him to take in the sleeping form of his elder brother with the desperation of a drowning man, unable to move or speak but screaming volumes with his eyes and she remembered just how special Samuel was to her, how much they’d helped each other back in the pit, how much she’d hoped to share with him, but it was in moments like these that she realized one very important truth that had been so evident once she’d followed him back to the mortal world that very first time. Even though he may have been her Samuel for a brief moment, he always been Dean’s Sammy first and she understood that, could see it in his eyes now and for no explicable reason she felt the sudden need to help protect it.

She mentally shook off such thoughts however, already seeing the struggle in her friend’s eyes as unconsciousness threatened to over take him and she took a second to smooth long bangs back off his forehead. “I have to go now and take care of some business but I rented out the room next door and took the liberty of purchasing you a new cell phone with my number programmed inside for when you need me. I’ll have to salt the windows and the door way though when I leave to protect you boys, but that means that you’ll be trapped inside Samuel. Do you understand?”

Tired eyes flickered briefly in her direction and she took that as a ‘yes’ before forcing herself to stand and gather her things, along with some of the more bloodier odds and ends that would’ve been hard to explain to any maid service. She was at the door before she turned back to the room one final time, Samuel by then already fast asleep, head still turned in his brother’s direction, and she couldn’t stop the small smile at the site of the two, closer together now than they’d both had ever thought they’d be again. It didn’t stop the wave of exasperation, however, that flashed through her at the long night she’d just suffered through as she left the small room.

Honestly, she had no idea how her boys would have ever managed without her.

*

Samuel felt trapped, confined within the darkness that his mind had vaguely acknowledged as unconsciousness by this point, leaving the demon exposed, unable to control or prevent the small tremors that racked through his body, coagulated blood forcing its way through the delicate framework of his veins like sharp knifes and acid, the dead matter in his blood work collecting in the rusted organ that beated thunderously in his chest making each minute, each second of this new life more painful than the last. He’d been forced awake once already from the agony alone, stiff lungs spasming under duress, unable to compensate for the pace of his staggered breathing as particles of earth, dirt, rock and other things he didn’t care to name threatened to tear him up on the inside, rattling with each inhale and exhale that left him closer to choking than feeding air to his oxygen deprived body.

His stomach had turned violently the first time he’d tried to get out of bed, muscles twitching from disuse making his long legs clumsy, tying the sheets around them in knots with his sluggish progress, once chilled skin now burning fever-hot with pain that was surely nothing compared to the years of torture he’d taken in the pit, but was so different, so physical that it was excruciatingly disconcerting, only making it to the bathroom with seconds to spare before he’d emptied the unknown contents of his shuddering stomach into the porcelain mouth of the toilet. His eyes had teared up as his body convulsed, the motion seeming to last for its own little eternity before he could breathe again, the foul taste left in his mouth only causing another bout of dry heaving, leaving his throat raw and disgusting before it was all finally over.

He’d remained there, bowing before the porcelain god, for an undetermined amount of time, his breath coming just a bit easier as his empty stomach cramped painfully, forcing himself to move when the smell threatened to make him sick again, struggling up with a tight grip on the lip of the cracked sink to his left, nearly falling over twice and breaking something as numb fingers turned on the cold tap. Samuel barely remembered that he needed to take a breath before he dove in, ducking his head under the cold running water and literally feeling something inside his body give at the brief relief, absently sure that he’d finally found a bit of peace on earth as he turned under the spray, cooling his heated skin and soaking his sweat dampened hair. Now more than ever he finally understood why so many of his kind simply went insane once they dug themselves topside. After spending so many years in the heat, drowning in pain, lost within the confines of your own mind, any other sort of physical sensation was intoxicating and water... cold water... if his body had been able to he was sure he’d have gotten hard by then.

It had only been when the water had started to lose its chill that Samuel had forced himself to move again, rinsing the filth out of his mouth, managing a complimentary toothbrush to clean the film off of his teeth, hazy mind briefly toying with the idea of a shower, but realizing that he wouldn’t make it as his legs started to shake under the strain of carrying his weight. He flicked off the tap, eyes lazy as they trailed back over to the toilet, only having then noticing the folded pile of clothes that had sat neatly on the shelf above it, a message written in a neat feminine scrawl left for him stating ‘Don’t forget to flush’ with a frickin’ smile drawn at the end. It hadn’t taken a second’s worth of thought to figure out who had left it there for him, the bitch, but at seeing the clothes it had brought him to the realization that he had been very much naked up to that point. It wasn’t that he personally cared, but he understood that here things would be different so he’d looked over the stack briefly before setting himself to the task of struggling into a pair of flannel pants that ended up being just an inch or so too short, casting a quick passing glance at the mirror before he’d stumbled back to his empty bed.

He looked like shit, Samuel concluded as he’d fallen back onto his mattress, not bothering with sheets or covers, arms tucking his pillow underneath his head as he’d settled on his stomach, stubble from months ago still present and scratching across the fabric, skin pale, dark circles under his eyes, head turned to face the bed next to his own, catching an eye full of Dean and god he didn’t know what to think about that. Despite his confidence he’d always held doubts about whether or not he’d be able to make it back, let alone knowing what might have happened had he not succeeded, but even still he hadn’t dared to let himself believe that he’d see Dean again so soon.

He had planned on keeping his distance, protecting his brother from the sidelines unless it became necessary to show his presence, but now he had little choice in the matter. Even if he could have found the strength to get up and leave he wasn’t physically able to, not with the salt lines in place, and now he’d have find a way to explain himself, a way to keep Dean from hating him, hating what he’d become, because at least now he still had the memory of his elder brother missing him, loving him, but once the man found out... God, he’d never realized that he’d managed to hold on to any shred of hope while lost in that hellfire, but if Dean ended up hating him, hunting him, than he’d just simply rather die all over again than live with such heartbreak.

After that first affair with consciousness sleep had found him grudgingly again, never peaceful, body never at ease as it acclimated to the function of living slowly, nightmares kept at bay only by the darkness of exhaustion. Another small blessing after a lifetime of fire.

Soft wet lips were teasing against his own, parting them open and Dean moaned softly as a slick tongue pushed its way gently inside his mouth. Dean smile softly, welcoming the invasion. Knowing the taste, the scent, the feel of the hard body over him even though his mind was still half asleep. He loved waking up like this. Already half aroused before he even opened his eyes. His lover's fingers dancing across his skin, waking up his body before his brain had time to catch up. Touch tickling across his chest, tweaking a nipple that made him gasp into his brother's sweet mouth. Sam pulling back with a warm gentle laugh as Dean finally opened his eyes…

The glare of the sun was almost too bright. He winced against it, sweat dripping down his face making his eyes burn. His skin felt raw and feverish in the desert heat. Heat and sand making every breath he took burn a little on its way down to his lungs. Sam was standing in front of him. His eyes full of love and confidence as he spoke words that Dean couldn't understand but the power in them was unmistakable. Building as the ritual drew to a close…

Dean could feel his heart hammering in his chest fast and hard. Panic starting to pump through his veins even though he didn't know why. He tried to open his mouth, tried to yell to Sam to stop, beg him to if he had to but no sound would come out. All the breath suddenly robbed from his lungs. He tried to step out of the circle of runes where he was standing, tried to rush to his brother's side, rip the ancient book from his hands but he couldn't move. He was completely paralyzed. Struck dumb. Even as he screamed in his mind for Sam to stop, begging him with his eyes.

When he saw his brother's face twist in pain, Dean felt it as well. When Sam's legs suddenly buckled beneath him, Dean felt himself falling too. When Sam's heart stopped beating, so did his, but he never hit the ground. He was still falling. He was falling into a deep endless pit of despair and fire and even the searing pain engulfing his body was nothing compared to the agony of loss inside him.

Screaming his brother's name over and over.

*

Dean sat straight up in the motel bed, his body covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably. He instantly regretted the movement. Falling back against the covers with a pained groan, his head feeling like it was about to crack open from the inside and it pissed him off because he knew from experience that it wasn't going to happen no matter how much he might wish it to. It just wanted to make him suffer.

Just a dream... another fucking nightmare... he'd had them almost every night, every time he closed his eyes. They replayed in his minds eye sometimes when he was awake. He'd obviously not drank enough last night to drown them out. That was odd. Especially since that's exactly what he'd set out to do.

He didn't know where he was either. Maybe that should have bothered him, but it didn't really. He was still too pissed off. Besides he was in a bed and he was in a room. Couldn't be too bad. He'd woken up in far worse places. He just didn't know where, or how he'd gotten here.

He remembered enough however to know this wasn't where he'd last been before he passed out… no… been knocked out.

"Bitch…" Dean managed to growl out as Ruby's face flashed in his memory. He wished that demon bitch would learn to mind her own business and leave him alone. If he wanted to get drunk and die of pneumonia in the middle of a graveyard then that was his business.

Wincing a little Dean lifted his hand to his left temple, growling again at the tender bruise he could feel that wasn't helping his hangover in the least. The next time he saw that blonde bitch... Dean firmly pushed all thoughts of Ruby out of his mind. Thinking about her wasn't helping his head in the least, and in fact was only making it hurt worse.

With a sigh, he forced himself to sit up slowly, his gaze firmly fixed to the floor to counteract the feeling of vertigo and nausea that swept over him at the movement as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood carefully. He would have liked not to move at all, but nature was calling… loudly… and he couldn't ignore it. His right knee throbbed with every shuffling step he took to the bathroom but he ignored the pain and forced himself not to limp too badly. He hated wearing the knee brace and only did when the pain became too much to ignore and push aside.

It wasn't until he finished his business in the bathroom that he noticed something… just wasn't right. The bathroom wasn't dirty, it just looked… used. Towels were missing from the rack. The little complimentary bars of soap were ripped open. There was a toothbrush and cup sitting on the side of the sink. Though the clothes, his clothes, sitting folded neatly on a shelf was the biggest mystery. He sure as hell hadn't put them there. His first thought was that it had to have been Ruby, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

He also seemed to realize at that point his state of dress… or lack there of… in only a pair of well worn sweat pants, and to his horror felt a blush creeping over his skin. Ok, saving his life a time or three was one thing. Undressing him before tucking him into bed was something entirely else, and he was definitely going to have to have a discussion with that demon bitch about boundaries, privacy, and personal space when he saw her again. Having no doubt in his mind he would see her again soon, since she had been practically hovering around him for months like some kind of demonic mother hen.

Why she still even gave a fuck was as much a mystery to him as Lilith's continued interest in him. God damn demon bitches… Maybe before he would have told Sam some joke about being irresistible to the ladies, and his brother would have rolled his eyes in exasperation before punching his arm… or kissing him possessively… and that thought was painful enough that Dean had to grip the sides of the sink hard to keep from crumbling to the floor. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut against burning tears that threatened to leak free.

Dean knew it was only because he'd just gone to Sam's grave last night that he was thinking about his brother now. Not to mention the dreams that had woken him. But that didn't stop him from cursing himself and his stupidity for allowing that thought to slip past the many barriers he'd built around himself to protect what little sanity he had left.

Maybe it was finally time for another job. Another hunt. To take his mind off… everything. It had been over four weeks since his last one, when he'd been forced to lay low after the unexpected complication of Lilith's demon attacking him during the middle of it. The cast had only just been removed from his leg a week ago. Not that Dean really cared anymore about his father's 'crusade' or saving the lives of ungrateful strangers, but the action would do him some good. Let him bleed off a little bit of emotion before it started building up again.

Dean sighed and pushed himself away from the sink. Reluctantly accepting that he'd have to call Bobby if he wanted to find another hunt quickly, and that he'd have to listen to the older man arguing with him again about laying low and taking it easy. His knee was hurting even more as he made his way slowly back into the main room. As though to remind him why, and he felt his anger and frustration building again as he realized he might have to wear the fucking brace after all today and he wasn't happy about it. But maybe after a few more hours of rest it would start to feel better…

It took him a surprisingly long time when he walked back into the main room to realize just what was so fucking wrong with this picture. When he did it felt like all the air was suddenly sucked from his lungs. He felt lightheaded, like he was walking in a dream, as he felt himself backing up on legs that didn't want to support his weight any longer until he hit a wall. Feeling numb and cold and just… wrong… as he slowly slid to the floor. His eyes never leaving the body laying in the motel room's second bed he'd somehow hadn't noticed until now.

His first thought of course was that he was still dreaming. One of those freaky ultra realistic dreams where you thought you were already awake but weren't. That would certainly explain a lot. But the pain he had felt before was just a little too real to be completely written off as a dream no matter how much he wanted to. His next thought was that he was hallucinating. His mind had finally just snapped completely, and that would have been comforting except that he knew crazy people rarely knew that they were insane. So much for that theory.

Dean couldn't see the other man's face very well from this position and he was fucking glad for it. That brief glimpse he'd gotten, even though the room was still mostly dark with the shades drawn tightly shut against any daylight, was more than enough. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest it felt ready to explode and he only realized he'd stopped breathing for several minutes when his lungs began to scream for air and he finally sucked in a shaking breath. It came out in a trembling hysterical laugh that left him feeling sick and wanting to cry at the same time. Hell, maybe he was crying already.

He wasn't sure what finally forced him to move, because he really didn't want to. He just wanted to curl up right where he was and die, actually, but for some reason his body was moving of its own accord. Using the wall he'd been leaning against for support as he pushed himself up on shaking legs.

Dean noticed his duffel bag out of the corner of his eye close by and he went over to it. His eyes never really leaving the unmoving figure on the bed as he reached inside of it, fumbling for a moment underneath his clothes until he found what he was looking for. The heavy metal grip of the 9mm was comforting in his hand and somehow grounding when everything else was just spinning out of control.

It was enough to steady him that he could finally step away from the wall without falling flat on his face as he took slow uneven steps towards the… man… not hallucination, not dream, man… his bro--

Dean forced that thought to an abrupt halt. Whoever… no whatever this thing was, it was not his brother! It was not Sam. It was… a fucking cruel trick. Maybe the trickster? Or a shape shifter? Or a new game Lilith or some other demon was playing with him, trying to drive him completely insane. And suddenly anger welled up inside of him so bright and hot it actually fucking scared him a little. If the demons wanted to drive him insane, they were doing a pretty good fucking job of it.

He slowly raised the gun to point at the sleeping figure in the bed. Trying not to notice how thin and… fragile… that face looked. How pale his skin was. The dark exhausted circles under his eyes. It tugged at something inside of him that Dean had thought died long ago and it only made him angrier. Damn it. He was crying after all. He could feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks, unheeding his silent demands that they fucking stop.

The bullets in this particular gun were silver, and though they wouldn't do a damn bit of good against a demon, they were good for killing a lot of other things. Including shape shifters, if that's what this thing was. All he had to do was pull the trigger and this madness would be over. He'd either kill this thing… or piss it off and it would kill him. Either way it would be over. The gun trembled in his hand, his finger on the trigger.

Samuel could feel it along the edges of his awareness, a blip of warning on his internal radar that served as nothing more than an annoyance to his tired mind, the brief hours between now and the first time consciousness had overtaken him no where near enough time to sooth the burning ache that threaded through his healing body. Pure instinct and force of habit welled up what feeble power he could spare to prepare for a fatal strike against the threat, but something stopped him mid-motion, something more leaking through the sharp bite of fear mixed with a black anger that strongly radiated off the trembling figure in the peripheral of his mind’s eye, riding on the coattails of a half-forgotten memory that he couldn’t quite grasp at his current level of consciousness.

His eyebrows drew together, a line of stress creasing his brow as his body shifted, the coarse fabric of his starched pillowcase scraping across the line of stubble on his left cheek as he pressed it closer, a rough groan breaking pass chapped lips as they stretched into a pained grimace, mind trying to pull itself through the last dregs of oblivion that threatened to swallow him like quicksand back into its inky depths, fingers involuntarily twisting the fabric beneath them into knots under his tight grip, as if trying to gain purchase, knuckles popping under the strain as displaced air gathered from month’s of disuse was released between his joints, the resulting bright sparks of pain helping to light the way when dark lashes finally began to flutter. As his human body woke his senses stretched, yawning over the small area of their motel room barricaded by four brick walls, reinforced with virgin lines of pure salt that rebuked further advancement, weaving through the air around him already wet with tears, pain, and something so familiar... whiskey, gun oil, and something bittersweet that he innately knew would melt like heady ambrosia against soft pad of his tongue.

He unconsciously licked a sticky wet line across his bottom lip as brown eyes, color darkened with flecks of dirt and time, opened to bring the outside world into clearer focus, the weak light casting each corner into shadow making the transition nearly seamless as the shape of his attacker revealed itself to him, only confirming his worse suspicion, dread lining the pit of his stomach as he caught a quick impression of his brother’s expression before his gaze flickered down toward the metal barrel of a gun pointed firmly in Samuel’s direction and his body’s reaction was instinctive, beyond his conscious control. He flinched back, lungs seizing, pupils blown wide as an inexplicable mortal fear surged like electricity through every raw nerve ending, twisting the features of his face, unable to look away as his body stumbled back in a flurry of awkward limbs until he felt his hand slip, his unsteady weight toppling him backwards off the mattress to land on his back with a solid smack that sent a shower of red stars across the back of his eyelids, abused body convulsing with a dull throb as a soft litany of monosyllabic curses escaped pass gritted teeth.

White hot pain ripped through his left upper arm as Samuel struggled into a sitting position, the logic of such a sudden action under enemy fire lost to him as he raised a shaky hand to firmly press against the injury, the corners of his eyes burning as his mind stumbled like a newborn processing the unfamiliar sensations, at this point almost certain that he’d just been shot until the cheap five dollar alarm clock cracked against the floor beside him, green digital numbers blinking out of existence, the long black cord stretched tight above it like a noose, snagged on the bloody corner of his nightstand... his blood. Wide eyes immediately fell back to his left arm, pulling his right hand back to see the dark red life that had escaped the superficial flesh wound, warm on his fingertips as he closed them into a fist, marveling at the discovery. He was bleeding fresh blood. It was such a small thing, easily unremarkable, but it sang to him proof of what he, a demon, had accomplished, forcing a remerging of severed body and soul to recreate the condition of living and therefore resuming his mortal existence...

God, he was alive.

Samuel’s lips twisted, a sharp warmth expanding from his chest and he was so fucking thankful, but his immediate joy at the disconcerting realization was short lived as the full weight of his situation settled upon him, brown eyes lifting cautiously, now deathly aware that his brief moment of shocked wonderment had cost him, leaving him exposed and feeling sick, numb as he took in the horror painted across his brother’s features that he’d caused and this was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, he’d had a plan, they weren’t suppose to see each other again... not like this, not when Samuel could barely stand, so weak he could scarcely fend for himself and Dean, eyes wet with hate and pain, forcing shaking hands steady with a gun still aimed at the demon’s head, loaded with god knows what.

No, it wasn’t the colt, but that fact alone did nothing to alleviate the twisted emotion that had threaded through him, ice pumping through his veins that made each compression of his heart burn. Samuel wasn’t like the others, hadn’t aimed for just a simple possession, his dead heart tortured with longstanding regret and despair demanding more, demanding to fully reclaim what he had lost despite the danger. In the end it had all come down to a battle of power and though it was in his kind’s base nature to act with greed, to be solely self-serving, none of this had been just for him because though he would have regained life it was doomed to be a lonely one, separated from the only thing he could remember caring for, the only person that reminded him that something like love did exist, that he’d had a taste of it once, but if his body died again he didn’t know what would happen. If that connection was severed he didn’t know where his soul would go.

His fisted hand fell uselessly into his lap, nearly forgetting to breathe under the weight of guilt, shame, that threatened to drown him for ever dreaming that he could come back, could ever hope to heal this hurt when so much time stood between them. Nearly five months...the measurement seemed meaningless to him now, a grain of salt lost in the expanse of desert, but for a human, for Dean... Samuel needed no psychic abilities to understand the extent of the damage such time could do when a person was left only with their thoughts and despite everything the demon had learned, everything he’d lived through, every preconceived law of nature he’d broken just so that he could be back here in this place, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how he could explain any of this in a way that wouldn’t end with a bullet hole smoking from his forehead, but maybe he could live with that, he deserved no less for unwittingly breaking the man he’d loved with his human arrogance.

Samuel swallowed pass the tightness in his throat, knowing that he had to say something, needed to say something as injured brown met jaded hazel eyes, the white scar covering his heart clearly damming him as something different, something supernatural and if he didn’t say something now he wouldn’t get another chance, his brother would probably make sure of that, but in a second everything changed, lines of tension making his body rigid though somehow he managed to keep enough control not to move further as his eyes zeroed in on what he’d missed up until this point, a thin pale scar peaking through a scattered array of long bangs placed dangerously over the man’s left eye and the resulting anger was stronger than anything he’d ever felt before, human or demon, and he knew, he knew how the mark had come about because Ruby had reported the matter to him, but knowing and seeing were two very different things. His teeth ground together under tightly sealed lips, eyes falling, closing, as he tried to reign in his temper, get a hold over the seething anger, black as the devil’s heart, that curled within the confines of his chest, roaring its outrage, breathing hellfire into his demonic soul as a power he was fighting desperately to restrain crackled like invisible electricity over his skin putting an immense strain on the body he’d just revived. He could feel how his eyes had flooded black under his closed eyelids and he knew he had to stop it, but everything that was primal in him wanted blood, pain, death, a rending of flesh from meat, meat from bone until there was nothing left but cold, harsh justice.

When he managed to regain some small fraction of control, the black in his gaze forcefully cleared by sheer will power alone, he opened them once more and stared his brother directly in the eye, all thoughts of explanations gone from his mind as he forced himself to speak, his first words in this new life rough but with strong intent, already knowing the truth but something inside of him needing to hear it, maybe some last vestige of mortal conscience that wanted to give a small measure of validation to what he would do to the bitch once they finally met face to face.

"Who did this to you?"

The matter for him was simple. Someone had touched what was his.

Someone needed to die.

Dean couldn't pull the trigger.

He just couldn't…

That knowledge closed around his heart like a fist. Slowly squeezing what was left of his life, his sanity, out of him leaving him feeling completely… empty.

Not that he couldn't still feel. In fact, he felt quite a bit right now. Anger. At himself. At this thing that had taken his brother's face. Pain, so much fucking pain he was drowning in it. Grief. Guilt. Disgust… mostly directed at himself. But it wasn't enough to fill the hole inside of him. Not nearly enough. Nothing was.

He felt dead…

Strangely, it wasn't a new feeling. He'd felt it before, so long ago it seemed when the last four and a half months had stretched into a painful eternity. But it wasn't all that long ago really. A little over a year… When his brother had been lost. Dean hadn't been able to find him, until Sam had called him sounding so scared and confused. Not knowing where he was or how he'd gotten there.

Dean remembered his slowly growing dread as they uncovered his brother's missing time. Discovering the dead hunter… dead at Sam's hands. He remembered standing facing his brother in that motel room. Tears and pain in both their eyes as Sammy tried to push a gun into his hands, begging him to kill him before he could hurt anyone else. Before he could hurt Dean.

Dean had promised their dad. He had promised Sammy… but he couldn't do it… he couldn't kill his own brother no matter what he had become. He just couldn't…

In the end it had all been a trick. It had been Meg, possessing his brother, Sam hadn't really done all those things. Sam hadn't killed that hunter. Sam hadn't tried to kill Jo. Sam hadn't shot him, or tried to beat him to death. His brother had been innocent. Dean had done the right thing. He hadn't lived to regret it, as Meg had promised him…

But his brother was dead. This… this thing… wasn't his brother. He didn't know what it was, or why it was here, or why it hadn't already just killed him when he had been asleep, but it didn't matter. It wasn't Sam. It wasn't Sam any more than Meg had been Sam, trying to force Dean to kill his brother, but he still couldn't pull the trigger any more now than then.

I'd rather die.

That was what he had told Sam then, and he'd meant it. Hell, he was already dead. He had been dead for months. His heart had died the exact moment his brother's had stopped. He was so tired of fighting. So tired… he just wanted it over. Whether his time ran out in another month or so or this thing killed him now, what did it matter? He didn't care anymore…

When the thing in the bed started to stir, Dean didn't lower the gun even though he knew he wasn't going to shoot. It wasn't some stupid form of bravado or plain stubbornness, he simply couldn't move. All of his muscles were tense and frozen in place. Kind of like rigor mortis and that almost made him laugh because it was so fitting. Like his body already knew it was dead, it was just waiting for the rest of him to catch up.

Hopefully that wouldn't be much longer…

But when brown eyes opened slowly and focused on him, Dean couldn't help but flinch as though he'd been slapped. His heart suddenly thundering madly in his chest as his lungs burned from lack of air because he'd stopped breathing. Brown eyes. Not black as Dean had almost prayed they would be. Or red, or gold, or some other strange demonic coloring. They were Sam's eyes staring into his. His brother's beautiful eyes... Widening into recognition then… fear…

Sam… no… it was scrambling away from him. Away from the gun. Terrified. But his movements were like that of a puppet who's master had no idea which strings to pull to make it move the way he wanted. Dean could only watch in horrified fascination as the creature tumbled out of the bed to land hard and painfully on the floor.

Dean noticed the blood at the same time as it did, but the thing's reactions were just… wrong. It seemed at first amazed and then almost… happy? To be bleeding… For the moment forgetting about Dean and the gun. But then it slowly turned its attention back to him and Dean would have taken a step back if he could have moved at all. The intensity the thing stared at him with. Fear… of the gun… but strangely not of him. The other… emotions… playing across the creature's face Dean couldn't identify. Couldn't understand. Or maybe he simply didn't want to. Not if he wanted to remain sane.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't… he couldn't look at this thing. He couldn't look into those eyes. He couldn't stare at that face that even thin, pale, and haggard, looked too much like his baby brother. Everything the same as when he'd last seen him. Right before he'd buried Sam… Everything the same except the large scar over his chest, over his heart, where a tattoo should have been. Their tattoo. Not anymore…

Then suddenly everything shifted. Dean sucked in a painful breath as the fragile figure in front of him suddenly… changed. Not physically, it didn't even move, but Dean could feel it. Rage. Power… Dean felt a spike of fear ripple down his spine and he was glad when those dark eyes suddenly closed. Were not focused on him anymore. However the respite was brief and when those eyes opened again, Dean did take a step backwards. Only one before he froze again. Captured and held in place by the weight of that stare alone. What was he going to do, run? He already knew he wasn't going to shoot. As he'd told Agent Hendrickson once, you don't shoot a bear with a bb-gun, it'll only make it mad.

But nothing could have prepared him for the question he was asked by this… thing… its voice rough from disuse and almost unrecognizable but… It was staring hard at his face, at the scar one of Lilith's demons had given him when that had nearly ripped out one of his eyes. Why… why did it want to know? Why did it… care…

It didn't make sense. None of this made any fucking sense!

He wasn't holding the gun anymore. Dean didn't even realize he'd lowered it until he heard it clatter uselessly to the floor, dropped from suddenly numb fingers. Everything felt numb. Weak. Cold… so fucking cold… Shock. Your going into shock, a part of his mind still functioning helpfully supplied, not like it really mattered.

"Lilith… " Dean heard himself answering almost against his will in a voice he didn't recognize as his own. Small. Scared. Then whispering even weaker, shakier, more horror than hope because he couldn't let himself believe, even for a moment. If he let himself believe and he was wrong... "Sam…?"

It was the last thing he heard before his brain mercifully decided to shut down completely. His eyes rolling back in his head, unconsciousness swallowing him like a grave before his body hit the floor.

In a second the moment shattered, the black ball of fury corroding the inside of his chest at the human’s answer defusing with the weight of a word, a variation of a name he had once subconsciously known so well as something stronger, more instinctive than the dark rage, the hate, now coursed through his veins, saturating every cell of his body with tension, mind struggling for the correct collaboration of muscle and bone to lift his sluggish form onto it’s knees, right hand instantly thrust forward, palm still stained red with the proof of Samuel’s new life becoming his focal point, releasing an unsteady cascade of raw power. Brown irises focused with a deadly concentration, fighting back the change in his eyes as he tried to reform some semblance of control, the precious life now gently caught in his grasp too special to be harmed as an invisible extension of his will caught the man on his knees, stopping his sudden descent toward the hard ground, stilling any further movement. For the briefest moment Samuel allowed himself to suck in a slow shallow breath, only now getting use to action, unable to stop the numbing tremors visibly shaking his hand, body weak, bowing forward as his left arm took off some of the strain from holding up his own weight before the world pulsed violently inside his mind, something hot and molten burning over newly revived nerve endings, the very breath frozen within him, all sound consumed by the fire raging within him, lips parted in a silent scream.

It was like nothing he’d ever remembered feeling before, not as a mortal or a demon, the human in his eyes retreating behind a liquid black veil as something worse than hellfire ripped through his skull, pain making the lines of his body contort beyond their natural limits, weak muscles only hours ago atrophied locking up and threatening to tear as his frame continued to convulse, a taste so close to dead man’s blood coating the useless mass of his tongue as he tried to fight back, the answering rage to this inexplicable pain absent only because he still had Dean in his grip and couldn’t chance hurting his brother with his carelessness, wanting rather to suffer through it than cause anymore harm to the man. It felt as if he was being torn apart from the inside out as his brother’s body finally touched the carpet, Samuel withdrawing that power into himself, teeth gritting as the demon fell onto his side, a fierce, primal sound leaking up from the depths like a wounded animal as lights neither of them had ever turned on before began to flicker in and out of existence, filaments burning incandescently before the light bulbs burst into handfuls of tiny shards.

Samuel’s arm still remained outstretched along the ground towards his brother, marked palm facing up towards the ceiling, open hand clenching into a tight fist as pale lines of thin blood leaked twin trails from his nose, each breath more liquid than air and therefore unsatisfying for his body’s great need as his lungs stuttered frantically, the intervals between such harsh constrictions growing narrower as each second passed. Black eyes searched desperately across the long stretch of dirty floor that lay between them, vision double-sighted, images uncontrollably see-sawing before him between the physical and the internal heat, the condition of the soul that at the very least verified that Dean was alive and would stay that way for the time being. It seemed life itself blacked out when his arm finally fell limp, fingers disengaging their tight grip revealing dark crescent indentations as the room quieted into darkness, Samuel’s power failing him here where in hell such a simple act would have cost him nothing but the slightest turn of his wrist, and intrinsically he knew within the depths of his demon soul that this defeat meant something greater and far more devastating, until all thoughts abruptly ceased, lungs having given out minutes ago, no oxygen left in his body to create them as black withdrew to reveal vacant, dull brown irises.

*

Samuel’s head ached, an answering pulse threading through his body as the demon struggled into a sitting position to find himself surrounded by an endless sea of tall grass that tickled at the naked skin of his chest, a soft breeze creating emerald waves that went on forever, their brilliance only matched by the cerulean sky above him, more a bright swatch of color than an endless space, burning the black expanse of his eyes as his mind tried to collect itself. This place didn’t feel like a place, the stretch of land married to the sky like a poor imitation created with his fading imagination than what he hoped the reality truly was, the memories of such things long since forgotten among the hellfire, but if this wasn’t the human world, then where could he be? This was no version of hell, or twisted form of purgatory he was familiar with, and as for heaven, well the demon could guess easily enough that someone of his kind would not be welcomed there if such a place truly existed.

When he could the demon stood, dressed only in the flannel pants he half remembered stepping into earlier that morning, but feeling awkwardly, detached from anything physical, as if his body was almost like a secondary thought, left insubstantial, unmarred by any wound, because such things did not exist here, black eyes he couldn’t return to their original brown scoring over the horizon line before catching patches of yellow intermixed within the rich green, sun flowers, surrounding a single great oak that broke into the sky, tall, strong and looking far older than Samuel himself as he approached it before the air abruptly left him, gaze falling on the profile of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She glowed pale amid the vibrant colors, complexion fair like living pearl, long loose curls of gold dancing in the gentle wind around her shoulders, features hidden from him, dressed in a pure white night gown, delicate hands attending to a small bouquet of sunflowers and seemingly unaware of his presence until words soft and subtle as sunlight found its way to his ears, face turned away from him, eyes the color of broken dreams and rain filled skies catching his own and pinning him down, “Sam... I never expected to have any company.”

Something inside the demon twisted at hearing that name again, his previous ease gone as his senses prickled, secretly trying to call for some his power but finding none it.

“I never wanted this for you... for either of you. An eternity in hell would have been better...” Her gaze drifted, the line of her neck straightening as she tilted her had back, staring up into nothing, features resigned in regret.

In an instant Samuel knows she’s talking about him and Dean and something inside is screaming at him that this person should be familiar, that he should at least know her name, but his instincts can’t see her was anything more than threat, her figure now less brilliant, seeming to fracture away under the too bright sky.

“I want you to watch for out Dean, okay?”

And now she looking back at him, this time waiting for an answer, and its like he can’t breathe because something is just so fucking familiar about her, but it doesn’t take him even a second’s thought to reply with, “Of course I-“

“Find your father, Sam.”

And suddenly it clicks, not like some long lost memories suddenly resurfacing because for his kind once they’re gone, nothing can bring them back, but Samuel’s smart, always has been as far as he knows, so all he needs to do is simply connect the dots before her words strike him hard. Even if he hadn’t known anything about their mother Samuel knew enough about their father to understand the implication. “But he’s-“

She nodded her head once, hands delicately petting brittle sunflower petals, now somehow dead compared to the vibrant ones he remembered her holding. “You don’t belong there anymore sweetheart. Dean’s the only one, but he’ll need your help before the end.”

It’s only then he notices the dead circle of grass surrounding her bare feet and how its slowly expanding, killing the color and Samuel tries to take a step back but he can’t and what she’s saying is bordering on insane because as much as he’d never planned coming back, he was now and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “No, I want to stay.”

“Save Dean... nothing else matters and if you can’t –“

“No! You’re not real, this can’t be real, this is just-”

“Some place outside of existence, neither in hell nor purgatory? Just some place people get sent after they’re erased?”

She smiled then and Samuel couldn’t speak, not when his own thoughts from so many months ago back in the pit were being thrown back at him and suddenly he feels something like fear for the first time in centuries twist his gut.

“I never meant to sacrifice you my sweet child.” Her look softened with something the demon couldn’t identify before she turned away, the wind scattering dead flower petals in her wake as long blonde tresses refracted the brilliant light before seemingly catching on fire.

“WAIT!!”

*

Samuel choked on cold air, lungs seizing as they were forced to expand, an inexplicable rage burning like a rope of fire around his demonic soul, vision turning black as left over feelings of fear and denial burned like acid through the broken lines of his body, needing to retaliate, needing to rip, to drain, to tear until the threat was dead and dry before frantic eyes spotted the outline of Dean’s figure, still crumpled on the floor where he’d been left, and it was only then that he felt his heart take it’s next thunderous beat. He forced himself to just breathe, his body to still, as hungry eyes edging towards desperation took the other man in, fighting the years of anger down for just a moment of peace from all of these fucking emotions he couldn’t remember the last time feeling let alone be able to properly name so unlike wrath, envy, pride or any of the other black, clear-cut sins the demon had come to exist by, because being back here again... it was something like a dream, but it left him feeling so scared, angry, and confused because this wasn’t his home, not anymore and for an insane moment Samuel wished he could be anywhere else, almost as much as he wished for those hazel eyes to open and look at him, this time without fear or pain distorting their true color, so that he’d have something more than just a faded memory haunting the charred edges of his mind.

He didn’t have time to get lost in his own thoughts however, the whole concept of hours, minutes, and seconds now so definite and constricting, like a ticking bomb trapped inside his head that could explode at any moment if he wasn’t careful. The demon groaned as he shifted his weight, the hard floor unforgiving against his side as his body fought to regain feeling in his outermost extremities, arms and thighs shaking as he worked hands and knees under himself, fine dots of blood spotting the carpet underneath from the slow but steady drip from his bleeding nose as he pushed himself off the ground. His body continued to shudder under the strain as he slowly crawled to his brother’s side, the image of that woman his mind tried to tentatively label as ‘mother’ burned into the backs of his eyelids, the echo of her words more damning than any sin ever pinned to his mortal soul, mind still uncertain, still deeply held in denial while something darker, more primal, inside of him thought better, but if centuries in hell had made him realize one thing it was this. Demons didn’t dream, didn’t have the capacity for it in an environment that’s all about take with no gain, the stuff of nightmares nothing more than memories from the pit, the only ones that they were allowed to keep.

If anything he might have called it a ‘vision,’ though the pain it had inspired alone was nothing like his vaguest recollections.

None of that mattered now however with Dean’s body stretched out before him, just a dim outline to weak brown eyes, Samuel’s breathing ragged as his let his head fall forward, forehead pressing against the rough knit carpet, leaning his weight on his elbows as hands knotted in through his sweat damp hair, everything in him aching to reach out and touch the prone figure before something sickly and smelling of the stench of fear would thread through his nerves and break the impulse, making his fingers curl tighter against it because if he gave in he’d end up breaking something and he didn’t want to hurt his brother anymore. In the end it wasn’t so much about human and demon, but the fact that he was Samuel, not Sam and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember being anything else besides who he was now. Seconds passed before the demon forced himself to move again, taking in a slow breath as he lifted his head once more, a large hand hesitant and awkward, just hovering before slim fingers dared to thread gently back through dark bangs, longer than he remembered them, thumb trailing behind over the pale skin revealed, tracing delicately over the mark Lilith had left behind, anger once again threatening to boil to the surface only held back by his own exhaustion. It was the only intimate contact the demon allowed for himself to steal as something indescribable solidified in his chest, weighting down his tired heart, making it harder to breathe before pale brown eyes turned black, a new strength burning painfully through him, arms moving to secure Dean close before long legs straightened and took them those last few steps towards the hunter’s bed.

The entire effort was almost too much for the newly resurrected demon to bear, his body running hot as cool blood was forced to pump through his system bringing back the familiar burn that reminded Samuel that this wasn’t just about his own messed up feelings and ‘visions,’ shoulders hunching forward, head falling into the pillow of his numb arms now folded against the edge of Dean’s mattress, the idea of moving away after he’d finally laid the man down unbearable not only for his weak knees but for that horrible ache that still resided within the center of his chest, bowed head resting near the human’s shoulder before epiphany struck him. Though what memories of a human life the demon had retained were few and varied, all of which only saved because of his brother’s direct connection with the events, the times surrounding his deaths were surprisingly clear, and all of this, or at least the pain, was just like before.

During his second life, there had been a physical reason why Samuel as a human hadn’t been able to tap back into his physic abilities, even without the memories from his first death. It was the same reason why many demons chose to possess freshly killed meat-puppets than resort to live stock, the muscles and organs already dead and passed feeling so human constraints in no way hindered their powers. A human body on its own couldn’t handle the strain. Samuel’s body hadn’t been able to back then and still couldn’t now, though as a demon he had the means of being able to slowly heal what damaged he’d already done, leaving him with less than a third of his actual power which would be useless against something like Lilith and in one horrific moment he finally understood some of what that woman had meant... what their mother had been trying to explain. Samuel no longer belonged among the living and there was no use for a demon in this war if he couldn’t even wield his full power.

To protect Dean Samuel would have to die one last time.

Samuel took in a weak, shuddering breath, head lifting from the recess of his arms, back straightening as brown eyes fell across Dean’s pale form, everything in him aching for something so much more than perfunctory contact, now only too conscious of the fact that this maybe the closest he’d ever get to the human again and inside the demon felt something break, that horrible tightness now suddenly gone and leaving him feeling so empty, so alone that he didn’t realize they were touching until he felt warm fingertips brush his own, his brother’s hand now trapped between his. It took everything in him not to tighten his grip, head falling once again because it was easier to feel than to see, hands curling protectively around the nonresponsive weight, made of strong bones, rough skin and suddenly its easy picturing a life around chasing after that hand and the man attached to it, looking for acceptance, willing to tag along, and he wondered briefly at how something so simple as the steady beat of a pulse could make him start thanking things he no longer believed in that at least he’d been given this moment, voice raw and cracked as words he didn’t realize he’d had to say start spilling out, a whisper in the dark.

“I’m so sorry...I never meant to leave you, to hurt you, and you don’t have to forgive me... but please don’t hate me.” The pause is painful, the demon forced to swallow as his voice tries to give out but he doesn’t let it. Not yet.

He means to say ‘I missed you,’ but his heart starts breaking just a little faster.

“I love you.”

And he doesn’t notice as wet trails start to fall, sliding down over his heated skin, knowing that he should find a way to leave even though he can’t, even though leaving would be like ripping what’s left of his soul into two pieces, but it’s just as well.

Tears were just something else he wouldn’t have understood.

Sure, demons lied.

Though one of the many things his father had taught him was that the best way to tell lies from the truth was to have the information confirmed by multiple different sources.

Three different personal sources was kind of hard to dispute. That bitch Meg. The demon chick he'd been trapped with and had a long perhaps more meaningful conversation than he'd ever had with any other woman. Even Ruby... They all said the same thing about hell. It was a pit of utter despair. Hell was hell, even for demons. No human topside could possibly understand, and maybe that was true. But, still, Dean thought he had a pretty good idea anyway what Hell was really like.

Hell was reliving the worst pain you had ever known in your life over and over. Never being able to forget. Reliving your worst nightmares, your worst mistakes again and again. Loosing the ones you loved most every day, every night, for all eternity. Yeah, and if hell wasn't really like that, then hell would be a fucking walk in the park compared to what he was living in now.

Because Dean was in Hell every time he closed his eyes.

He knew he was dreaming, but for some reason that only made it worse. Because he also knew it wasn't really a dream, it was a memory. As bright and vivid as the day he'd seen everything the first time. Right down to the last detail. The feeling of dirt and grit under his fingernails. The taste of hot sand still thick on his tongue even though he'd left the desert behind more than a two days ago. The burning scratchy feeling in his eyes from crying too much and not enough sleep. Hell, even the faint sickly sweet smell of decay Dean knew all too well from spending way too much time around dead things growing up, but refusing to acknowledge now. Along with a lot of other things.

One of them being the cell phone lying on the empty seat of the Impala, buzzing insistently yet again, it was a wonder the thing's batteries hadn't given out a long time ago. After the buzzing had ceased, the phone gave another soft beep indicating yet another message had been left. Dean knew he could expect the phone to ring again in about an hour, like clockwork. He wondered when Bobby would finally give up and stop calling him. Probably not till long after his voicemail was full or the battery finally did give out. The older hunter was nothing if not persistent. Dean wondered again why he hadn't just turned the cell phone off hours ago, then again pushed the thought away like he pushed away everything else. Because nothing else was really important. Not anymore.

Instead he concentrated on driving. The road in front of him. His knuckles tight and white as bone where they were wrapped around the steering wheel. The silence in the Impala only broken by Bobby's hourly unanswered phone calls. He drove over a bridge and Dean wondered why he didn't just drive the car off the edge into the river... but he already knew the answer. The same reason he hadn't simply put a gun to his head again after finally managing to 'escape' Bobby's watchful eye over him.

Dean glanced in the rear view mirror, something he'd mostly avoided doing, but occasionally his eyes would be drawn to the back seat against his will. To the white sheet he'd wrapped tightly around the body of his brother, because he couldn't stand looking at the younger man's gray dead flesh and vacant eyes any longer. The hunter shuddered a little at the memory and forced his eyes back to the road.

"Take care of your brother..." It was still his job. Even if he had failed, it was still his job, and he still intended to do it. As much as he could now. He owed Sam that much.

Even though Bobby had probably been horrified when he found out not only had Dean left but he'd taken his brother's body with him. Dean wondered briefly how many of Bobby's voicemail messages were warning about 'zombies' and 'necrophilia'... or whatever... Though he couldn't deny the thought had crossed Dean's mind. Not the necrophilia part, god, he wasn't that sick. The whole zombie thing had crossed his mind, briefly, once. But he had learned his lesson. Even though he might have sold his soul to bring his brother back to life, he sure as hell wasn't going to turn his brother into the undead. Sam wouldn't want that, that was worse then being dead in his opinion, and he would never do that to his brother... no matter how much he wanted him back.

No, he would take care of his brother the only way he could now. Even though Bobby would probably kill him for not cremating the younger man's remains as they had their father. Hell, maybe even that was what Sam would have wanted, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't burn Sam. It would be destroying the last piece of Sam in this world and Dean just couldn't do it. So he would bury him. Then at least there would be something of Sam left, even if there would be only rotting flesh and bones left long after Dean himself was gone. After the hellhounds dragged him to hell...

Alright, maybe he wasn't playing with a full deck right now, but honestly Dean didn't care. Maybe even a small part of him hoped that as long as he didn't destroy his brother's remains maybe Sam's spirit would hang around. To be with him. Just these last few months until... Ok, maybe that as really selfish of him even to hope for, talk about fates worse than death. He and Sam had dealt with enough restless spirits over the years but... hell it was better than zombies right?

Dean started laughing all of a sudden, and knew he was probably loosing it. Loosing it? He was so far gone already Bobby should have probably packed him into a straight jacket instead of just locking him in a room. But even knowing that didn't stop him from laughing, or the sobbing tears that followed.

He'd pulled off the road and down a little dirt path before he'd realized it. Turned off the car and just sat there breathing in heavily now the smell that turned his stomach now that they were no longer moving and the breeze from the open windows couldn't mask it any longer. Dean knew he couldn't go on for much longer. They couldn't go on. He was so tired... but he wasn't going to rest until he took care of his brother. He wouldn't let himself.

So pulling himself together as much as he possibly could, Dean started the car again, but instead of pulling back out into the road the little overgrown path in front of him drew his attention and he continued driving down it. He drove for a good half hour, the road obviously no longer used by the number of potholes doing a number on his shocks, but he finally pulled to a stop at a completely unexpected find.

Dean got out of the car slowly, gazing around the small clearing he'd found literally by accident smack dab in the middle of nowhere. A small old overgrown cemetery, the brittle skeletal remains of a church almost completely taken over by the encroaching forest around it. It was exactly what he'd been looking for, though he hadn't really realized it until now.

Before he realized he was moving he was unlocking the trunk of the Impala and dragging out a well used shovel. Walking into the old cemetery he began digging near a large rock. Even when it started to grow dark, and his muscles screamed with every shovel full of dirt he tossed out, he didn't stop until he was finished. It was kind of strange. He'd had a lot of experience unearthing graves, but he'd never really dug one initially before.

His stomach twisted and he fought the urge to be sick at that thought as he climbed out of the grave he'd just dug. His brother's grave. Leaving the shovel where it was because he'd need it to fill the hole back in afterwards. He returned to the car and opened up the back door. Gathering the wrapped body in the back seat with infinite care, as though it were made of glass instead of cold dead flesh.

He didn't just drop his brother's body into the hole, couldn't bring himself to, instead climbing down awkwardly with his burden back inside and laying his brother down carefully. Only he found he couldn't let go of Sam's body after that. He didn't know how long he sat there with the younger man's corpse cradled in his lap like a child, and he didn't really care. Not even when the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness fell so thick inside the grave he swore he could cut it with a knife.

Dean sat there, ignoring his aching, cramping muscles, ignoring the cold and the dark, just holding his brother, until the sky began to grow light again. The thickly overcast sky offering nothing but a gray cold light that offered no warmth. Just harsh reality as he could finally see again the shrouded dead body he cradled protectively against him.

"Goodbye Sammy...." He whispered with a voice that didn't even recognize as his own. Laying his brother down carefully before he forced himself to stand and climb out of the hole one last time. Ignoring the soreness and tired ache in his body as he picked up the shovel again and began to fill in the hole. The first shovel of dirt was the hardest, and really it didn't get much easier as he went on. Tear tracks marking through the dirt on his face, he swore that would be the last time he cried. He didn't have anything left to loose that meant anything to him...

*

He never could keep a promise worth a damn, could he? Dean thought bitterly as he felt the real wetness of tears against his cheeks even before he opened his eyes. He hadn't kept any of his promises. Not the ones that really mattered. Not to Dad, and not to Sammy. Dad had died to save his worthless ass, so Dean could protect his brother, and he'd let Sam die. Not just once, but twice...

Dean knew he deserved to go to hell. More than most. Maybe a part of him was even looking forward to it. He was tired of the hell this mockery of life had become. Instead hell insisted on always coming to find him.

Like now when he finally opened his eyes and he realized where he was, that his last conscious memory hadn't been just another nightmare after all, and he wasn't alone. He... It... was still here. Dean didn't know why he was waking up at all. Why hadn't it just killed him after he'd passed out? Why hadn't it before? He still didn't know, nor did he understand why it was still wearing his brother's pale, but still beautiful face. What was it trying to do, other than drive him insane? It was doing a good job. Just looking at it now was twisting the dagger of pain deeper and deeper into his chest and he could feel his hold on sanity tearing just a little more with each passing second.

God, please... he couldn't take this... he just couldn't... anything but this...

"Please.... Please kill me..." Dean whispered, his eyes begging and wet with tears but he didn't care. He wasn't ashamed, he just wanted it to be over. "Please? I'll let you do anything you want to me, I won't fight, just please kill me afterwards..." Not that he could really stop it from doing whatever it wanted anyway, but maybe offering not to fight back would entice it to give him what he wanted.

To die. To go to hell.

A year ago that thought would have terrified him, even more so when Ruby had told him what would eventually become of him once he went down into the pit, but now he longed for it. Because even if the pain would be worse down in Hell, though somehow Dean doubted it could be, but it wouldn't last forever.

Because eventually he would start to change. He would become like them. He would become a demon, and he would forget... everything. He would forget his brother's smell, and the touch of his skin. He would forget how Sam tasted and the sound of Sam's voice crying out his name in passion. He would forget the softness of his brother's lips and how Dean's entire universe could be found in those soft brown eyes when Sam whispered, 'I love you.'

He would stop feeling the pain... feeling as though he'd been ripped apart, half of himself missing, the other half dead. He would forget about the pain, because he would forget about Sam. Then one day if he ever escaped from hell someone, some hunter, would destroy him, and it would all be over...