Chapter Text
The sun was blazing against his freckled cheeks, burning the mud to his skin. His chest heaving, throat swollen, and gasping for air. Using the lungs that have been neglected for far too long. Sweat soaked his shaped brows, poor down his neck, soaking the black shirt that had been torn to ribbons. Nails digging into the cold and unforgiving earth, clawing through the grass to obtain his freedom.
"C-common, Dean... common!" He choked, eyes screwing shut, gritting teeth, doing his best to encourage himself to keep going, to never stop.
Finally, he manages to pull himself out of the shallow grave, spitting out the clumps of dirt that made their way into his opened maw. With one last final pull, Dean crashes to the earth, his back colliding with the unforgiving earth beneath him. He can breathe, he can finally breath. The dry air did nothing to help soothe his baren throat, being deprived of water for who knows how long. Yet, it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered right now, besides one thing.
He was alive.
He was alive.
Slowly, his crusted emerald, green eyes peeled open, allowing the star in the sky to burn his retinas. He never thought he would obtain such a sight ever again. Even with such a sight, it was not enough to distract from the aching and skin ripping agony occurring on Dean's skin. As careful as he could, Dean managed to sit up, biting his lip to suppress the whimper threatening to escape.
Each second, the stinging became worst. It was coming all over. It was going into his flesh, his blood, his bones. Quickly, the young man ripped off his jacket, his shirt, throwing it as far away from him as possible. Only to have his eyes widen, brows going skyward, and jaw dropping. The fear he was experiencing began to grow as the articles of clothing began to disintegrate before his very eyes.
"What the f-fuck?" Dean mumbles, his throat still coming out hoarse.
The pain was gone, but not the scars that were left behind. His torso had thick hypertrophic scars, lining where the claws of the hellhound had butchered him. Yet, there was something new. Dean swallows, turning his hands over, praying that the disgusting items on his wrists where nothing more than a left-over hallucination of what he had been through.
Handprints. Thick, bulging, bruised handprints wrapped from one side of his wrist to the other. A dark scarlet mass with dots of yellow and purple. What could have caused this?
However, that was the least of his concerns.
Just past his blurred vision, Dean lowers his hands, finally seeing the ground that he pried himself from. Raven black scorches tainted the dirt. Once vibrant and green forest, now plagued with cracked floors, which must have stretched for miles. The trees around had been ripped by the roots, flung in corresponding locations. Black soot drenched the hole he came from. The dirt and mud that clung to his skin and hair wasn't the earth, it was ash from his burning resurrection.
Fuck, what the hell happened? What on earth is going on?
Clunk Clink.
The hell?
Quickly, Dean turned around, only to be met face to face with double barrel shot gun. It was a man, a man with a dark grey beard and a balding scalp. Immediately, he raised his palms, displaying that he wasn't a threat. He just got his life back; he can't lose it already.
"What the hell are you!?" He shouted, his voice filled with panic and worry, contrasting to his very stoic and furrow brow manner.
"Wh-what?" Dean asks,
"You just- just came pillaring out of the sky like that!? Just- just destroying the entire forest! There is no way you're human, so what the hell are you!?"
"Listen..." He says calmly, slowly lowering his hands, which only made the man in front of him readjust the gun aimed at Dean's forehead. "I don't know where I am... I don't know how long it’s been... but let me go, and we can both forget this ever happened."
"Why are you talking like that?" The man growls, taking several steps forward, now pressing the gun directly to Dean's bare chest.
Fuck, this is not going his way. "You know... you shouldn't hold people at gunpoint like this."
"And why not? Because I'm going to regret blasting an alien with ten pounds of led?"
"Actually..." Dean mumbles, before making his move.
Without hesitating, he manages to grab the barrel of the gun, twist it out of the grown man’s arms, and slam the hilt into his skull. The man was on the ground in a matter of seconds. Guess his reflexes where still as good as when he died. He needed to move, and he needed to move fast.
It if where to be believed, that some guys saw an explosion from the sky, chances are lots of others saw as well and will come to investigate. He cannot be here if that occurs. Considering he's supposed to be dead, actually and legally, he needed to get a move on. However, he can't go anywhere looking like this.
"Sorry man..." Dean mumbles, kneeling down by the comatose man's side.
It won't fit him, but it'll do. Quickly, he changed into the man's shirt, a gold and maroon Big Gerson's logo that was two times his size, hanging loosely off his lean frame. While he was at it, Dean searches his pockets, looking for anything useful to help him out.
A set of keys. Great, he can actually get out of here. Wallet? got it... he can pay for some food or gas if needed. Phone, sweet! He flips the front of the device open, going to call someone when he pauses, eyes being drawn to the date at the top of the screen saver. September 18th. That's four months... that was four months since he was dragged into hell.
Please let Sam and Bobby be okay. They were left alone in a town full of demons, Lilith right beside them, ready to drag his brother into hell as well. Fuck... where they even still alive?
Taking in a deep breath, Dean stands up, shoving the phone, wallet, into his pocket as well as the keys before retrieving the shotgun. Who knows if he'll need it or not.
Dean looked around for a moment before starting to walk, following a marked path that the man must have come from earlier. Just as he suspected, several random people came pass him on the trail. Mostly hikers, other bikers, even a couple of teenagers already recording to show whatever they found. Whenever he'd see one, Dean hid behind a nearby tree or bush, allowed them to pass, before booking it as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
The entire time, he kept searching for a signal. Yet, nothing was coming up. Not even a single bar.
Eventually, Dean made it out of the forest, finding the parking lot for the hiking trail completely full. There was even a van pulling in from the busy street, a local news station, ready to get the scoop on whatever was going on in that forest. For now, Dean kept his head down, pressing a button on the keys to find which car they belonged to.
A truck! A bit of beaten down one. Rust ruined the dark blue exterior, there was also a lot of cuts and scratches that ruined the paint job. Didn't matter, it'll have to do. As he got inside, Dean shut the door behind him, not wanting any unwanted visitors to come and surprise him while he wasn't looking.
The interior wasn't much better than the outside. The beige leather had pieces of fluff and cotton sticking out, junk food wrappers littered the passenger side, and it smelt strongly of cigarette smoke. Which, Dean rather not smell anymore... that burning, the taste and smell of fire... he would be glad to never encounter those types of stimuli ever again.
However, as he looked in the backseat, he sighs in relief. Practically throwing himself over the driver seat and taking hold of a twelve pack plastic canaster of water bottles. Before he even knew what he was doing, Dean was chugging one bottle after the other, excess creeped from his lips and poured down the front of his already unfitted shirt.
"Thank, fuck. That's some good stuff." Dean moans in relief, wiping his face with the back of his palm, the ash recementing to his face while doing so.
RING RING
"Jesus!" He spits out, hitting his head against the top of the ceiling in the meantime.
Glancing down at his pocket, he removes the phone from his pocket, raising a brow slightly at the name that was listed. He hangs up the phone, sending the call to voicemail before sitting back into the driver seat, letting out small sigh, closing his eyes, trying to figure out what to do next.
Of course, he can call Sam again now that he had a signal. Hopefully, he's still alive. If he doesn't pick up, then he can call Bobby. Bobby wasn't inside of the house when he died, so he had a higher chance of survival. Also, someone had to bury Dean at some point, so one of the two of them must have lived. God, Dean prayed they both did. Making his sacrifice worth it. At least, that's what he hoped.
"Alright, Dean. Let's get this show on the road."
With a small grunt, he sits up a little straighter and twists the key into the engine. The truck sprung to life within an instant. Dean smirked to himself, distant memories of hot wiring a car with Sammy came flooding to his head. Remembering that Sam always complained about stealing and how it was an inconvenience to someone's day. However, the younger brother loved doing it once he got a handle on it.
There was sudden yelling, and Dean turned his head out the window. Seeing a mass of people, the ones he passed on the trail, running towards the truck. The man who he had knocked out earlier, now bleeding from his forehead, beer belly jiggling in the wind, pointing directly at him. Yup, time to get going!
Throwing the car into gear, he drives over the medium, blocking the parking lot with the road, and pulling straight into oncoming traffic. Twisting the wheels and tires in all directions, burning rubber into the road as he made his grand escape. The vehicle bounced and scrapped the concrete, jostling in all direction before managing to get a handle on the truck.
Hopefully that ungraceful escape won't make the evening news.
Okay, okay, where is he driving to. Fuck, Dean doesn't even know where he is. Besides the name of the forest, Honey Oak Trail. Other than that, he had no clue where he's at. The town. The State. Hell, who knows if he's even in the same country. That guy spoke English, but that's not really indicative of where he's at. Lots of places speak English, and lots of people speak other languages that are not native to the local area.
Take a deep breath, Dean. Figure it out, just like you always do.
After he was on the road for some time, he pulls the phone back out, dials one of Sam's cell phone numbers and lifts it to his ear. It rings for a couple of moments before being sent to voicemail. Great. He sighs, dials another number, and waits for the call. Nothing again? Seriously?
"Come on, Sammy... really need you to pick up. Like- right now... Pay your freaking cell bill." He grumbles before dialing another number, one last time, but, again, there was nothing.
Alright, he expected that. Dean taps his fingers against the stirring wheel, eyes glancing off to the mile markers off the side of the road. A couple of miles away from the closest city, including a couple of motels he could crash in for the night if it gets too dark to drive. For some reason, his eyes just couldn't seem to focus on anything. It was just so blurry, but the shapes of cars where good enough for him. Thank god road signs are large enough for him to read once he gets close to them.
Bobby's number. He's got to pick up.
"Hello?"
"Bobby? Thank God you picked up-"
"Who is this?"
Dean scoffs slightly, a little shocked that he didn't recognize his voice. "Bobby, it's Dean-"
Then the service went out. What the hell? Did his altitude drop the call? He shakes his head and calls the number once more.
"I swear to god, if you call this number one more time, I'll make you shit margaritas for a week." The elder man's voice warned.
"What? No- Bobby, it's really me-" He begged, but the phone was just turned off once again.
Damnit! He throws his phone down and over to the passenger seat, nails gripping into the fabric as he tried to calm himself down. Those where his only two lifelines. His eyes glance over to the road and exit. With a sigh, Dean turns down that road, biting his bottom lip while navigating the new road and town. He needed to camp out for the night. He was just so exhausted, panicked, he needed a few moments alone to himself to figure out his next move.
It didn't take long for Dean to find a motel that would satisfy himself for the night. Never was he really picky, but he did want a bed. That was really his only need. The bare minimum. The necessities. Something that he had been unable to obtain for most of his entire life. Especially, the past few months of his life.
After going into the motel, doing the whole registration process, Dean uses the cash and credit cards from the man's wallet to purchase a room for the night. Using the alias Tyler Cheney for booking, a code name that Sam and he came up with one day while they were kids. It meant 'I'm here'. Chances are Sam wouldn't show up, especially when he never answered the fucking phone.
Finally, in the room, he closes the door behind himself and chucks the keys, phone, and shotgun down on the desk right beside the bed. The room could be better. Such as not having strawberry throw up shake color for the blanket and mattress. Walls painted instead of the floral wallpaper. Bathroom could have been one bundled thing, not just a shower and toilet room, where the sink was on the outside, connected to a mirror in the main area.
Again, he wasn't picky.
In the meantime, Dean was able to discover where he was at. Pontiac, Illinois. The same town and state he was in when Lilith came to collect on his debt...
Dean plops down on the bed, moaning loudly as the fabric and mattress molded around his exhausted form. God, it's been so fucking long. Taking in and letting out a slow breath, just trying to do his best to repress everything that's been happening. However, the news van probably picked up on his escape. If that van was there, and based on what that guy said, they saw something happen. Would anyone have had time to get that uploaded?
Hmm.
He turns to his side, pulls open the drawer connected to the desk, fumbles around the insides before grabbing an item that was cool and plastic. Retrieving it, Dean sighs in relief at the black remote controller. Sitting back up, propping himself with the pillows, he turns on the television. A random sitcom popped up, a character actually kind of looked like Sam, but he switched the channel without pondering it too much.
It only took a few minutes of Channel Surfing before he found what he was looking for. A breaking news reports. A blue banner flooded the bottom of the screen, describing the town he was in, the date, local advisories, and telling people to not go and investigate the sight.
"Avery, do you believe in Aliens?" One of the newscasters asked, who was wearing a sharp brown suit with matching fedora.
"Why, no, Jacob. Why do you ask?" The woman dressed in a pink and green floral dress, actually, quite similarly to wallpaper in Dean's room.
"Well, earlier today, there was an explosion following what locals are describing as a meteorite hitting the ground somewhere in a forest not too far from here. Officials are warning all non-essential personal to not go into the forest, due to meteorologist having not predicted this sort of behavior. Take a look at this video-"
The screen flipped over to a random phone that someone was recording with, out for a nice meal with could only be assumed to be his girlfriend across from him. Suddenly, the man behind the phone shouted and pointed up behind her and they gasped loudly.
Out of nowhere, a raven black fog appeared, shouting out from the ground, flew high into the sky, then darted towards the forest. Amongst the panic banter, the phone shook and everyone screamed. indicated some sort of reverb followed. Then an explosion, exactly where his grave was. Birds came flying out from the forest, a couple of deer ran out as well.
Then the screen fades back over to the two news anchors, staring and looking at one other. The girl chuckled slightly and looked at the screen. "That doesn't appear to be a meteorite, Jacob."
"I have to agree with you, Avery. I didn't see the footage until just now, I got to admit, whatever that was, I don't think it came from the sky."
"Wait- hold on a second-" The woman stated, putting a hand against her ear, "It appears there has been more footage that has been discovered that may help everyone understand what is going on here."
Dean swallowed thickly, that can't be good.
It wasn't.
Next showed those teens that Dean had spotted on the trail, walking up to where he had left that man. They all where gasping, asking the guy questions as they helped pulled him to his feet. Now Dean was starting to understand how Alien stories get spread about so easily. The man was disoriented as he began to speak.
"That guy... that kid came from the ground... fire- fire everywhere-" He mumbled, slowly getting back to reality, then he looks down at himself. "Where a-are my clothes!? That alien took them! Took to look like us! He- He was covered in ash!" He patted his pockets, "My keys! Wallet! He took everything!"
More panicked gasping amongst the people in the video. Then one person mentioned they saw something in the forest get on the trail. Quickly, everyone rushed down, clambering down the dirt trail and arriving in the parking lot. That's when Dean saw himself in the truck, pouring water down his throat. The guy that he stole his stuff from screamed and pointed at the truck. That must have been the yelling Dean heard.
The phone refocused and it clearly showed Dean, eyes wide as he saw all of them. The action of him throwing the car into gear and breaking out.
Next, the phone video then switches over to the Local News truck that Dean saw earlier, and it had the reporter doing her normal spill while focusing on the truck, getting a clear ID of the license plate and announcing it on local television for anyone to call in if they see the plate and truck.
"Son of a bitch." Dean huffs and turns off the screen.
That was exactly what he didn't want to happen. Maybe they will think that man was a ranting lunatic, and everyone would forget? Whatever the case may be, or how it may turn out, Dean needed to lay low for a while. Even though he needed to get moving. Maybe change vehicles in the morning, that way no one could track him.
He needed to get to Bobby's after he's taken a shower and rested for a little bit. Who would want someone that they thought was dead, showing up out of nowhere, looking like they crawled out of the pits of hell?
To be fair, that's sort of what happened.
After he gets to his surrogate father's home, he can figure out what happened. This whole time, Dean hasn't had a chance to sit down, take a deep breath, and actually figure out what the fuck is going on.
Dean cards his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes tightly and letting out slow and deep breaths. "You're out... you're going to be okay... you're fine..." He mumbles to himself.
How was he back? How could he be back?
Souls aren't meant to be resurrected. What is dead should stay dead. Himself included. There is only one way he could be back, and he begged for it to not be the case. One thing. There was only one thing that he knew that could bring him back to life, because it's happened to him before.
A demon.
So, who pulled him out, and what was the debt that needed to be owed?