Mirror Image

WARNING: Major Spoilers for Season Five. If you haven't watched into the…eight episode or so I wouldn't recommend reading this story yet.

SUMMARY: He had to make this deal; it could save him, save his brother, save the entire world from the Apocalypse. Hey, desperate times, right? But problem is, he's woken up with no memories, not knowing if he succeeded or not and not knowing the consequences of his failure. With help from his brother Sam Winchester must start out on the most important Hunt of his life: after all, it's only the fate of Heaven, Hell and all life in between that rests on his shoulders.

So, you know, no pressure.

RATING: Future MA.

PAIRINGS: Dean/Castiel and Sam/Gabriel. Possibly some Sam/Dean to start with.

Prologue

Sam…oh God Sam what have you done now…?

The eldest and last remaining Winchester knelt over his brother's broken body in a pose that was horribly familiar for the older Hunter accompanying him. Bobby's face was pale; his cheeks flushed red and stained with teary streaks as he looked away from the sight. This wasn't right; the brothers had been separated far too much and now this.

"Dean. Dean come on it's time to go."

"Bobby, I can't."

Dean couldn't just let his brother go like this; torn, bloody on the ground after being ripped apart by Hell Hounds, just as Dean had been. He couldn't.

--

"You eejit!"

Bobby wanted to scream, hoping beyond hope that the torn and bloody soul of Samuel Winchester would be able to hear him, even neck-deep in the pit. He was silenced only by sleep as it took the older hunter, lulling Bobby into fitful nightmares, knowledge of what one of the boys he considered a son had suffered, and what the other was now having to go through.

And all for the sake of something they didn't know.

--

"Dean, I need to talk to you." Dean pushed the angel he had been close to calling 'friend' away, his eyes as black as the demons he hunted.

"You allowed my brother to get tossed into Hell, you spineless, soulless son of a bitch! How can I ever forgive you? You knew this was coming, didn't you?"

"It was not Hell Hounds that tore your brother apart."

That gave the last surviving Winchester pause. "What?"

"It was a different kind of animal; golden eagles. They work as part of Heaven's…cavalry, if you will. They went after your brother when he struck his deal."

--

"No!"

The man's upper body jack-knifed upwards as he heaved in a breath. Or tried to, only to find his breathing blocked by a hollow plastic tube that, until then, had been keeping his body alive artificially. With a ferocity born of terror he tore the long respirator tube out of his airway and heaved in a deep breath once it was free. Around him machines beeped in alarm, the cardiograph going insane as his heart rate snapped into overdrive, powering adrenaline through his system as he tried to take in his surroundings.

His eyes didn't miss a thing; sliding glass doors lined one side of the room. Along the other was a large window, half-open to let in the sounds of rush hour traffic and the soft scent of laundry. The warm summer breeze wafted through the partial crack in the glass that lined the upper corner and he took in a deep breath. He figured he was on the third story from the height of the trees outside.

He tried to search for something familiar, something that would tell him anything about why he was here, but he came to naught. Along the hard bed he slept in there were plastic rails – typical of a hospital. An IV tucked into the crook of his elbow in his left arm fed him fluids that would keep his body nourished. A dull throbbing in his lower region let him know he was also attached to a catheter.

Slowly, very slowly his heart rate began to calm as he realized he was in no immediate danger. Drained from the sudden rush of terror and adrenaline the man sat back against his scratchy hospital pillows, his eyes closing as he heaved a deep breath.

--

"Why? Why would Sammy make a deal?" Gone was the righteous anger for his brother's sake; what would possess Sam to strike a deal with demons, right as the first wave of the Apocalypse began to hit them?

"For the sake of yourself. He has worked to save you."

"I don't need saving!"

"I mean in the first place. You brought the Apocalypse on, Dean. You destroyed the world and your brother placed the final nail in its coffin. He wanted to help you, so he made a deal."

"With a demon! Why would they make a deal with him now? The stupid, stupid son of a bitch!"

"Not with a demon. With an Archangel."

--

Flesh.

Bone.

His skin, being flayed off his body in such deep, cruel strokes he had to wonder his guts didn't spill out with every single one. The rack cranked another spoke and his body stretched, pulling sockets from themselves and he screamed loud and long, his voice joining the chorus of other tortured, damned souls.

The demon holding the brutal cat-of-nine-tails, made crueler by the fire that singed along it with every movement, magnesium igniting with oxygen, laughed and tossed her blonde mane of hair back. She stepped more closely to his beaten and bruised almost-corpse, her malevolent smirk of triumph increasing as another demon stepped forward with a scalpel and a butcher's knife.

"Come on, break. No one's waiting for you up there. All it takes is a kiss, lover."

It took all his effort, but he managed to swing his head around to look at her. His tongue had long ago been removed with a pair of red-hot tongs, blood dripped from his lips that had been sliced open and his mouth that was currently trying to rid his body of as much blood as possible.

She puckered up, prepared for him to break. He merely spit a mouthful of blood into her face and laughed. The laugh turned into another scream as the knife in his gut twisted.

"I'll make you pay for that, Winchester."

--

Another nightmare brought him back from his sleep. That and the voices.

"How did his respirator get removed?"

"I don't know. I didn't hear anything about him waking up."

The John Doe pushed himself upwards again, and it didn't take much effort to get his eyes to open; he had a feeling he wouldn't be dreaming very much anyway. He cast his dark eyes over to the two people – one wearing a doctor's coat and the other wearing light green scrubs – watching him with the wariness of someone confronting a psyche patient or a frightened animal; unsure of how they will react.

"I woke up earlier, but I was tired and went back to sleep." His voice was low, raw, and thick with tears he hadn't realized he had begun to shed. The doctor stepped forward, placing a hand next to his on the bed and he shied away from her. She looked too much like that demon with the whip; blonde hair and bright green eyes and a beautiful smile. He hated her already.

"Sir, you were the victim of a freak car accident; you suffered severe trauma due to several lacerations – cuts – along your chest and abdomen. You could have also suffered brain damage. Can you tell me your name?"

"Winchester," he replied automatically.

--

"Castiel, you're going in circles."

"Trust me, Dean. I'm not allowed to tell you about the Deal otherwise it breaks; only if your brother remembers it can you ever know."

"What are you, allergic to straight answers? Why can't you tell me?"

"Telling you anything will hurl you both into Damnation, and no one would be able to pull you out again. Let well enough alone, Dean, and find your brother."

--

The woman nodded lightly, pursing her lips as she wrote down the word on a clipboard she held. "Does that come with a first name?"

The man frowned, cocking his head slightly to one side as though she was suddenly speaking a language he didn't understand. Of course…he had to have a first name…surely…

Fact of the matter was, if that demon hadn't told him what his last name was, he never would have known that. He could remember a lot of things; he knew that lining a room with salt could repel ghosts and demons; he knew that the only real sure-fire way to kill a vampire was to cut off its head; he knew that Pagan Gods could be real sons of a bitches and he knew that regular people did not know this, and relied on him to take care of the things that went bump in the night.

He knew he drove a '67 Chevy impala, and he knew he was an orphan. He also knew that there were a lot of things he didn't remember.

But he couldn't remember what he couldn't remember, except his name.

The man merely shook his head. "Just Winchester."

"Alright…Winchester…do you have any next of kin we can contact?"

Again the man glared at her, hating how she was so…doctor-y about everything. Couldn't she give him five minutes to himself? Guess not; after all he should have taken that opportunity to be alone when he first woke up.

"No. How did I get here?"

"Someone saw the accident; they called an ambulance and the paramedics brought you in. But by the time the paramedics came those people were gone and so was the person who hit you. The police are looking into it but from what I've heard there's not much hope finding the man who hit you."

"I don't care about that." And he didn't. He knew what had happened to him and it sure as hell wasn't a damned car accident. It had been Hell Hounds. Hell Hounds for a deal, a deal he'd made. A deal he'd made for…what? What would have caused him to sell his soul?

--

It wasn't long after his meeting with Gabriel that the birds came.

They were beautiful; golden feathers covered completely a thirty-foot wingspan, bright beacons of pure radiance shining from between the sharp, pointed beaks that opened and closed in silence but managed to let loose an ear-splitting shriek into the youngest Winchester's ears. Sam knelt to the ground, his hands covering his ears. But they were no match for the amount of blood running between his fingers, coating his palms and the backs of his hands in a light, beautiful sheen of crimson.

They claws were just as sharp as their beaks and both tore into Sam's back and chest. To his credit Sam didn't scream from the pain; there wasn't really any pain. Not anymore; not that he realized at least his death had been given a purpose now.

Watching it all, Gabriel smiled and pulled a lollipop from a pocket in his jeans, the colour matching the pool of blood beginning to stain the floor as his birds did their duty and Sam's soul was thrust into the Pit.

--

"Where is my brother, if not dead?"

"I brought him in, and made sure the humans would keep his body alive artificially until he woke up and when he did that a man named Hector Aframian was to be contacted."

Dean couldn't help smile at Castiel's use of one of his aliases, that and from sheer joy that his brother might be alive and well, breathing and still in the world. A weight he hadn't even been aware of until then seemed to lift off of his shoulders. "He's alive? Sammy's alive?"

"If he has succeeded in his task, then yes, he should be awake by now."

"Then what the hell are we waiting for? Flap your wings, do your teleportation mojo. Come on, we have to get to him."

"Dean, I have to warn you –."

"There's no time, Cas. Please, take me to my brother. I have to see it with my own eyes."

--

Remember, Samuel Winchester. Remember your task.

Remember your Deal.

For the sake of the World, remember the tribute.

To be destroyed
You must seek destruction.
Find the one called Friend.
Brother. Protector.
Guardian.
His life will be claimed
As payment for the world.
One brother must die by
the hand of he who
started it all.
Savior. Sword.
Unite as one.
Destroy the servant
who, in another life,
Disobeyed.

Author's Note: This was the Prologue; some more things will be explained later on as the story progresses. This was another idea that just wouldn't go away until I wrote it down, so hopefully it will end up going somewhere.

Much Loves.

HigherMagic x