Chapter Text
When Dean Winchester turned 23 he didn't believe in angels. He didn't believe in God, or Heaven, but he believed in Hell. He believed in Hell because he was living it. His brothers body sprawled out in front of him, bloody and bruised. He felt the weight of the past 19 years of his brothers life shattering him.
"Sammy." He whispered, sobbing into his brothers arms. He was limp, not breathing, not moving, and for a moment Dean thought maybe it was better. The world was fucked anyway, and he had already lost his father, his mother, his grandfather, and Bobby, all of his friends, all of his relationships, losing his brother shouldn't hurt him this much. But, God, it hurt, it hurt worse than anything he had ever experienced. And for the first time in his 23 years of existence he prayed. He prayed so hard it hurt his brain, he yelled his prayers out, he screamed them with everything he had. He whispered them softly, breathing them out, no strength left in his words. He sobbed them into a pillow of the dirty motel room. He shouted them into his brothers chest. His prayers went unanswered and for the first 24 hours, he grieved, and cried, and broke himself to pieces until finally the tears stopped.
He stared blankly at his brother's corpse. Still stagnant, no air was left in his chest, no beat of his heart pumped the needed blood, and Dean thought back to the moment his father and his mother brought this bundle of whaling human home to him. He asked them to take it back. He had asked them if they could exchange it for a new one, or get their money back. He was such a smart ass even as a young child, but during that first night he'd heard his baby brother cry down the hall. Only a small whimper, so miniscule his parents wouldn't have noticed. He hopped out of his racecar bed, snuck down the hall, and creeped into his new brother's room. He looked into the crib, and saw the hazel eyes looking back at him, smiling. For the first time in his life, Dean felt genuine, pure love for someone other than his parents. He never let that love go. He slept in the rocking chair in the corner of his baby brothers room that night, not willing to let little Sammy sleep alone on his first night in his new home. Now his baby brother, the baby brother he had promised to protect laid dead in front of him, blood spatters soaked his shirt and seeped into his face. Dean had nothing left in him when he finally mustered up the energy to utter the few words, he could barely speak as raw emotion slid out of his throat.
"I'm begging. If there's anyone out there who can hear me, can make my brother come back to me, good or evil I don't care, please help me." He closed his eyes, wishing again with all his might, even tough he was resigned to the fact that nothing would come and no one would save him from an endless life of being alone because that was his destined fate, to forever be alone as every single one of his family members were already gone.
He opened his eyes because even as the dreary situation loomed over him, he still had a sliver of hope. He had hoped to see a shining light, or a red-eyed demon in front of him. Maybe even the ghost of his parents, but nothing came. Nothing.
He closed his eyes again, laying in the pool of blood surrounding his brothers body, cradling the ghastly body against his own chest. Then the tears came rumbling, hard and fast as if scrambling to be released of the cage of his body. He sobbed and wailed until he fell asleep there, on the floor, wrapped in his own brothers dead body.
A white light woke him slightly. He didn't take note of it, assuming it was probably just another car. He kept his eyes shut, pretending he was dead with his brother, pretending they were reunited in the throes of death. He dreamed of the day that the Winchester name was wiped off the planet for good.
"I am sorry I couldn't come sooner, Dean Winchester." A deep rasp came from the other side of the room.
Dean ignored it, he knew it was a figment of his imagination and he knew when he opened his eyes there would be nothing again, nothing but darkness and the stench of his brothers rotting corpse. He knew if he opened his eyes all he would see was blood and pain and the horrors of the night before, so he kept them closed as if they had been cemented together as he slept.
"I'm real, Dean." The voice grated against Deans eardrums. It resonated loud enough to startle him slightly, but his eyes were still clenched shut. "Dean." He heard a shuffle of feet and the strange voice was closer. "It's okay."
Dean opened his eyes to see a man in a dirty trenchcoat and a highly atrocious suit. Tears filled his eyes again, and he was roaring with rage. "HOW IS IT OKAY?" He asked angrily. He was shaking, as he continued holding his brother's body tightly till it was pressed in the inner crevices of his arm and slammed against his chest. "HOW? TELL ME!" He didn't know the man, nor did he need to. He hated him already. His brother had been dead for 32 hours 14 minutes and 12 seconds, and the man couldn't have come any sooner. Nothing was more important than his brother, whoever this man was didn't deserve to stand in front of Dean, and tell him what was okay and what wasn't.
The man stepped closer, he reached his hand to touch Sam.
"Don't fucking touch him." Dean struggled, pulling the weight of Sam's body away from the strange creature. "Don't lay a god damn fucking finger on him, you son of a bitch!" He was sobbing again using all of his efforts to pull his baby brother away from whoever the fuck was in his motel room. He had cried for hours upon hours and he was broken.
"I can bring him back." The man said the one thing Dean was listening for, the scratch of the mans voice was Dean's salvation, the low twist of words that wrapped themselves around Dean's brain and squeezed, tight and hard. Bring him back. Bring him back. Bring him back. The words echoed in his skull, he shuddered, letting his brother go limp in his arms, sobbing out the only word he could manage. "Please."
The man rose slightly, stepping forward and pressing two fingers onto the crumpled mess that was Sam Winchester. Dean closed his eyes, not knowing what to expect, only wanting his brother back. He sobbed quietly into Sam's chest, pressing his forehead to it. And that's when he heard it. That is how Dean Winchester, the man who refused to believe that anything decent could happen to him, heard his brother's staggered breath. He opened his eyes to see his brothers face, clear, unbruised, unfractured, unbloodied. He pressed his hand to Sam's chest, feeling the gently rise and fall, the tapping of his heart. He heard the unmistakable breath as it was released with a shudder.
He shook his brother, still leaning close, afraid that if he moved back even a centimeter his brother would stop breathing again.
"Sam? Sammy!?" He was yelling into his brothers face when the grating voice came again.
"He will sleep for the time being. He's healing. If I had come sooner he would be awake now, but I... couldn't." The man stood there, and Dean noticed his eyes. Blue, shining, and anything but human. The man, the creature, whatever he was, stepped away again.
"Wait." Dean muttered, the stress of the past day and a half weighing down on his brain, he was getting tired and he couldn't help it. "Help me get him to a bed."
The man nodded, grabbing the large figure laying on the ground and flinging him easily over his shoulder, then laying him gently on one of the beds.
"Sleep, Dean." He said quietly, and before Dean could so much as protest, he was on the bed, his eyes drifting closed. The last thing he heard was his brothers light snores from the other side of the room. He smiled to himself before drifting into the darkness.