Out Through The In Door part two

[dianne_37]

XXXX



Back at the house Sam found Bobby poring over a book that took up his entire lap and spread from arm to arm on the chair. The pendant now sat on a coaster that Bobby had drawn a devil’s trap on. Clive was stirring a pot of chili on the stove, Buick asleep beside his legs.

Sam stood behind the chair, studying the page Bobby had open. Bobby was muttering under his breath, always a sure sign that he shouldn’t be interrupted. The crumbling, brown pages were covered with pictures of keys. Large metallic ones, some with skeletons etched on them, others with symbols and chants in Latin written beside them, and one hand- drawn by Bobby, of the gun that had opened the gate to hell and released a plague on the world.

Bobby flipped the page, staring from the pendant, to the medallions worn by the fairies, demons, and other beings that stared from book.

Bobby rubbed his eyes and got up, careful not to disturb the medallion. He pushed the book away, standing up to stretch.

“Kid, you gotta stop lookin’ over my shoulder like that. There’s enough books here to keep even you busy.”

Sam twitched, his fingers feeling a subtle pull toward the medallion. Bobby put his beer on the coaster, covering the medallion, the brown glass and dripping moisture distorting the dog’s image on it into a grotesque snarling beast with red eyes.

“Bobby, I uh, think I’m going a little mental or something. I guess I’m just tired. Yeah, tired. Keep hearing those damned dogs … But I mean, I never heard ‘em in the first place when Dean … so …”

Admitting this to Bobby reminded Sam of the time he admitted to his father that he was afraid of the thing in his closet. His father had given him a gun. Bobby went to the door, opened it, and asked Sam to listen. Sam heard nothing but he felt better that Bobby hadn’t discounted what he said. Bobby did, however, ask him again about what happened at the crossroads the night Sam had gone to try to undo Dean’s deal. Sam told him again that he had not made any deals. Bobby told him that he never heard of Hellhounds chasing a person who had no debt to pay. Sam felt only slightly better. He longed for some sort of special gun to be handed to him, a weapon against impending insanity.

Bobby told Sam to come have a drink with him in the kitchen. Clive searched the cupboards, which seemed bare of more alcohol. He finally found a dusty bottle of Scotch and a half bottle of rum.

“My wife made me promise I wouldn’t booze myself to death,” Clive said sheepishly, reaching into the cupboards to fish out three glasses. “But I think in light of the day, eh Margie?” Clive looked up to the ceiling. He set the glasses down on the table and poured generous servings of rum. When the rum was gone, the Scotch was cracked open and everyone was sitting a little further down in their chairs than when they’d started.

“Sorry I haven’t asked how you’ve been doing, Clive, since Margie...” Bobby said. “I tried to get here for the funeral but...” he looked at Sam. “I had things to do.”

“I know. You said your goodbyes the last time you were here.” Clive took a long sip of Scotch, keeping up with Bobby and Sam.

Sam said little as Bobby and Clive talked about their past. They’d gone to high school together. Margie had been Bobby’s girlfriend. When they’d broken up, Clive had asked her to prom and they’d later married. Sam waited, cringing, expecting to hear that Margie had met her end at the hands of a demon.

“If we could just do an exorcism to toss out cancer from someone, eh Bobby?” Clive slurred.

“Amen to that,” said Bobby.

It got quiet. Clive, as was his habit, turned on the television to break the awkward silence that followed. From the kitchen, they heard the retro channel play Gilligan’s Island, followed by Bewitched, which brought back lively conversation to the table as everyone pointed out the inaccuracies of the program. Clive found some beer in another cupboard, which although rather skunky, was still drinkable. Sam made faces at the awful taste but relished the warmth in his stomach and the dulling of the pain.

“To Dean,” said Bobby. He raised his beer and they all clanked their glasses with his, spilling over the clean floor. Until now they’d only been listening from the kitchen to the old shows. Now they retired to the living room where each sank into an upholstered chair.

“Lucy, you have some ‘splainin to do!” Bellowed Bobby, laughing.” Even Sam laughed as the credits rolled and another show came on.

“Oh, come on, you are not going to make me watch Lassie, are you?” Sam said, standing up to change the channel, as he couldn’t see the remote anywhere.

“It’s Buick’s favourite show,” said Clive.

Buick looked up and yipped in agreement as Lassie started. The dog wasn’t back to normal, but he seemed happy enough watching Lassie prance around the screen.

“Black and white doesn’t bother him much. Dogs can only see in black and white, you know?” Clive slurred. Bobby gave Sam a warning glance not to argue.

“What’s that Lassie, Jimmy’s down a well?” laughed Sam, rolling his eyes before the episode even started. “That happens in every episode. Why didn’t they just board up the damn well?” He took another swig of beer.

Bobby picked up the nearest object and threw it at Sam. “Have some respect. These are classics. Not like that crap you and Dean used to...” He stopped and downed half a beer.

Buick yelped at the object Bobby had thrown and backed away growling. His nose was to the ground and Bobby swore at himself. The object he’d thrown was the pendent, which now lay on the floor, the coaster with the devil’s trap down the cushion of Sam’s chair. Bobby leapt up surprisingly steady for a man with so much alcohol in his system and grabbed the pendant.

Bobby placed the pendant back onto the coaster and sighed in relief. There was a noise at the door like fingernails on a blackboard. It was apparent they’d all heard it. Buick’s attention turned from the pendant to the door. At first the dog hid behind Clive, then seeming to make up his mind, Buick stood in front of his master, teeth bared but shaking nonetheless.

There was silence for but a moment. Sam couldn’t help but turn his head when the t.v. grew suddenly louder. Buick stepped on the remote and sure enough. What’s that Lassie, Jimmy’s fallen into the well?

Buick lunged at the door and the large book Bobby had been looking at earlier fell off the table, open to a picture of the gates of hell opening. While there was a mass exodus depicted on the page, several creatures stood awaiting their chance to enter.

It grew quiet again outside. Bobby grabbed a shotgun with rock salt and opened the door, staring out into the graying night. Sam was both disturbed and relieved they’d both heard it too. And that their faces remained unchanged.

A terrific cry of pain, clearly from a dog, could be heard from a distance. A black shape ran toward the open door and Bobby opened fire. The dog did not fall. It kept coming. Bobby slammed the door but before a line of salt could be poured, the wood, held only by nails, crashed inward, sending shards of toothpick sized spears at everyone.

Sam’s hands went up to defend himself as he ran to get weapons. The drinks didn’t help. He fumbled with his gun, dropping the bullets, barely able to load it. Clive grabbed a bible from the shelf and began chanting from a loose paper that was stuck between its pages, flipping to verses from the Old Testament to read those aloud too.

Buick bolted after the dog. The black dog’s back split open, healed and split open again and again as it ran frantically from room to room.

And then it happened. Lilith stood in the doorway. She still wore Ruby’s body.

“You know, I would have played with you a little longer. You may have even had a full life. I lose track of time and I got what I wanted. But you had to steal from me.”

“Promethius! Come!” A dog whined from upstairs but it did not obey.

Sam’s drunken brain barely processed anything she said. All the doors and windows slammed shut. Clive tried to smash through the glass in vain, still clutching his bible in one hand.

“Puh- lease,” said Lilith. Clive burst into flame and was a pile of ash on the floor in seconds.” Lilith wiped her hands on her pants still calling for the dog.

“NO!” Bobby yelled, stumbling on the stairs.

Lilith turned her attention to Bobby.

Bobby seemed to fall upstairs until he was backed into a room and the door slammed shut. Sam tried to remember what had repelled Lilith during their last encounter. How he had felt. What he had done. There was nothing in his memory. He lunged forward, reaching for Lilith’s neck, and though she was back to him, she sidestepped him easily as if she had eyes in the back of her head.

Sam chased her around the room endlessly, exhausting himself, trailing the dust of Clive’s body around under his sock feet, unable to pay any heed to that horror. Objects flew off shelves of their own accord and Sam’s hair stood on end. Electricity built in his body until the cartilage in his ears hurt and a trickle of blood dripped down the side of his face.

Buick lay, immobilized like Sam had been the night Dean was killed. His moist noise was covered with the ashes of his master and he whimpered in pain.

Sam stopped; grasping his head in pain, honestly wondering if ripping his hair out would let the fire in his head out and let him think again. This wasn’t how it had felt when he was locked in that closet. This was stronger, more painful, invasive, but something else too. Lilith looked through Ruby’s eyes, taunting Sam, asking him questions that made no sense to him, like, “are you ready to wear the crown? Or are you going to pass it to me, who should have had it in the first place?”

Sam lunged at her, full of hatred and pain that had built for more years than he’d been alive. Ruby’s body was still agile despite the obvious signs of struggle. She sidestepped him as he fell to the floor and placed a high heel shoe on Sam’s chest until his ribs felt as brittle as chalk.

“I’m so over hide and seek. Got enough of that last week. Pity those kids at Camp Wasaga will never get found, but I did tell them I was better than them at it. Now, I’ll be taking my dog back.” The pressure on Sam’s chest eased only a little when the foot was removed and he remained pinned to the floor, blood flowing back into his ears and down into his hairline. Lilith turned and puckered her lips into an ear-piercing whistle.

Sam’s temples throbbed and his pulse pounded so hard his heart could be seen beating beneath his ripped shirt. Lilith needed to hurt. Like she’d made him hurt. Like she’d made Dean hurt. He’d had no special powers to speak of in so long. He hadn’t practiced for fear of becoming one of them, for fear of being someone Dean would have hated. But now it seemed like it was all wasted. All of his efforts to suppress what he feared was inside him had only served to make him weak, unable to save his brother, unable to defend Clive or Bobby.

There was nothing to do but try to remember how he’d gotten out of that closet when Dean had been in danger. How he’d ended up alive after Lilith had come to witness her hounds do her bidding. Her hounds ...

Sam took too long thinking, his mind groping in the darkness of his soul trying to figure out how to kill her. He’d been repelling her already without knowing it, having struggled to his knees despite the lung crushing pressure on his chest.

“Tsk tsk, don’t like lying prostrate at my feet? Okay, over there will do.” Sam flew to the wall, all remaining oxygen in his lungs heaving out, leaving his eyes bulged open as he fought to regain his breath. Lilith grew bored of watching him struggle quickly. She put on a childlike singsong voice. Her attention turned the television.

Sam tried to pry his arms from the wall, but couldn’t budge a finger as Lilith stared at the screen.

“Oooh,” Lilith clapped. “This was my favourite show my third time around in your life spans.” She knelt down next to Buick who shuddered under her touch. Lilith picked up the old dog’s head until it was turned toward the t.v. The dog’s mouth unhitched and it began to whine pitifully.

“Watch this, puppy, it’s neat,” Lilith told him, seeming completely out of the moment. Sam’s head turned against his will to the television.

Lilith tilted her head back and laughed, completely amused by herself. The T.V. flickered and Sam could only watch as Lilith flattered herself, becoming the main character of the show. A small girl, white eyes and a wicked grin stood before Lassie who was barking furiously. “What’s that Lassie, Little Timmy’s down a well? Little Dean’s down in hell? Well, they shouldn’t have crossed me.” Lilith grew tired of her little play quickly and the picture went dark as Lassie fell into the well, sinking to the bottom, a tiny hand disappeared beside him.

“Sick, twisted...” Sam cried out as water began to pour out of Buick’s nose and mouth. Lilith dropped the dog’s head to floor mercilessly. Sam lunged off the wall, breaking free from the invisible bonds. Lilith’s borrowed eyes grew wide as she sidestepped him. He almost had her. He’d break her in two. Then he’d deal with the evil inside the body.

Buick threw up and stood shakily, pawing at the ground, sifting through the ashes as if he’d find Clive. Lilith didn’t like her game interrupted. She looked toward Buick, whistling, but not to call him. Sam was helpless, stupid, but he tried to communicate with the dog in his mind to no avail. He didn’t know what if any powers he had anymore. Anyone he could have learned from was dead as far as he knew.

Lilith stared into a corner of the room. “Lunch,” she said to the empty corner. Five black dogs were reflected in Buick’s wide eyes, though Sam couldn’t see them when he turned around. Buick rose to the ceiling before Sam knew how he’d put him there. Lilith’s face, passive for the most part until now, wrinkled in fury

“You! Have. Interrupted. Me. For. The. Last. Time.” The force on Sam’s chest shoved him toward the wall again but this time it was like walking against a strong wind. If he rooted himself and resisted, Sam could stay upright, could even approach Lilith.

Lilith backed away just a little. For the first time, a slight hint of fear crossed her face. “Like I said, I lose track of time. Just give it back to me and I’ll forget you exist for a bit,” she said by way of barter. And a bit to me could be a lifetime to someone like Bobby up there.” The ceiling under the room Bobby was trapped in began to crack, bits of plaster mixing with Clive on the floor. Lilith looked toward the television set. “You see, I started long before the talkies,” she explained, pointing at the screen, which lit back up.

Sam’s mouth opened before he heard Dean in his head warning him not to ask her what the hell she was talking about. Wasn’t it she who had what he wanted? Wasn’t it she who had something to return?

“Promethius, come! Obey now!” The five dogs who were no doubt, looking up toward Buick, turned their attention to the stairwell at Lilith’s command. “Sic him!” she yelled, pointing at the black dog on the landing that refused to come down the stairs toward her. The dog on the landing became fleshier by the minute. Lilith was enraged when it became clear to Sam that the Hellhounds did not obey. The whine was familiar to Sam, multiplied now. He’d been hearing them ever since Dean died, he realized. Ever since Dean’s body lurched for the last time and he appeared to have looked at something in his hand before he fell back and never moved again.

Sam peeled himself from the wall. He could see them now; the five dogs all wore collars, studded with gleaming bolts, each of them with a similar tag. The dog on the landing had no collar.

“Come you stupid hound or I’ll kill you a thousand more times!” screeched Lilith. At this, Sam noticed all the dogs back off slightly.

“You’re not worth it. I can get a better dog. Sam can be my new dog, can’t you, Sam?” Sam’s body was forced to floor, on all fours. Lilith stroked his head. Sam saw in black and white. He fought against the bonds on his mind. His eyes locked with the dog on the landing and Buick fell heavily back to the floor. Just as the other dogs were going to lunge upon Buick, the dog from the landing, the one Lilith had called Promethius, pounced upon Lilith and began biting every inch of her body.

The hold on Sam’s mind was broken and color came back to him in splashes of red flying everywhere. A feeding frenzy broke out and the other five dogs joined in the attack on their master. Screams were ripped from the body and Bobby ran down the stairs, helping Sam up from the floor. Bobby started to chant an incantation to dispel Lilith but with very little hope in his voice. She had withstood holy water and every other chant they had tried in the past. But the dogs were ruthless and methodical.

Sam watched, waiting for the demon to erupt from the body, to go find another victim to inhabit. But the dogs seemed to be able to tear away her very soul ... or whatever was inside her. Smoke poured from the nostrils from the mouth, from the eyes. The body was barely recognizable and still Lilith screamed. “I trained you! I am your master! Promethius! Please!”

Lilith’s mouth hung open, the jaw separated from the skull, unable to close. She slurred, blood and spit spraying toward Sam as the dogs continued to whip her around. “You could have been great. You could have had the crown of fire. I could show you how. You could call them off.” Lilith’s voice still sounded desperate but it seemed she’d disconnected from the pain of the flesh body and was barely gripping onto it at all.

Sam’s hands clapped to his ears. For a split second, a picture of himself in a crown of fire, Dean at his side, safe and whole, took up his entire mind. He forced his eyes open. Lilith’s eyes held a momentary triumph as Sam was bombarded more and more with images of him upon a pedestal. Then Sam turned away as Lilith called to him, words slurring out of the slackened face. Words Sam ignored as he took in Bobby’s face. The older man’s eyes were filled with tears and he mouthed No, Sam, please, no.

“NO!” Sam yelled. He ordered the dogs to finish her, not wanting to know why they obeyed. The screams of fury and agony were terrible to behold. Fire burst from Lilith’s stolen nostrils, eyes and mouth and the body fell to the ground, silent. The five dogs with collars tore off into the night, free of their cruel master.

Promethius whimpered, seeming to not know what to do as the wounds on its back healed and stayed healed for the final time. It stared out the door after its fellows, its pack. The dog’s nose went up into the air and it found the pendant.

When the dog’s nose touched the pendant, it cried out as if whipped and backed away, knocking into Sam. This was one of the dogs that had killed Dean. Had ripped him nearly limb from limb. Yet there was something lost about it. Something sad.

No one moved. Buick lay on the floor, winded at best from the drop from the ceiling when Sam’s concentration had been broken. Sam’s hand found his gun.

Bobby heard the click of the chamber being loaded. Sam took aim. He barely breathed. Now was his chance to kill one of the dogs that had caused Dean so much misery. He pulled the trigger.

The hole in the ceiling was huge. Plaster rained down as Sam’s anger turned on Bobby who held his arm.

“Bobby, why the hell ... That dog killed Dean. He killed my brother.”

The percussion of the gunshot had sent Buick and Prometheus running for the kitchen. Anger swelled in Sam when he heard the black dog drinking from Buick’s water dish, as Buick watched, no idea what these dogs had taken from him.

Sam’s entire body jumped when the sound of the television came back on fully. “Thanks, Lassie, without you, I’d still be in that well.”

Sam looked at Bobby. Bobby looked back. Bobby reached for the pendant but Sam slapped his hand away.

“It’s a key,” said Sam. The part of the attack on Dean that played relentlessly in Sam’s head made sense now, Dean’s hand curled, holding it out to him. “The doggie door, for the Hellhounds, to bring souls. To bring Dean ... It’s their way in and out. Dean must’ve ripped it off in the fight.”

Bobby and Sam got to their feet. They sidestepped Clive’s ashes the best they could. Promethius still lapped at the water dish as if a lake wouldn’t quench his thirst. His head turned and he whined when Bobby and Sam stood in the doorway. He cowered, tail between his legs, awaiting punishment it seemed.

The dog made his way toward Sam, nudging at his hand that held the pendant.

“It’s his dog tags. It’s a key and his dog tag. The dog bowed, his body down on his hind legs, his front legs stretching out in servitude toward Sam.

Bobby picked up the book he’d been studying earlier. The fairies and other creatures all had some sort of pendant or medallion, some of them bestowed by another, all of the receivers worshiping the ones who presented the gift to the them.

Bobby flipped the page. The mass exodus from hell was depicted there; but there was a creature that was going back in willingly, though they couldn’t tell what it was. Sam picked up a half smashed beer bottle, fitting the flat end over the picture. If you looked at it correctly it was a Hellhound. It’s collar had the pendant which glowed at the approach of the gate and now that they knew what they were looking at, it all made sense.

Sam spoke to the dog, harshly at first, barely able to keep the murderous contempt for the creature from his voice. Sam found power in himself that he never knew existed. Dean would never approve. His father would never approve. But it was time to extend himself. To find out about his destiny at least as far as he could without doing something that would damage his soul. He’d promised.

“Stay!” commanded Sam. “Bobby, get Dean’s bag ... Please,” he added as an afterthought.

Things happened before Sam realized fully what he was doing. Chain snapped in the yard and flew into his outstretched hands. He affixed the dog tag, able to make out the three points, which had been blobs of nothingness to him earlier. They were peaks of fire. The dog’s name was etched into the tag and Sam could make that out clearly now. “Prometheus,” he said aloud. The dog looked into his eyes, clearly ready to do his bidding.

Bobby handed Dean’s duffel bag to him. Sam held out the duffel for Prometheus to sniff. “You took him. Now bring him back and I’ll set you free.”

The dog understood. Sam’s forehead wrinkled and the chain in his hand welded into a circle and slipped over Prometheus’ head.

“How do you know the dog will come back?” Bobby asked anxiously. “Should you ... take some time. Um, train him some? Lilith had him a long time that much is obvious. You’ve only just become his master.”

Sam knew Bobby was stalling for time and that a lecture worthy of his father was about to begin. But his mind was made up.

“Sam. You have to be careful. You’re special ... You just can’t start doing- I don’t know what it is you’re doing. Look, just take a few hours. Think. You have to be careful...” Bobby said everything but what was on his mind.

“Look, I know Dean must have told you before he died, what was said about me. It’s a secret dead men tell it seems. My dad told Dean the day he died. You all talk about it, to everyone but me. How do you think that makes me feel, Bobby? I don’t know what’s happening to me, okay? But I’m getting Dean back. And if you think I’d go over to the dark side, you can leave now.”

Bobby looked as if he’d been punched but his voice was firm. “Look, Sam, the more you want something, the more vulnerable you are. Maybe there are things we kept from you, to protect you. But you know all I do now. You know how it ended for the others like you. They were lured. Trapped.”

“And I won, Bobby.” Sam shut his mouth after he said this, looking horrified. He remembered the detachment he had in the graveyard when he pulled the trigger the night all hell broke loose. “Bobby- I didn’t mean it like that. You have to understand. I don’t want this. But I have it. Whatever it is. And if it brings Dean back to me, it can go dormant again for all I care. I just want him back.”

Bobby looked at Sam. Sam’s eyes begged for understanding. Are you sure that what you brought back is one hundred percent pure Sammy? Isn’t that what Dean had told Bobby the demon had asked him in the graveyard that night?

“Bobby?” Sam sat down heavily, hand to his ribs. A flash of pain scrunched his face. Bobby crossed the room without hesitation and knelt next to him, removing his hand from his chest.

“Your ribs are broken, Sam, and that bitch bruised you all to he...” Bobby told him, lowering Sam’s shirt. It wasn’t until now that Sam felt the pain of what Lilith had inflicted on his body, so great was the pain in his heart. Bobby helped him into a chair. The once pristine home was nearly destroyed, like the Winchester family. Bobby decided to trust Sam’s instincts and hope that he didn’t have to do what Dean had feared he’d have to do until the day he died. Kill Sam if he turned evil.

Bobby handed Sam a couple of pain tablets. Sam took them, sloshing them down with the dregs of a beer bottle turned on its side on the floor.

“So Sam, about this dog, Promethius. How do you know he’ll do as you ask?” Bobby asked. He kept his voice gentle, whatever Sam’s motivation, for now at least, it was love. For now, he would trust and watch.

“Lilith killed him as puppy,” Sam replied, not knowing exactly how that information got into his mind. “Actually, she took him before he was born. Killed his mother. Those five dogs out there, they’re his littermates. She left their mother to die. She tortured them like everything else she touched ever since she was a child. He’s only ever known servitude. Whoever holds his tag, is his master. I made a deal with him. He accepted.”

Bobby was about to ask how Sam knew when the dog bent to receive his new collar.

“Dean must have ripped his collar off in the struggle.”

“But he doesn’t have to obey you, Sam. Once he goes back ... there. How do you know he’ll bring out Dean and not someone who’ll come after you to kill you?”

“Because he’s tired, Bobby.” Sam’s tone brooked no more questions. “And because if we wait too long, they’ll figure out Lilith’s dead and Prometheus won’t be able to make it back out again, alone, or with Dean. It has to be right now. They’ll know any time.”

Prometheus sniffed Dean’s duffel and he licked his lips. “Bring him back.”

Prometheus ran out the ruined door and disappeared into thin air before his legs even touched solid ground.

XXXX

There was nothing to do but wait. Bobby didn’t help by pointing out that they should have studied the book more about Hellhounds and loyalty and where they come from.

A grim task lay before Sam and Bobby. Clive’s ashes were vacuumed up unceremoniously, but as Bobby and Sam let them go in the car graveyard, along with bits of plaster from his house, a silent prayer went up with them. Buick pawed at the air, but still he looked for his master inside old cars on the way back to the house, his tail wagging at each one, only to stop when he found it empty. The old dog seemed to lose hope as they reached the house. He limped up the first two stairs, and then Bobby had to carry him up the rest. Bobby placed Buick in his dog bed and offered some water but the dog declined.

Bobby told Sam he’d salt and burn the woman who lay, unidentified on the floor. He handed Sam a gun and took one outside for himself, telling Sam he’d be back soon.

Hours ticked by. Sam watched the clock hit midnight, a new day. Buick lay panting on his bed, unmoved from where Bobby had put him. The old dog’s gray hairs stuck out more prominently now. The battering and the attack had taken its toll. He had stopped lifting his head when anyone entered the kitchen. Maybe he finally realized that his master was gone.

Bobby wet a clean sponge and squeezed it gently into Buick’s mouth when the old dog refused water again even as it panted, tongue dangling lazily in its mouth.

“It’s okay, boy. You can come with us when we leave. We’ll take care of you.” Bobby stroked Buick’s head and the dog fell asleep. Bobby stood up and filled a glass of water, handing it to Sam.

Sam drank slowly, though he was parched. The water tore a path down his esophagus that seemed to expand it to bursting. He let out a low moan, shifting to ease his path as the water that he’d managed to take in felt like it seeped over his jagged ribs.

“Alright, enough,” Bobby growled. He grabbed the first aid kit and headed for Sam.

“I’m fine, Bobby.”

Bobby had obviously anticipated this. In his best John Winchester imitation, he ordered Sam to comply as he wrapped his ribs and cleaned any cuts. He cursed himself for not being able to order Sam not to call Dean back by way of Hellhound express.

Through most of Bobby’s ministrations, Sam kept quiet, biting the inside of cheek to keep from crying out.

“Now, go to bed.” Bobby knew he was pressing his luck but he had to try.

Sam looked up, red rimmed eyes, some due to the pain from Bobby’s setting his ribs, most from sheer time.

“Sam, it’s been hours. Do you really think...”

“Yes, Bobby. He’ll bring him.” unless he got caught. Unless they know ...

Scratching on the splintered door made them both rise. Buick opened his eyes but seemed to lack the strength to stand.

Promethius barked. Sam reached for the door handle. Bobby aimed his gun, warning Sam to step to the side as he opened the door.

Dean’s ghostly form stood beside the dog that had helped kill him. His eyes were wild with fear.

Sam immediately reached out his arms to Dean but Bobby shouted for him to stop. It was clear that Dean could not see. He groped around the doorframe. It was surreal but Dean seemed to be hyperventilating.

“S- Sam? Sam? Help me! Please? Help me...” Promethius rubbed against Dean’s legs, like a docile guide dog. “No! Get away!” Dean groped blindly, lashing out at the dog, frantic to get away.

While Bobby searched for something in the ghost’s demeanor that would ensure it was Dean, Sam pushed him aside, reaching out to his brother. There was no doubt in his mind that it was. He didn’t have time to explain this to Bobby.

“Dean? Dean, I’m here. It’s me, Sam. Sammy. I’m here. You’re safe. It’s gonna be okay now.

“Sam? Sam help me. It hurts. I can’t see. Where are you? Sam? I’m scared. Help me.” Dean rarely admitted fear.

“Dean ... Bobby, why can’t he see us? Or hear us?” Sam couldn’t keep the fear from his voice.

Bobby looked at the floor. “He’s been to hell, Sam. Few ever make it out and you’ve seen the twisted condition they’ve been in. We’ve only talked about getting him back. We never discussed how he’d be when he got here if we found a way to do it. I didn’t expect things to happen this quick ... But for him, Sam, it’s already been an eternity.”

“But Ruby said it takes hundreds of years to lose yourself,” Sam reasoned, clearly waiting for Bobby to tell him everything would be all right now.

Dean groped blindly at the doorway, his image distorted and fading in and out. “Is this another trick? To let me run and then hang me back up? I pick door number one, happy?” Dean screamed, stepping forward, groping in front of him blindly and seeming to gain sight once inside. His eyes met Sam’s and he faded.

“NO! Dean don’t leave me again!” Sam plead. Images of his father disappearing from the graveyard filled his mind with dread.

Sam thrust his hands into the transparent figure of his brother. A cold electric shock greeted his touch. He concentrated with everything he had, his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m here, Dean. Oh, God, please let him hear me. Let him stay. Please don’t take him from me. I mean if you have to- It’s better than ... But please don’t. Please give him back to me...” Sam stared upward. “I need him.”

Dean shook his head and seemed to look at him for the first time. “Sam ... Sammy?”

Sam took in sharp breath. “It’s me, Dean. I don’t know what happens now, but you’re safe, and I’m not letting you go back there.”

Dean closed his eyes, clear tears falling from the end of his nose. He took one long look at Sam and turned around, putting his hands up as if waiting for shackles. He stood shaking and cringing. “Don’t use him, please. Not him. Not again.” Dean sobbed and sank to the floor.

“Dean?” Sam approached and stood before Dean.

“Who are you?” Dean whispered.

Sam’s voice cracked. “Dean, it’s me. We did it. You’re back.”

Dean’s hands clapped to his ears. Sam didn’t know what to do other than to keep talking. He knelt down in front of Dean. He concentrated all of his energy on reaching out to his brother, the static shocking his fingers when they made contact. Dean cried out, eyes wide, staring down at the hand that rested upon his upper body. He stayed rigidly still. Sam’s hand moved to Dean’s cheek, the entire time he concentrated upon childhood memories they had shared, both the good and the bad. Family photos flipped through the pages of his mind as he concentrated and Sam opened his eyes suddenly, stopped on a page in his mind of a picture of their mother.

Another tear squeezed out of Dean’s transparent eyes. “No. It can’t be you.”

Sam plowed on, forcing memories into Dean, how, he didn’t know. He just knew he was doing it. He could feel his brother’s energy and he wasn’t letting go. Sam pushed harder and harder, forcing images and memories on Dean. Until Dean pushed back.

Sam stood in a long, black, flowing robe, a spiral dagger in his hand, dripping crimson. He smiled down at Dean, gloating about how foolishly naive Dean had been to think he could save him. That he’d sold himself in vain. Dean struggled against the shackles and bolts through his flesh as fire licked through his body.

“NO!” yelled Sam, shoving Dean’s figure against the wall with force he didn’t know he had.

“I will not become that. That wasn’t me, Dean. And you know it.” It was worse than losing Dean the first time. It was easier now to see how humans transformed into such hateful beings. But he was not letting them have Dean.

Sam showed Dean how he’d held his body after he’d died. How he’d wanted to die with him. Images flew from his brain in random slide shows, out of order and sequence. Until it rested on the one thing Dean might be able to understand. An image of Sam standing at a huge tombstone with the names of everyone he’d loved carved on it. Alone.

“But you were gonna be okay...” Dean’s voice faltered as Sam, exhausted, released his grip on him and fell to the floor, face down. “That was a promise. She told me. You’d be okay...”

Bobby wanted to interfere. Wanted to run to Sam and see if he was okay. He shoved his fears and instinct down deep.

Dean slowly approached Sam, eyes wide, scared, like a starving animal needing to eat but seeing the trap attached to the food. “S- Sam? Bobby ... help him, please.”

Bobby ran to Sam’s side and gently rolled him over. Sam’s eyes opened and he looked straight up past Bobby into his brother’s eyes. Bobby sighed with relief.

“Sammy.” It wasn’t a question. Dean seemed to know now.

Bobby helped Sam up, and guided him to a chair, but Sam stood instead.

Dean’s face no longer wore the pain he’d arrived with. Clear tears formed in clouded eyes. Dean reached up so he touched Sam’s shoulders. Sam closed his eyes, reveling in the slight weight of his touch.

Dean seemed to not know where to look. One minute his eyes studied Sam’s face, the other, he seemed to look up.

At that moment, Promethius also looked up. His head cocked to the side and he stared at Sam. The black dog glowed with a light stronger than the moon. His tail wagged at nothing and he bowed low to Sam. Sam bent to break the chain around Promethius’ neck. The dog’s tail wagged. The pendant disappeared in a flash of blinding light and Promethius was gone.

“I guess all dogs do go to heaven,” Dean smiled.

Sam almost laughed through the constricting pain. It was so Dean. Making jokes at a time like this. Only Dean could arrive from hell still the same smart ass he’d always been.

“Jerk,” Sam whispered.

“Bitch,” Dean returned. He faltered, his image fading for thirty seconds before reappearing again. It was going to end the same as it did in the graveyard with his dad. Dean was going to leave him. Again.

“And you?” Sam asked, swallowing a tear that flowed into his mouth. “Where are you going?” Dean’s image disappeared for another ten seconds.

Dean turned to Bobby who had sunk to the floor beside Buick the third time Dean had faded from their view. “Take care of him, Bobby?”

“You know I will,” Bobby told Dean. The only thing that could have taken Sam’s eyes off what might be his last chance to see Dean was the old dog’s shiver. His tail wagged, thumping on the floor and Buick went to be with his master, the new day stained with the blood of yesterday.

Dean faded.

“Dean - Don’t go.”

“I don’t know how to hold onto this...” Dean faded again even as he said it. “I want to stay with you.” His voice lingered after his form vanished and Sam leapt through clean air where his brother’s form had stood. Sam screamed in frustration.

“It’s okay, Sammy. I’m out. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” Even Dean’s voice was fading.

Sam’s voice hitched. He wanted to tell Dean it was okay too. But it wasn’t. He slid to his knees, hands still groping around in the air, anything to even feel an essence of his brother.

“Marco,” Dean called out, reappearing on the other side of the room, seeing Sam on the floor and swallowing the humor for a minute. He was only trying to hold it together for Sam anyway. Seeing his brother on the floor like that helped him ignore the pull he felt in the pit of his stomach, well if he had a stomach …

“Polo,” Sam called out weakly. He wanted to be brave. Like how Dean seemed. After all, Dean had been in hell and was still standing and here he was on the floor. Shame didn’t begin to cover how he felt. It was more time than he got with his dad when his dad had escaped hell. But if Dean left there would be no one who could pull the trigger on him if he turned into what he feared.

Dean stared into Sam’s eyes, locked on him like he was trying to make a picture to keep fresh in his mind. Those damned puppy eyes that Sam had perfected when he was younger.

“I’ll try, Sammy,” Dean said, fading a bit more with each effort.

“It’s your call, Dean.” Bobby said, still holding Buick’s head, “But unless you get a corporeal suit to wear soon, you’ll be trapped here, a ghost.”

“Wait,” said Sam, recovering just a little from the shock. “Dean has a chance to go on? If he doesn’t take it, what if there are other things waiting to take him back ... back to where he was?” Sam turned to Dean earnestly. “Do you see it? The white light? Be honest with me, Dean. Please.”

Dean looked up. “Oh, Sammy, I’ve always told you it was a cliché. I mean, yeah, I’m sure there’s a heaven there somewhere, but a white light? Cliché. Even you should know that. Besides, I don’t do wings.”

Sam knew that jaw twitch anywhere. Dean could see that light as surely as Promethius and Buick had seen it, could feel the tug, and what was more, Sam had seen a tired sort of longing in Dean’s eyes to go toward it. I’m tired, Sam, Dean had told him not so long ago. Guilt slammed into Sam. How could he ask for more from a man who had given him everything?

Sam stood up. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw but the swipe across his face erased the effort making him twelve years old again in Dean’s sight.

“Look, Dean. I’ll be okay. You should go. I’ll carry on the family business. I’ll make you proud. I’ll...”

“Screw it all up without me,” Dean finished, his clear form vanishing from Sam’s sight.

“Dean wait!” Sam yelled. He stared around the room.

Dean reappeared, looking frightened. “I can’t hold on. Bobby- tell me what I have to do. Sam? I want to stay with you.” After Dean said this, his form ceased to glow. He squinted upward, his form going just a bit duller.

“Dean, before you decide, we have to tell you something, but first you’re gonna have to- Get in.” Bobby indicated Buick’s body by his side. “At least until you learn how to hold your form. You need a container.”

“Oh hell no. I hate dogs now. All dogs.”

“No choice,” Bobby pointed out.

Sam watched his brother and Bobby argue until he was light headed. “Dean, just be the dog for a bit. Just until you learn how to, you know...” Sam mimicked a wavering, cartoon like ghostly figure.”

“And who’s going to teach me, Patrick Swayze?” Dean’s eyes grew wide. “Oh hell,” Dean said. He turned to his brother. “Look, Sam, if this doesn’t work, I’m still proud of you. I know I said no chick flick moments, but...” Dean concentrated all of his energy until he could direct it to his upper body. He walked up to Sam and put his arms around him. It lasted for seconds but it was the best thing Sam had felt in a long time.

“You did good, kid,” Dean said to Sam, slapping his cheek before his hand passed right through Sam’s head on the second pass. Sam was drained, Dean, still trying to be the hero. The big brother, the one who could make him smile even as his heart broke. “Don’t let me go around licking my own nuts, or ... well you won’t like what happens.”

Sam’s lips turned up in small smile even as tears pooled in his eyes. “I’ll have you neutered.”

“You would,” Dean agreed. “You were always jealous little brother.”

Dean stepped up to the dead dog, shivering despite the lack of actual sensation in his current form.

Instinct overtook and in a minute, Dean had entered the mutt’s body. Sam dared hardly breathe, staring at the old dog’s rib cage for signs of life. The chest began to rise and fall and Buick’s body rose shakily to its feet.

“D- Dean?” Sam asked, a smile betraying the tears that overflowed his eyes.

Dean barked in an annoyed sort of way and sat down again, tail between his legs.

“Can you understand me?” Sam asked.

Again, Dean barked. Bobby whooped with joy. It would be easier explaining to a dog Dean that they had gone against his explicit wishes to burn his body as soon as he’d died.

XXXX

Bobby felt it best to get on the move, despite the exhaustion. It wouldn’t be long before hell came to try and get back what they deemed theirs. Sam grabbed the duffels, groaning in pain at the weight of the weapons pulling on his chest.

Dean sat in the driver’s seat for a full thirty seconds before realizing there was no way he could drive his beloved car. Strike that, Sam’s car. Bobby took the wheel and Sam and Dean sat in the back seat. Far from ideal, but together.