PROLOGUE

Harsh orange flames licked at his tortured skin in painful waves. The very air he breathed was heated almost to the point of suffocation. Dean Winchester's body rejected the nerve impulses in a pitiful facsimile of a scream. The groans and cries of thousands filled his consciousness, he tried to block them all out unsuccessfully. They broke through every mental barrier he had tried to erect.

There were no words to be distinguished, only the tortured voices of those unfortunate many in the land of Hell.

Light filled his vision, so bright he could not escape it even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It was white hot and seemed to burn through his brain in a ray of raw pain.

His broken body convulsed involuntarily.

--

A soul - did the spawn of Hell have souls? Dean let the thought float away into the space surrounding him. There was no end to the torment, to the pain, to the knowledge that he would soon lose himself. He held on, he held on to sanity so hard it tore his muscles. A following spasm wracked his body with waves of pure anguish. The flames burned red hot.

For Sam.

The one thought that repeated over and over in his mind. Do this for Sam, for Sam, for Sam. A half-whimper escaped between split and bleeding lips. He moved them to mouth the words his mind kept repeating. Hold on for Sam, for Sam. Dean tried to take a breath, but choked on the horrid fumes and scorching heat. He felt his heart skip a beat before he caught his breath.

--

Sam had promised he would not resume pursuit of the answers to what the Yellow Eyed Demon had done to him. Dean held on to the hope that his Sam had done just that - had turned away from the Hunting lifestyle and went back to the fairytale, apple-pie life he had yearned for, so ardently, years before. Dean held onto that single hope like a drowning man to a raft. Maybe it would be just enough to keep him above the surface of insanity.

Sam is safe. This is for Sam, for Sam, for Sam.

Dean Winchester moaned in agony, his bones shattering painfully in his flesh from the effort of resisting the temptation to just let everything go and give in. He could not. For Sam he could stand the heat and pain a moment longer. Then a moment after that. A moment at a time he lived through Hell.

His resistance to the natural progression of demonic influence was the only thing that saved him in the end. Sam would be less fortunate and as time passed they would both see the truth.

CHAPTER ONE: DEEDS

Sam Winchester stood in the alleyway, his body frozen in shock. The sound of cars, their lights flickering off the building walls, and of people echoed dimly in the heated, sulfuric atmosphere of the alley.

A familiar shape lay in a shallow pool of boiling blood two feet in front of the stunned man. Sam knew it was Dean, he could recognize his brother anywhere, but he knew that it was impossible. It had to be impossible, right? Sam could not seem to get his legs to move even as his mind raced through the many scenarios that would explain how his older, dead brother had suddenly appeared face down on the ground.

One second Sam Winchester had been charging through a darkened alleyway after a supernatural monster and the next he had been staring at his brother's still body. Sam felt himself shift, as if out of a deep trance, and then he was at Dean's side. He reached down to turn the body over and cried out in pain when he burnt his hand on the red hot clothing. Using his coat sleeves to protect his hands he tried again and this time he was able to carefully turn the body over.

"Dean?" Sam called softly.

It was his brother and there did not appear to be a single scratch on his perfectly tanned skin. The blood had cooled as the sulfur smell dissipated and now it caked Dean's shirtfront, transferring onto Sam as the younger brother hugged the unconscious, but breathing, elder Winchester.

"Dean." There was no sound, save the life-giving rush of air entering and exiting his brother's lungs. "Dean."

The hotel room Sam had paid for was seven blocks away and Sam knew he would have to go for help. Thinking quickly he dug his cell phone out of his pants pocket and speed dialed Bobby's number. The man was less than an hour away.

"Bobby, it's Sam." He greeted the older Hunter seconds later. "Yeah, I need your help. I - I found Dean."

There was a long silence on the line and then an incredulous retort from the family friend.

"I'm not joking with you, Bobby. He just appeared in front of me and - and…" Sam had to stop before the emotions that wanted so desperately to get out confused matters. He blinked rapidly and took a deep breath before continuing. "And he's alive. I don't know how, but he's alive." Standing to his feet Sam sprinted to the edge of the alley, glanced to the right and then ran back to his unmoving brother. "The corner of Main Street and Golden Oak. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Bobby."

He flipped the phone closed and stuffed it back in his jean pocket.

Dean was alive and that was more than Sam had hoped possible after so many long months of searching for just such a miracle.

"Come on, Dean, wake up." He pleaded softly.

It had been eighteen months of pure torture for the younger Winchester. No matter what he tried, the grief had been too hard deal with alone - and he had been so alone after Dean's death. The Hunts no longer held any appeal, let people's mistakes kill them. It was not his problem. Life meant nothing, let it end. Love…Sam had been with women in those dreary months, but there had been no love, no feelings involved. Only base human need.

He had become half of a person. Part of his soul hidden away in some deep place mourning for the brother that he had thought lost forever.

The only escape had been the hours he had spent honing his powers. Those special abilities that made him something less that demonic, but more than mere human. It had been his only plan, to build up an arsenal of powers so that he could literally walk into hell and find his brother. Bobby had seen only a brief glimpse of the mad obsession that had taken hold of Sam after his brother's death and it had scared the seasoned Hunter. The phone call had been their first communication in almost seven months.

Sam hugged Dean's limp body against his own. He needed to feel the rise and fall of the chest, hear the heartbeat, see the flutter of eye movement under the closed lids. Sam needed Dean to be back and whole and in control. His sanity depended on it.

To master his demonic powers, Sam had let himself try things that he knew Dean would not approve of - things that he, himself, did not approve of. Desperation had changed him as he tried to find a way to save the only person he had ever looked up to, ever truly cared about.

It was a crazy plan he no longer had to worry about, but then what about the powers? What about the consequences of his actions? At the time it had seemed necessary, worth it. Sam clung tighter to the steaming jacket on his brother's back and then he let loose the sobs of lost innocence.

How would he explain away the things that he had done. The actions he had willfully, if misguidedly, committed in his brother's absence. How could he excuse his deeds? How would Dean? His soft cries of anguish fell flat in the stagnant alley as he wrestled with internal demons.

--

"Bobby."

Sam greeted the bearded man with a short nod. The old Hunter studied him for a long moment, as if trying to decide if he could trust Sam, and then turned his attention to Dean.

"He hasn't woken up." Sam said. "I don't know why, I couldn't find any injuries."

Bobby shot him a surprised look. "His body has been broken and torn apart. He. Was. In. Hell." He emphasized each word strongly. "Then there's the mental damage. We might not have Dean back after all, only time can tell us that."

As much as Bobby Singer wanted to see Dean alive and well, he knew from hard experience that things were rarely as simple as they appeared. The unmoving body of Dean Winchester, held in the arms of his brother, was a stark reminder of that. It would not take an experienced Hunter to know that bodies and souls were mutually exclusive.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked angrily. "That this is just some - some sick, galactic JOKE! Are you saying that this." He patted the body he still hung onto tightly. "Is just a body? That his spirit is still stuck in Hell? Is that what you're telling me?" His voice had gotten steadily louder as fury took over.

There was no way he was going to sit back and listen to someone shatter his dreams and hopes. The body in his arms was real enough and that was all Sam needed to know. Spirit or no spirit, Dean needed his help.

"Calm down, Sam." Bobby snapped impatiently. "We can find out later, but right now we need to get your brother to a hospital."

"Right. Right." Sam shook his head, dispelling all selfish thoughts in order to focus on his brother's needs. "You're right."

--

Dean screamed at the top of his perfect, pink lungs and sat bolt upright in the hospital bed. He could still feel the flames melting his skin, hear the roar of the fire, feel the overabundant pain of a million tortured souls. He screamed again before the reality of his surroundings sunk in.

There was a sound of running feet outside the closed, white curtain that separated his bed from the rest of the world. Dean flinched away from the sound, hiding his face behind both arms which he held up protectively. He waited for the hit, the burn, the pain. The horrible, unrelenting, reaction to movement or sound.

"Dean?"

"Dean?"

Two concerned voices spoke over each other. Dean felt a bone-deep fear paralyze him and it took all of the willpower in his possession to lower his arms and open his tightly closed eyes. For a moment all he saw was light and the hypnotizing unfurling of Hell fire. Then the vision was gone, in it's place he saw Sam and Bobby hovering on either side of his bed, their faces taunt and pale.

"Are you alright?" Bobby asked worriedly.

"Dean?" Sam whispered urgently.

The two standing men exchanged glances when the man on the bed made no move or attempt to respond. Wide green eyes flitted suspiciously from Sam to Bobby. Dean knew it could not be real. He had not escaped from Hell. There were no miracles.

"Dean, you're safe, you're back. We're at a hospital." Sam tried to explain in a fast rush of words.

"How are you feeling?" Bobby asked more calmly.

Dean looked between them both. It took a moment, but then the realization struck home hard. They were there, they were real and even though he could still feel the phantom burns of a recent memory, he knew that he was really out of Hell. He felt like dying, running away, hiding, sleeping, crying and laughing all in the same moment. In the end he settled for a dry rasp.

"Water." The hoarse croak surprised even Dean. He cleared his perfectly healthy throat. "Can I have some water?"

His body did not need the drink, but his mind felt parched for the life-giving liquid.

"Sure thing, brother."

Sam disappeared outside the white curtain only to return moment later with a cup of ice and water. He held it carefully as Dean sipped a little. The cool, silky feel of the dampness sliding down his throat was heavenly to the older Winchester. Dean moaned in ecstasy.

"More."

Bobby propped him up as Sam helped him to finish the rest of the cup.

"Better."

Dean relaxed back in exhausted joy. He wanted to do nothing but rest and drink water for a month, but he knew that something miraculous had happened and Murphy's Law dictated the chances that he would remain so lucky. Any second he expected to be sucked back into the great oblivion.

"Do you know how you got here? Did you…" Sam lowered his voice a pitch. "…did you climb out of Hell, Dean?"

The short haired blonde shrugged. "I'm here, do we really need to knit-pick the how?" He asked.

"Yes. What if it isn't permanent?" Sam voiced Dean's worst fear. "What if this is the demon's version of a joke and any second now you get turned back into a dead man?"

"Dean's here now and he's not going anywhere." Bobby interrupted forcefully. "We'll figure this out. It just might take some time."

"Time? How long?" Sam demanded, his voice growing in volume as anger took over. An anger that came all too fast these days.

Dean grabbed Sam's wrist, latching on with a vise-like grip that brought the younger man's words to a sudden stop.

"Please, don't fight." Dean requested in a broken tone.

Bobby and Sam both stared at him, into the eyes that spoke of torments and injuries time could never fully heal. It was Dean laying in the hospital bed, but it was not the self-confident, cocky, in-control Dean of the past. No, this was a dependant, hurting, traumatized Dean Winchester and the reality of that left the two men speechless. It should have been expected, after all, who could survive Hell - months of Hell - without emotional damage? Sam swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"Alright, Dean. No fighting." He promised, laying his own hand over his brother's. "At least until your better." He tried to joke, but it came off as pleading.

Dean squeezed the wrist reassuringly and then released it. "I'll get better, Sammy. It just might….take a while."

The blonde haired man blinked and in that split second, when his eyes were shut, he felt like he had never left Hell. The fire, the screams, the hate was all still there. The blink ended and so did the horrifying vision. A feeling of defeat washed over him, so strong it pulled him down into himself.

"Dean? Dean!"

Sam's panicked cries drew him back out of the haze of depression and sadness and emptiness that had, for that single moment in time, seemed to engulf the entire world.

"Yeah, I'm here. Just remembering, you know." Dean tried for nonchalance, but the fear in his eyes was all to real. "I don't think I'll ever forget it, Sammy."

"We're going to help you, Dean. You just hang in there." Bobby spoke earnestly.

Sam nodded.

"That's sweet." Dean muttered, a tinge of his old bravado sneaking into his words. "Guess I'll just have to cry my river, build me a bridge and get over it."

"We will get through this, Dean. Together." Sam said.

The elder Winchester felt tears snake down his face at these words. He felt too weak to reach up and brush them away, too tired of holding everything inside. After what he had went through and experienced in the past months he no longer cared if his "tough boy" image shattered under the pressure. All he cared about was his Sammy and getting better so that he could be there for his younger brother. It had kept him alive and sane in Hell and it would keep him that way now that he had been given a second chance.

"Sam, do you believe in angels?"

Dean's question was the last thing that either Bobby or Sam expected to hear. They exchanged another look, this one filled with confusion.

"You know that I do, Dean." Sam answered slowly. "Why?"

"I think I might have seen one. It's starting to come back to me." Dean Winchester looked past them, his gaze remote and haunted. "I think it pulled me out of Hell."

"What?"

"Come again?"

The simultaneous questions were answered with a shocked expression.

"I think it was Mom."