sams1ra

Title: Picking Up Where We Left Off
Disclaimer: This is Kripke's sandbox, I just like playing with his toys ;)
Rating: R, for language and violence.
Category: Gen.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby, OCs, other canon characters.
Wordcount: 4452
Spoilers: For all episodes aired in the US. This story is mostly AU for season 3, but some characters and events will be mentioned. NO spoilers for season 4, please do not spoil me. Thanks!

Comments: Are better than chocolate!

A/N: Much love and cookies to the awesomeness that is my beta

tru_faith_lost , who helps making this story better. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Son of A/N: FINISHED! dancing2.gif image by smilemoticon

Summary: Twenty five years ago, a demon killed Mary Winchester and tainted her son. Six years ago, someone drugged and abducted Dean Winchester. Nine months ago, one of the yellow eyed demon's tainted kids killed Sam Winchester. A few days later, the gates to hell opened and all hell broke loose. And now, everything's picking up where it left off....

Chapter Thirteen

White. Everywhere he looked, nothing but white. And then black. Okay, opening his eyes again helped getting rid of the black, but still…

Sam let out a little grunt. His throat felt sandpaper dry, and his eyelids weighed a hundred pounds each. His head hurt like it did after a particularly nasty vision, and Sam wondered if that's what this was; the aftereffects of a vision.

He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. There sure was a lot of white. Of course, once he managed to actually move his head and not just stare at the ceiling, there were also puke-green, cream-colored curtains, and an IV in his arm. Sam blinked at it for a couple of seconds before it registered.

Hospital.

"Sam? You back with us?"

Sam pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, trying to stave off the pain, trying to make sense of things. He tried to remember if he'd had a vision, and if he had, what it had been about. But his head really hurt, and concentrating was too much of an effort.

"Sam? Can you hear me?"

Dean. Dean would make sense of everything. He called out for his brother in a hoarse voice, then blinked a few more times, and tried to make sense of the fuzzy figure he was looking at. Dean looked kind of funny with that big bandage over the side of his head and that gray beard. And the hat. Huh. "Bobby?"

"Well, hell kid. You scared me there for a minute." The older man took his hand, gave it a little squeeze.

"Am I in a hospital?" Sam croaked and smiled gratefully when Bobby handed him a paper cup full of cold water. Sam sat up a little straighter, took a better look around. "Why am I in a hospital? And what the hell happened to you?" Sam asked, motioning at the large bandage on Bobby's forehead and his casted arm.

"Ain't as young as I used to be," Bobby grunted, and sat down in a chair by Sam's bed. "And those demons can still toss a guy a good distance," he said with a tired smile.

Sam smiled back and closed his eyes again, letting the words sink in. He shot up with a start when they finally did - when the pieces came together and he remembered. "Dean!" Sam cried and shoved the covers aside, yanking at his IV line.

"Hey, now, calm down. Stop that. You're going to hurt yourself," Bobby cautioned.

"I don’t care," Sam said and pushed off the bed, promptly landing on his ass on the cold floor. Damn thing shouldn’t spin so fast anyway.

Bobby huffed. "Your ass is too heavy for me to catch with two good arms, you dufus. Get back in bed before you hurt yourself."

"No," Sam shook his head and winced. He pushed himself up on unstable arms. "Dean…" he whispered, "I got to…"

"Nothin' you can do for your brother now, boy," Bobby cut him off, and that was the last Sam heard. He hyperventilated until he passed out.

"I guess your brother wasn’t kiddin' all those years callin' you a girl, was he?" Said a familiar voice, gruff and comforting.

"There. Now you stay in bed and don’t you touch that IV, understand? I'll go get you some juice for your blood pressure," said a voice he didn’t recognize, stern and efficient.

"Wha?" Sam muttered. Too many people were talking at once, and his head felt like it might shatter into itty bitty pieces. "Dean?'

"Sorry, Sam. It's just me," Bobby said.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked, still a little disoriented.

"How are you feelin'?"

Sam saw that question for what it was; a diversion. It took him a moment to understand, to remember. Dean wasn’t here. Dean was dead.

Oh, God, Dean was dead.

"Now don’t go getting' your panties all up in a twist," Bobby said quickly when he saw Sam's face losing all its color. "He should be out soon," he promised.

Sam's mind went over the words over and over, and all it could come up with was huh? "Huh?"

"Ellen and her girl are up on the surgical floor, waitin' for him. I didn’t want to leave him, but I wasn’t sure if it was safe leavin' you down here all on your own," Bobby explained.

Sam blinked at him. It didn’t fit. What Bobby was saying didn’t fit. "What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"You hit your head or something?" Bobby asked, raising a brow.

"Just answer me, Bobby. M'brother's alive? Where is he?" Sam demanded frantically, doing his best not to sound as freaked out as he was.

"He's alive, as far's I know," Bobby said somberly. "They had to take him back to surgery," he went on. "He's all messed up on the inside. Hell, his insides were practically outside when Ruby pulled you two outta there, but I reckon he'd seen worse in his day."

"What? What are you talking about?" Sam demanded, because Dean was dead, and here Bobby was, talking about him being in surgery Ruby pulling them out of somewhere, and he'd been worse…

"I'm talking about your brother, you idjit. Pretty big damn miracle he made it to the hospital in the first place, with all that internal bleedin'. But he made it. And he's going to make it. Gonna get pretty pissed when he finds out there ain't gonna be no fast food on his plate for quite some time, but he's gonna live."

"Dean's alive?" Sam breathed, his eyes welling up. Dean's alive?

"You sure you didn’t hit that head of yours? I can go get a doctor or something…" Bobby offered. Sam let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

Dean was alive.

"So what the hell happened out there, Sam?" Bobby asked.

Sam pushed off the bed, slower this time. He stood there a moment without moving, his eyes closed, and waited for the vertigo to pass. "What do you mean?" He asked Bobby in return.

"I mean we got there, we barely managed to make a move, and then there goes the whole place," Bobby said. Sam frowned and looked at him. "I mean, I didn’t exactly expect to keep a low profile, but being on the eleven o'clock news ain't what I had in mind, either. We're gonna have a lot of 'splaining to do, Lucy."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Boy, you gotta come up with better questions. Or at least stop askin' the same ones over and over," he said. "I'm talking about that white light that flashed outta every boarded up window in that place, just before it started to cave in."

"What?" Sam asked, shocked. "Are you serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack," Bobby said. "Go watch the TV in the ER if you don’t take my word for it."

Sam let out a breath and ran his hands through his hair. "Later," he said, "I gotta get to Dean."

"Ain't no rush, Sam. Ellen will be here to tell us when he gets outta surgery," Bobby waved him off.

"Ellen is here?"

"Yeah. And the girl. Gotten a helluva lot bigger than I remembered. Then again, she was still in pigtails last I saw her."

Sam nodded and swallowed, wincing a little. "So what floor is Dean on?"

"Would you cut that out and get yourself back in that bed? He'll be out here soon as they think it's safe enough for him," Bobby snapped. "Yes, I've arranged for the two of you to be in the same room. Figured it was going to happen anyway, might as well get some rest while you're at it," Bobby went on as soon as Sam opened his mouth to protest. "Now tell me, what do you remember?"

"I'll tell you on the way there," Sam insisted, and Bobby sighed.

"You can't wait a coupla hours 'til you're both better?"

Sam gave him a piercing look. "I saw him die, Bobby. I saw him dead," Sam said. "I just want to make sure m'brother's alive, alright?"

"Yeah, Sam. Alright," Bobby said with a small nod. "You wait here, I'll go get you a wheelchair or something."

"I don’t need a wheelchair," Sam protested.

"I ain't gonna drag your ass every time you decide to take a closer look at the floor, boy. It's a chair, or staying here. You decide."

Sam sighed. "Fine," he said, "Whatever."

"Mind answering my question now?" Bobby asked as he pressed the button on the elevator.

"What question?" Sam asked.

"What do you remember? What happened out there, Sam?"

Sam closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories and grunted a little when the headache got worse. "There were so many," he started. "They tried to lure us away," he shook his head. "They were standing in my way. It took so long to get there…" Sam choked.

Bobby patted Sam's shoulder. "But you got there in time," he said softly. Sam let out a small whimper. I got there in time to see him die, he thought.

"What happened after?" Bobby asked. "Do we have another big player to worry about? What was that light?"

"I'm not sure," Sam admitted. "I don’t remember a light. I think I passed out, but they hadn’t freed that demon before I did."

Bobby hmmed and pushed Sam out of the elevator and into the surgical floor. They found Jo and Ellen in the waiting room, and even though Bobby had mentioned more than once that they were there, Sam was still a little surprised to see them.

"Sam," Ellen smiled tiredly at him. "How're you feelin', honey?"

"I'm fine," Sam said and pushed himself up from the wheelchair. "Any news about Dean?" He asked anxiously.

"They've been in there for hours," Jo supplied. "Hopefully this time they won't leave any bleeders. Not like he's got blood enough to lose…"

"Jo!" Ellen reprimanded her.

"What?" Jo asked. "He's had like ten liters already, hasn’t he?"

Ellen rolled her eyes at her daughter and turned to Sam. "The important thing is he's hanging in there," she said and squeezed Sam's arm gently.

"He has to," Sam whispered and sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, biting on his nails.

An eternity and twenty three minutes later, a doctor came out and announced the surgery a success. They were keeping Dean there for observation, he said, but providing nothing changed, they would be moving him to a regular room by noon.

It was only then that Sam realized it was already morning. Only with the weight of fear for Dean's life lifted from his shoulders did he realize how tired he felt. Looking at the others, he figured they were just about ready to crash themselves.

"You guys can go," Sam said tiredly. "Thank you so much for coming, for being here. You don’t have to stay."

"You sure?" Ellen asked, and Sam nodded. "Well, I would like to check up on that kid, see if they'd gotten hold of his family. You sure you're going to be alright here, honey?"

"Yeah. Thanks," Sam said. Ellen smiled at him.

"You just let Jo keep on sleeping," Ellen said on her way to the elevator and Sam smiled and nodded.

"Time to turn in?" Bobby asked. Sam ducked his head. "Oh, for heaven's sake, you've got your own bed downstairs. Now get in that chair and get some rest, you got me?"

Sam grinned. "You gonna go to sleep now, too?" He asked.

"You really like being hit upside the head, doncha?" Bobby grunted, narrowing his eyes. "No wonder John had so much trouble keepin' up with you two. Stubborn asses, the lot of you," he grumbled as he made his way to the elevator. "You push your own goddamn chair, Winchester," he cried out to Sam, not looking back. Sam's grin widened.

Dean was alive. Dean was okay. Everything else, he could handle.

"So what did you see happen? I mean, other than the light and the building collapsing. Did you exorcise any of them? Did any escape?" Sam asked.

"I thought we'd agreed you'd shut up and go to sleep," Bobby muttered. Sam smiled.

"Can't sleep yet," he lied. He was so tired, he'd probably fall asleep the moment he closed his eyes, but he wanted to be awake when they brought Dean in.

Bobby made a sound at the back of his head, pulling his hat lower over his eyes as he lay on the empty bed next to Sam's. "There's a fella I know, goes by Zachariah Thompson. He ain't a hunter, mind you, but he's a hell of a welder," Bobby said. "There was quite a lot of scrap at that place. A lot of iron. Made sure of it after you left." Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "We all brought all the iron we could find with us. Brought a few extra blow torches."

"You built a ring of iron surrounding the factory?" Sam asked in awe.

"Didn’t really get to exorcise 'em all before everything went to hell. Whatever demons were out there, they ain't goin' nowhere," Bobby said. "A coupla guys stayed behind, tried to get the job finished, but with all the rescue workers and TV, I doubt they had much luck," he went on. "Damn idiots, giving those demons more bodies to use," he muttered to himself.

They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, before Bobby spoke up again. "Thanks for the heads up," he said.

"Thanks for trusting me enough to show up," Sam said in turn. Bobby didn’t answer to that.

"Speaking of heads, how is yours?" Bobby asked instead.

"Nothing a bottle of Tylenol or two wouldn’t fix," Sam answered.

"And the rest of it?" Bobby pushed gently, "You still able to do… stuff?"

"I don’t know," Sam admitted. "I'm too tired to try."

Bobby made a little noise at the back of his throat. "Just give us a heads up if you start craving to end the world, okay?"

Sam laughed. "Will do."

Dean really didn’t want to open his eyes. He was in pain, but not the kind of pain he'd expected he'd be in, considering he was probably in Hell now. Also, it didn’t really smell like soot and brimstone. There was no demon forcing him to open his eyes, so he didn’t. Hell could wait, he figured.

He kept waiting for the pain to get much, much worse, but it didn’t. Eventually, Dean decided to risk it and open his eyes. What the hell, right? He was bored, anyway.

Dean blinked and tried to get his eyes to focus. The place was dimly lit and smelled heavily of disinfectant. It kind of looked like a hospital, and though he'd never liked hospitals, this wasn’t exactly what he'd pictured when he thought of Hell.

He grinned a little at the thought of spending eternity in the company of naughty, hot nurses.

"Dean? God, Dean, you're awake!"

Of course, this being Hell and all, his brother would be there to cramp up his style.

"If this is the afterlife, it totally blows." Dean croaked and let his eyes close again. Sam let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"Then you'll be happy to hear this isn’t the afterlife just yet," he said. "You're not dead, Dean."

"'M not?" Dean mumbled and forced his eyes open. "Huh. You sure 'bout that?" Sam let out another laugh, and God, Dean'd missed that sound. "How 'bout you?"

Sam's eyes welled up at that and he took Dean's hand in his. "I'm not dead, either," he promised.

Dean blinked a couple of times and then let his eyes close again. "Oh," he said. "Man, we gotta hoard up on whatever they've got me hooked up to," Dean let out a little chuckle. "These drugs are awesome. I can talk to my dead brother."

"No, Dean, seriously. I'm not dead, and neither are you," Sam repeated, squeezing Dean's hand.

"Yeah?"

Sam smiled and wiped the tears from his eyes. His brother sounded like a tired three year old. "Yeah," he said.

"Whatever," Dean mumbled. "Hey, Sam? I know you're probably just in my head and all, but would you please just stay and not go anywhere?" Dean slurred before he passed out again.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Sam said, a little choked up. "But you can't leave, either."

Dean told Sam everything he could remember about what happened; about the guys in the back alley of that bar in Arizona, about the drugs in the water, about Jesse, Mike, Ben, Naomi, and the others.

Six people survived the demons and the factory collapse, including Dean and little Jesse. Sam was a little surprised at Dean's visceral reaction when he'd found out Jesse had made it, that he got out before anyone even realized it. He just darted in between people's legs and squirted water from his bottle like Dean had told him to. He kept running until Ellen caught him outside the factory. The little boy was already back home with his aunt.

When Sam shared his part of the story, Dean proved the hospital staff wrong and actually managed to kick Sam's ass. Say what they would about him, Dean had a killer left hook, and he was royally pissed. Sam was out cold for three whole minutes.

They spent three weeks at the hospital until Dean had finally had enough and signed himself out AMA. He preemptively promised Sam they'd go to South Dakota for a while, rest up with Bobby until Dean could eat junk food again. It worked. Sam's bitchface level barely reached category three. Plus, Dean figured he could probably get Bobby to get him some contraband. Man, what he wouldn’t do for a double cheeseburger with onion rings and chilly fries…

"You stay with Bobby, Dean. That's a good plan," Sam said as they waited for the doctor to return with Dean's AMA papers.

Dean poked at his food with a frown, trying to decide if pain and permanent damage was worth the risk of eating something that didn’t taste like lukewarm slop for a change. He frowned as Sam's words. "You mean we stay with Bobby, right?"

Sam sighed. "Look, Dean… I still… There's still something I gotta take care of," he said.

"That got anything to do with those freaky psychic powers of yours?" Dean asked, a little snappy.

"What? No. It's got nothing to do with… Eat your food, alright?" Sam stuttered. Dean glowered at him. "Hey, you know, you never did tell me why you thought I was dead," Sam noted a moment later, trying for a change of subject.

With a roll of his eyes, Dean pushed his food tray aside.

"I mean it, Dean. I was never there, what did they do to make you think…?"

Dean lowered his eyes. "It was the crossroads demon, alright?" He snapped, and Sam raised a brow. Dean licked his lower lip and sat up a little straighter. "Thing is, they kinda needed my soul for that whole ritual thing they had going," he said. "Got mighty pissed when they realized I don’t own it anymore."

Sam swallowed hard and looked away. A month and change. That was all they had left before Dean paid with his life and soul for the deal he'd made. Just a little under five weeks. Sam couldn’t stand the thought of that.

Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway, they brought the crossroads demon there, had her revoke my deal so that I could have my soul back," Dean said casually. "Worked on her pretty hard before she gave in, and she said, she told me – if she revoked the deal, gave me my soul back, then you would die." He choked up a little on that last word. "It would be like the deal never happened," Dean went on, "She said if she gave them what they want, you died," Dean finished.

"But I didn’t. She lied, Dean. I didn’t die," Sam said gently. Dean lowered his eyes and nodded. "Wait, does it mean you have your soul back?" Sam practically shrieked. Dean shrugged.

"Well, last thing I remember, they were going to start with their hokey pokey, so I'm guessing they'd made sure we all had our souls, you know?"

"Oh my God, Dean! You have your soul back, and you didn’t bother to tell me?!" Sam yelled.

"Louder, please. I don’t think the people in India heard you, Sam!" Dean snapped.

"Dude!" Sam gaped at Dean, lost for words. "You want to tell me there's no more deal?"

"Yep," Dean said and laid back into the pillows.

"So… no more deadlines, no more Hell hounds… No more going to Hell?" Sam pushed. He could feel himself shaking, his heart beating so hard against his chest it hurt.

"Well, I don’t know about that, but there's no more deal," Dean drawled. "They had to sacrifice my soul. They couldn’t do it if I didn’t own it, right?" He raised his brow, looking at Sam. "OW!"

"And that you leave out of the story?" Sam yelped and punched Dean's arm again.

"Ow! Stop it, Sam!"

"You idiot!"

"Hey, you went darkside, and I'm the idiot?" Dean demanded.

"Yes!" Sam deadpanned.

"Bitch," Dean muttered.

"Jerk," Sam returned in kind.

"So, I was wonderin'," Dean said as they got out of the hospital and headed for the parking lot. "I'm pretty damn sure I have my soul back. I mean they wouldn’t risk it, right? They wouldn’t risk the ritual if I didn’t…"

Sam glanced at Dean, but said nothing.

"So, you know, don’t think I'm not relieved or anything, but you're alive," Dean went on.

"Yeah, I've been wondering the same thing," Sam said.

"You think it's because of that whole psychic gig?" Dean asked, sneaking a sideway glance at his brother. "You still got that goin' on?" He asked, trying his best for casual. He'd avoided the subject for weeks, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

"Nope," Sam said, not looking at his brother. "I guess not."

Dean really hoped Sam didn’t see the fleeting expression of relief on his face. "You sure?"

Sam tilted his head to the side. "Pretty sure," he said. "I tried it. Nothing happened."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. He held out his hand and stopped Sam just as he was about to walk by. "Whoa, whoa, hang on a second. What do you mean, you tried it?"

Sam was fighting really hard to keep a smile off his face. That right there? Little Brother Tell for Mischief. It was rarely a good sign. "Well, remember that nurse you tried so hard to hit on?" Sam asked.

Dean got a dreamy look in his eyes, a crooked smile on his lips as his mind went off to his happy place in Deanland. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, the other day you were walking past her, well, wobbling's more like it, and you were hopped up on meds, so you probably thought you were all smooth and stuff. So I… I tried to get you to spill coffee all over your pants in front of her," Sam admitted, now with a full blown smile, dimples included.

Dean glared at him. "Oh no, you didn’t." Sam said nothing. He just smirked, looking smug, and started walking again.

"That's just… That's… That's evil, is what it is, Sam!" Dean stammered. "That nurse was hot!" He accused.

"Hey, supposed Antichrist here," Sam laughed. Dean just glared at the back of his head and started after him.

They got to the car and Sam stopped in front of the passenger door, waiting for Dean. "Speaking of," he started, "do you feel any different?" He asked.

"Different how?" Dean asked, and started patting himself, looking for the keys. Sam fished them out of his pocket and tossed them over, before leaning against the roof of the car.

"You know, different."

Dean raised a brow. Sam sighed.

"You know, special?" He tried.

Dean smirked. "Awww, Sammy, I love you too, man."

Sam rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant," he huffed, and then frowned. "I mean… You know what I mean." He stuttered. "That night, I got there too late, Dean. I saw you die. And here you are."

Dean waited for more, but Sam just gave him the Puppy Eyes. "Okay," he drawled.

"No, it's not… I did something, Dean. I did something to bring you back," he said, but Dean just made a face and unlocked the door. "I mean it, Dean," Sam pushed. "Yellow Eyes brought you back, and I got my powers from him, so maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

Sam sighed, tapping the roof of the car with his hand. "I don’t know," he said, "But whatever I did, I lost my powers because of it. I was just thinkin' that maybe…"

"That maybe I got 'em now?" Dean finished. Sam ducked his head.

"Do you?" He asked hesitantly.

Dean leaned against the car and thought about it. And then smirked. "Actually, I think I do," he said, and reached his arm out to Sam, index finger extended. "Here, pull my finger."

"I'm not gonna pull your finger, Dean!" Sam cried incredulously. He opened the passenger side door and got in the car.

"Why not?" Dean whined. Sam rolled his eyes and closed the door. Dean smiled and got in the car, too.

"Saaaaaaaaaam, pull my finger," Dean tried again. "Sammy?" But Sam just glared at him. Score one to Big Brother.

They sat there in silence for a moment longer. Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and mulled over things. "So, no more psychic crap?" He asked at last.

Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean caught his smile before Sam turned his head away. "No more psychic crap."

Dean nodded and inserted the keys into the ignition. "Good," he said, and after a moment added, "I guess I can still call you Geekboy."

"I guess," Sam agreed with a sigh. "And I guess I can still kick your ass for calling me that."

Dean chuckled. "Sammy, Sammy. Like you ever could…"

The car was brought back to life with the turn of the key, its engine purring. Music blared from the speakers as the Winchesters peeled out of the hospital parking lot, on their way to South Dakota.

They were going to take the scenic route.

After all, they had all the time in the world.

THE END

If you hadn't noticed, writing Sam is very difficult for me. In fact, I wanted Sam dead on more than one occasion. But since obviously, killing Sam would probably mean this story didn't end happily (...), I came up with this instead:

Shortly following this fic Sam was killed by a stampede of raging plotbunnies. Dean was sad, of course, but he just couldn’t bring himself to kill the fluffy bastards. Brokenhearted, he ditched hunting and spent his nights hopping from one Deangirl's bed to another.

Now tell the truth, isn’t this end way better? ;)

Previously: Where it all started >> 2 >> 3 >> 4 >> 5 >> 6 >> 7 >> 8 >> 9a >> 9b >> 10 >> 11 >> 12 >> 13

Thanks for reading!