Chapter Text
It all started on a Sunday.
Which is ironic, considering that Sunday is the day of the Lord.
Dean and Sam Winchester had taken Dean's beloved 1967 Chevrolet Impala out for a spin. Lately, Sam had been crushed by homework and studying. He was only fifteen, but already he was spreading himself thin.
Dean had thought that it would be good for Sam to get out, get some fresh air. When Sam was little he adored driving in the Impala. His big brother thought that, since Sam hadn't been able to cut loose for a while, they could go out and go for a ride, probably ending up in a diner somewhere sharing a basket of loaded fries.
So after a long weekend of work Dean proposed the idea to Sam. After much persuasion, Sam agreed. They drove off, excited and ready to relax.
However, there they were, ten minutes later, being cornered by a bunch of people on motorcycles. Dean tried his best to avoid both their bullets and their bikes, but then the pair drove into a guardrail.
The car flipped.
Sam remained inside.
Dean wasn't so lucky.
***
Please, anyone, please, if you can hear me, please keep my brother safe. I'll do anything. God,
anyone, please, if you're there, please make sure he's safe.
***
That was the last thing that went through Dean Winchester's mind before his body crashed into the pavement.
Dean Winchester breathed no more.
***
“Dean?”
Sam tried to move but his vision was blurring in and out, his leg couldn't move (too much pain), and he didn't want to risk burning himself with the fire that surrounded the wrecked Impala.
“Dean?”
His voice once more came out as just a croak. Sam broke into a coughing fit and struggled to get free from the car once more. However, his leg couldn't move without excruciating pain which made Sam feel like he was simultaneously going to puke and pass out.
While twisting around he could just make out a pair of legs through a remnant of a window.
They weren't moving.
“DEAN?!”
The roar of a motorcycle's engine cut through the crackling of the fire. Sam screamed for help, and, after unfamiliar motorcycle boots made their way over to him and pulled him out, he screamed for a different reason.
After he calmed down he closed his eyes.
“Help...Dean..,” he whispered before he passed out, never seeing their savior's face.
***
Dean Winchester.
Dean tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. It was as if he lost all control of his body.
Strange , he thought. I feel like I'm...floating.
Dean Winchester.
Yes?
Did you mean it when you said you would give anything?
Yes.
Are you absolutely sure you would do anything to keep your brother safe? Even to the point of avenging any injury he has received?
Yes.
Okay.
***
Dean's eyes flew open and turned bright orange, the color of flames. His mouth opened to scream, and what started off as a scream turned into a monstrous roar. His fingers dug into the pavement underneath him, so hard they started to bleed freely until they closed up again a few seconds later. Through the fog of horrendous pain he could see a man with a flaming skull and motorcycle boots get on a bike and ride away.
He writhed on the pavement, completely ridden with pain, feeling as if his body was engulfed in flames. Smoke rose off his body as his face slowly melted away, bringing forth a fearsome skull surrounded by fire, no neck visible.
Now we are one.