Fanfic: Nebraska
Summary: Lucifer tempts Sam. Dean's life (and afterlife) hang in the balance. The iPod reappears. And it's possibly the end of the world as we know it. Not necessarily in this order.
Spoilers: Set in Season 5. Assumes all canon through Changing Channels 5x08. References to Faith 1x12 and The Magnificent Seven 3x01
Genre: Gen, angst, Sick!Dean, hurt/comfort
Characters: Sam, Dean, Assorted others (all canon)
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. They belong to the CW and Eric Kripke -- who'd best treat them well.

Nebraska

Chapter 1 – Memory Lane

There was no pattern. No anniversary. No regular intervals. Not even a song that seemed to trigger it. Every once in a while Dean pointed his baby in the direction of Nebraska, drove for whatever hours it took, stopped at the gravestone of Layla Rourke and stared at the neatly etched words until he could no longer make them out. Beloved daughter.

Sam followed soundlessly, fighting the shame of not being ashamed enough at this young woman's death. A step behind, he took in his brother's rigid back and then looked at the grave himself. God help his tainted soul he was glad his brother was not under the soil. It could have ended just like that. In a meaningless Nebraska field. Their father God knows where, too self absorbed to give a damn.

No. It went the way it went because he was strong enough to work it out. To save his brother even when he didn't want to be saved. At least that once, he'd done it right. So yes, this young woman was dead and maybe she wouldn't be if things had gone differently. But then again his brother was standing right there in front of him. He hadn't known what no Dean felt like back then. Only imagined it. He shuddered. Yes, he'd done it right that time.

Dean moved slightly, an indication that soon it would be time to go. He never looked at Sam during these outings. Hardly said anything. After the first such visit, Sam chose to wait in the Impala. Dean didn't seem to mind. This time, first time in four years, he tagged behind silently. He couldn't have said why. Curious, maybe, if anything would be different from that long ago night. But nothing changed in this timeless town, the cemetery as still and dry and dark as ever. Perhaps a bit more parched than he'd remembered. Maybe there was a drought? End days and all that so it would be par for the course.

It had been raining the first night they'd ever come here. Horrible cold whipping pellets that stung like lashes against his skin. Annoyed at his brother's sudden silent streak he'd whined, "What are we doing here Dean? Ghost, ghoul, what?"

Ignoring him, Dean swept his flashlight left, then right in a slow methodical manner. Sam rubbed his forehead and the incessant itch that still burned there. It had been a month since they'd separated from their father in Chicago. The stitches were long dissolved. He wondered if it would be a permanent scar. They had spent the past few weeks playing dumb pranks to cover up different kinds of scars. Laughter in lieu of talking. A staple in the Winchester playbook. Then they'd hit Wisconsin and faced the Shtriga. There were no more pranks after that. Dean had retreated into that place that no one could follow. It still hurt to see Dean go there. Even after all that had passed, Dean's closed face stabbed through all the Dean protections he'd erected over the years.

The rain had been so punishing that night he couldn't imagine how Dean thought he'd find any particular gravestone. So he was surprised when his brother stopped short. He'd had to draw to a quick halt himself to keep from smashing into him.

"Now will you …" And then he saw the name. Oh God. Of course, she died. He hadn't thought about it. Didn't know how quick it would happen but one didn't recover from what she had unless … And that particular unless had been usurped by Dean. He'd waited for the guilt that surely should have come over him at seeing this particular grave. In the ghostly yellow light of their beams he made out Dean's profile, so like their father's that for an instant he forgot who it was. He looked at the date on the gravestone. She'd been dead a few months. So it had been very quick then.

"Dean …," he'd started but didn't know what to possibly say. Maybe it was enough just to be with his brother.

"Dad ever ask you what happened?" Dean asked, breaking the night's overwhelming silence.

"Just wanted to know you were okay. I guess that was enough." And oddly, this he did understand, share even, with their father. It was enough.

"'S wrong," Dean said, light moving slightly as his hand shook.

"Yeah," Sam answered because it was always wrong when a 25-year-old woman died.

Dean turned toward his younger brother and Sam couldn't tell if it was only the rain tracking water down his cheeks or something else. His brother fidgeted, the light beam floating around. Clearly he had something on his mind. Out with it, Dean, he thought. Just talk to me. Why did it always have to be this hard?

"Did you know Sam? I … just tell me the truth. It's better that I just know. Did you know, suspect, before … before we came here that it wasn't what it seemed?"

Eyes widening despite the drops that made him blink frantically Sam hollered, "What?! No. You know this. Not until after … when you said you thought you saw … No. I only knew what Caleb said … that there were reports of a faith healer that had been getting results. How can you … why are you asking me this?"

Dean nodded once. Turned silently back to Layla's gravestone, his light moving gently over it as if in a caress. "Would it have mattered?" he asked, without turning around. "Would you have taken me here anyway?"

Sam blanched. He couldn't, didn't, want to answer this. It would lead to a fight because the minute the question left Dean's lips an undeniable yes rang in his head. "Dean. Don't make me answer that."

"I think you just did Sam."

"You're not being fair. What if … what if it had been me?"

As soon as he said it Sam knew how low a blow that was, but he couldn't help himself.

"I can't be unhappy you're alive."

"She deserved it, too. Just as much." Dean ran a hand over his face wiping the rain water away. "Maybe more," he tacked on quietly.

No, Sam thought. He'd give his brother just as much but not more. No way, more. In the end they'd left as quietly as they'd come. Trudging back through the muddy graveyard to the dry welcoming warmth of the car they called home. They hadn't fought. They hadn't spoken another word. And for the dozen or so more times Dean felt compelled to make this trek, Sam had always waited in the car.

Until now.

Dean twitched again in the dry night air and Sam felt it was okay to say something. He wanted to ask if Dean still wished Sam hadn't saved him. Probably more so now given all the events that followed. He wanted to be able to say that this time he agreed with him, that it would have spared his brother Hell and kept Lucifer where he belonged and a whole long sorry trail of what ifs and wouldn't have happened. Except none of that would have been the truth.

Instead he said, "Been a while."

His brother shrugged.

Sam guessed the answer to why Dean hadn't visited Layla in a while was obvious given he'd been dead and all that. Dean surprised him by speaking again.

"Huh. Seems a bit dead around here, don't it?"

Sam didn't know what to make of this, they were, after all, in a cemetery. But he never had a chance to reply because the woman approaching them slowly out of the black, pulled all rational thoughts out of his head.

Layla.

TBC

A/N: This tale will run 6 chapters and should update quickly.