Chapter Text
Chapter 1: All Day and All of the Night
Dean Winchester woke with a start, his face covered in sweat, and the blankets wrapped around his feet like snakes in a Spielberg movie. Another nightmare. It had been happening more recently and Dean chalked that up to the fact that they were coming up on ten years. Ten long years.
Ten years without Sam.
It had been the longest ten years of Dean's life. It was worse than when Sam was at Stanford because at least he could call him or even show up on his doorstep. He couldn't do that now. All he could do was go out to the back where Bobby and he had set up a memorial. They didn't have Sam's body. It wasn't a grave, Dean refused to call it that.
He had tried every red-eyed demon from here to Nantucket, and nothing. He had tried to sell his soul and there were no takers. Dean couldn't help but suspect that was the Angel's fault, though his new friend Castiel never said it. Castiel wasn't much help on the search, but he had his moments.
Dean sighed, looking at the alarm clock on the bedside table, trying his best to ignore the empty bed across the room. That was Sammy's bed. And he should be in it.
12:32 pm.
It was late.
Dean cursed as he untangled the old blankets and threw them back on the creaking bed, not bothering to fold them or make the bed. The only person who ever made the bed at Bobby's was Sam.
Sam.
Sam wasn't here.
Dean went down the staircase two steps at a time, the smell of coffee radiating from the kitchen. Bobby was sitting at the dining table, a newspaper in his hands.
"You didn't wake me. It's past noon," Dean said, pouring his own cup of coffee.
"I ain't yer mother," Bobby shot back, not looking up from the sports section.
"You know what day it is?" Dean asked.
Bobby put his paper down. "Yeah, Boy. I do."
The two hunters didn't say anything, sort of like a moment of silence.
"He would have been thirty-three today," Dean mumbled softly like he didn't want to be heard.
"I know," Bobby replied.
The cryo freeze machine was old, at least twenty years. No one had worked on it in ten of those years, so it was bound to break eventually. Doctor Carter had thought it would last long enough for him to get out of prison, a ten-year sentence.
And it had, save a few months. But the truth was, no one had that good of luck.
Except, perhaps, the resident of the cryo freeze chamber, who, at exactly midnight of May the second, found himself no longer frozen in time.
The old metal door creaked open, a billow of icy smoke seeping into the room.
Sam Winchester opened his eyes for the first time in ten years.
"Dean," he mumbled, still restained in the chamber, though those were old too and broke easily enough despite Sam's weakness. The young man found himself falling to the ground, still dazed and unable to properly catch himself.
The meeting with the floor seemed to wake him up though and left a nice bruise on his cheek to remember it by.
So far, this was not the greatest birthday.
Sam stood up, his hands grabbing a nearby counter to steady himself. He didn't remember much besides Azazel wanting him to kill Michael and Sam instead killed the demon. He remembered Dean being there. Where was Dean now?
The youngest Winchester rubbed his head as he looked around the room. It seemed pretty abandoned, but it looked like the Insitute. Where else would he be? Sam shivered from memories. He wanted to be any place but here, he thought as he tugged on the door, its old hinges protesting a great deal but giving away nevertheless.
Sam noticed right away he was in a basement, but that was only because the stairs were right there when he exited the room. Call it luck or coincidence, but Sam would take it either way. As he climbed the stairs, he noticed police tape falling off the once white walls and graphite staining the interior as well.
"Hello?" Sam called out cautiously, shivering in his too-thin T-shirt. The last thing he wanted was Doctor Carter to still be here, but judging by the neglect, he couldn't help but assume everyone had jumped ship. At least, he hoped
His voice echoed across the halls, but no one replied. Sam narrowed his eyes. Where had everyone gone? Had Michael killed everyone, including Dean?
Dean. No, he couldn't be dead. That would be impossible.
Sam tried his best to not think about his brother's dead body, but it was becoming increasingly harder and harder to do as he made his way down the halls. Dean couldn't be dead. There was no way.
He could feel tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes. He was terrified. He couldn't stay here, what if Carter and the other people came back? He couldn't leave, though. Where was he supposed to go? Sam felt the warm tears begin to fall and let them, falling to the dirty floor where he leaned his head against one of the walls and pulled his legs to his chest.
He wanted Dean. Where was Dean?