grandmastrslash (grandmastrslash) wrote in remixredux09,

Swing Low, Sweet GPS (The Highway through the Rabbit Hole Remix) [SPN; Dean/Sam]

Title: Swing Low, Sweet GPS (The Highway through the Rabbit Hole Remix)
Author: girlguidejones 
Summary: Post s3. Lillith’s hounds have come and gone, and Sam struggles to get to Dean.
Rating: PG13 | 2200 words
Fandom: Supernatural
Original story: A Highway to the Grave by chase_acow
Author’s notes: Thank you to nwhepcat  for her multiple read-overs and suggestions, and to poisontaster , who not only helped me get things percolating, but whose advice always makes my stories better.  Any shortcomings are solely my own, and probably because I ignored their good advice at some point.


Who are you?
I have many names.  It can be very confusing, even for me.

Things must be tough for you.

Omnipotence in one’s dominion is vastly overrated.

I’d be happy to break up the routine, if you wanna point me towards the exit.

I would, but you’ve got the starring role in the next act.  Many are gathering to see your performance.

No understudy?

Your co-star prefers to work only with you. 

He should learn to branch out.

Trust me, I really didn’t plan it like this.

Any chance this thing has a happy ending?

If there’s anything I’ve learned over the ages, it’s that you can’t count on anything when it involves Adam and his descendants.  Many of my greatest scripts have fallen apart before my eyes.

FML, huh?



Finding a guardian of the gate wouldn’t be difficult for Sam.  Fashioning a leash to contain it and forcing it to stay on the path Sam wanted to tread was something else altogether.  Bobby called daily, suspicious of Sam’s silent, absent grief.  Bobby loved Dean like a son, but Sam knew he wouldn’t approve, and there was no point asking for his help.  He was alone, and at last he really understood what Dean had felt—and forgave him for what he’d done—in Cold Oak. 

Sam delved the dark places of the world, seeking crumbling, secret books written in ash-laced blood and bound with iron, desperate to get to Dean.  Hungry, desolate months passed, while Sam’s eyes grew dull and sunk into dark hollows, his ribs defined less by muscle and more by forgotten meals supplemented by the flow of demon veins.  Finally Sam’s extended hand—fingers splayed and strong with black blood and backed by the whispered legacy of Azazel—broke open the final set of doors when they did not open willingly. 

The spell was his.



When’s your guy gonna plan on showing up?

It is difficult to say.  Time does not pass the same for us as it does for you, and uncomfortable encounters always seem lengthy for the person on the receiving end.   It could be a blink for him, an eternity for you. 

Just like the magic wardrobe.  Who knew?

He is powerful, and determined in his quest; I have little doubt of his eventual success.  Most humans would be flattered at the devotion.

I’m pretty sure he’s not my type.

You forget that I have watched you from your birth to the last of your breaths.  In your case, your last breaths have come more than once.  Your...types...are well known to me. 

Look man.  If you’re diggin’ for condemnation material, I’ve got better stuff in my portfolio than the occasional switch-hitting experiment.


I’m a twenty-first century kind of guy.  I refuse to discriminate.

Even when it’s your brother?  Perhaps a little discrimination would have been prudent.

Leave my brother out of this, asshole.

An interesting juxtaposition of words.  Very Freudian.   Regardless, the matter of you and your brother will become impossible to ignore once our guest arrives and begins to...conduct his business with you.  I regret to say that I suspect you’ll find it extremely painful.

Sammy’s still alive and kicking.  There’s nothing you can do to me to make me regret that.

I believe you, Dean.  But as I’ve just said, your fate isn’t really up to me.

I thought you were omnipotent.

That whole “free will of men” principle altered many of the long-term business plans I had. 

Live and learn.

Just so.

When’s your guy gonna get here, again?


The creature at his heel was ugly and beautiful all at once; claws and wings gleamed in equal measure, and its face was by turns both fierce and wise.  Sam’s fist clutched desperately at the length of the iron chain encircling the guardian’s neck, and flakes of rust dug into his skin and smeared tiny drops of blood on the links.  The metal smoked at the contact of his blood, two tainted sources of iron reacting to each other’s presence, but the dark spell held and the creature bent to his will.  Others of its kind awaited them at the great gate;  fangs bared and horns tossing menacingly, they stepped aside for Sam and his guide, and the mighty entrance swept open on soundless hinges. 

The path before him was clearly marked, and lined with creatures and souls of every make...all bearing ominous, silent witness to the spectacle of a mortal come to challenge their lord—the hubris of a fool who entered uninvited.  They parted for Sam as he passed, and, seeing no resistance after a time, he dropped the chain from his fingers.  Relinquished, it unraveled from the neck of its former bearer but made no sound as it fell upon the smooth stones of the path.  It dissolved immediately into link-shaped piles of smoking rust—there would be no captive guards to lead the way back out for Sam. 

The creature did not turn upon Sam in fury or retribution, but instead remained by Sam’s side, guide turned guard, keeping pace even though Sam needed neither one now.  He knew where he was going, and hell itself could not make him turn back.  The trail did not branch or fork, but at long last lead directly to a great and mighty throne.  Upon it sat an ancient creature, surrounded by a throng of worshippers stretching beyond the horizon.

And at its base sat Dean.


Sammy!  Oh God, what the hell do you think you’re doing?

Presently, I am watching the spectacle, as I said I would do.

No one’s talking to you.  Shut up!

My mistake.

Dean, I know.  Please.  Just listen to me for a minute....

Sammy, you can’t be here.  You can’t.  You’ll ruin everything.

I know, I know Dean.  I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it.  I couldn’t leave you here alone.  I couldn’t not come for you.

You!  Mister Tricks.  He can’t be here.  I made a deal, and I kept it.  Sammy’s supposed to live.

You did indeed, and he has, but none of that precludes him coming here.

Sammy, you have to go!  Go back, please, and leave me here where I belong.  Please don’t fuck this up.

I—I had to.  I’m sorry but I...there’s no one for me there, Dean.  Nobody, okay?  It’s just me and you.  I know what you were trying to do, but I thought...thought maybe...somehow...

He cannot stay, Dean.  At least, not yet.  His future is not yet written.

You’re goddamned right he can’t stay.

But you, Dean...if you wish, you may go with him.

What?  Wait!  No, Dean.  Don’t listen to him!

What?  You want me to walk out of here?  I break the deal and Sam drops dead, right? 

Of course not.  But such a love I have never seen in all of my eons, and I am not unmoved.  In the two of you is the promise of all that mankind was meant to be.  A love so great that a man would lay down not just his life, but his very soul for his brother?  That cannot be denied nor thwarted, even by such bloodstained hands as mine.

What’s the catch?

I do not understand.


The catch.  I go, Sam dies?  Or someone else in his place?  The FBI’s waiting on the other side?  What happens?


There is no deceit nor any penalty hidden in my words, my son.  I assure you of this, the Old Testament notwithstanding.

I’m not your son, you Sonofa—


What the fuck, Sam, huh?  What?  What?

Dean...just where exactly do you think you are?



“Dude.  How did you not know where you were?” Sam asked.  They were pulled off the side of some dirt-packed road that no one would ever bother to put on an atlas, drinking a lukewarm six-pack on the hood of the Impala.  Sam had gotten the beer almost as an afterthought, thinking he’d need it if he couldn’t stay in Heaven with Dean, and that if he could have stayed, somebody lucky would find the car and the bonus beer.  He really hadn’t envisioned an outcome where he and Dean would be drinking it together.  “The lack of fire and agony not a big enough clue-hammer for you?”

"How was I supposed to know the Old Man up and did a bait and switch?” Dean answered.  “Besides, Agony is in the eye of the beholder, Sammy.  He kept wanting to talk about my feelings,” Dean shuddered.  He had to be the only person on earth who could manage to be disgruntled about finding himself in Heaven.  Sam snorted and shook his head. 


“That place would be a lot more fun with a couple of pool tables and a jukebox,” Dean mused, pausing for a swallow of Rolling Rock.  “Maybe some hot wings.”  Sam could feel the cut of Dean’s sly gaze, see the tiny gleam of a smile, waiting for Sam’s reaction, and he wasn’t going to let him down. 

Not ever again.

“Seriously?  You really want to turn Heaven into a honky-tonk?  You redneck hick!”  Sam punctuated his indignation by flicking a bottle-cap off Dean’s forehead, and hiked himself up to sit fully on the hood.

“Good thing you came and got me before I started putting the plastic flamingos in the front yard, huh?”  Dean laughed, grinning openly now.  Sam just shook his head.

“God, you’re such a dumbass.” 

I’m a dumbass?”  Dean shot back. “You’re the one who put an evil choke-chain—“

“It wasn’t evil!”

“—on a celestial being and busted your way into—“

"Who the hell walks out of Heaven, anyway, Dean?”  Sam twisted to stare down at Dean, who still had both feet firmly on earth.  Sam was genuinely getting angry, and had to fight to keep his tone from escalating things.  “Seriously.  Who does that?”

"Who says we can’t get back in someday?” Dean answered softly, bumping a shoulder with Sam’s and then ducking his head to mouth at Sam’s collarbone, his non-beer hand wandering southward.  “Both of us?

"Putting your hand down my pants probably isn’t helping that cause,” Sam laughed.  At least, he tried to.  In reality, he sort of mumbled it and maybe angled his head back to give Dean more room.

"Pfffffft,” Dean scoffed.  “The supposed gay-proof force-field didn’t stop me the first time, did it?”

"Somehow I don’t think the gay part is the real problem, man,” Sam huffed, finally giving in and reclining completely on the hood so Dean could have his way, his still half-full beer dropping with a muffled thud into the dust near the Impala's front tire.  Dean hummed in approval, tossing his empty into the bushes and joining Sam on the hood, arching close to do something he would refuse to call nuzzling under Sam’s ear.

"Somebody needs to tell the Republicans,” Dean huffed, warm breath sending prickles down Sam’s spine.  “I know one thing that’s not gonna happen again, though,” he added, tracing the shell of Sam’s ear with the tip of his tongue, and it was Sam’s turn to go momentarily non-verbal.


"You’re giving up the demon-hooch, Sammy.”


“No buts, Sam.”  Dean sat up partway, his right palm resting on the hood by Sam’s shoulder, staring down at Sam.  The afternoon sun was dipping close to the horizon, and Dean was backlit; it was difficult to see his expression.  “I mean it.  I’m...I don’t want to go back without you, okay?  I just don’t.  I can’t.” 

Sam wished he hadn't let his beer go; it would have given him something to do besides staring up at Dean.  He'd denied his own motives the entire time...that he'd actually spent months planning not just to get to Dean, but to rip his own brother out of Heaven so Sam could have him back.  When it was finally a reality and Sam realized Dean was  ready--even eager--to go with him, shame and selfish joy had overwhelmed him all at once.  No wonder God had said Sam couldn't stay...he surely saw that deep down Sam's protests were a front, and that Sam didn't really want Dean to stay in Heaven.  Not without Sam.  But Sam hadn't earned the right to be there, and all three of them knew it.

Dean was just the only one who didn't care.

Sam wasn't sure how to even deserve that, much less respond to it, so he did what Dean would want most...he ignored it.

“Now that’s—sweet,” Sam drawled, smiling wide and settling his fingers in Dean’s belt, jerking him back down toward Sam.

“Fuck you.”

“I mean it.  Look...” Sam traced an invisible path from his eye corner down his cheekbone with one finger. “I have a tear.”  Dean made a show of smacking Sam’s other hand away from Dean’s belt and jumping down off the Impala’s hood.  Sam threw his head back, laughing and smacking it against the warm windshield glass.  "Don't worry.  You'll probably fuck it up somehow by then."

“Shuddup and go get me my dinner, bitch.  Heaven my ass—they didn’t feed me the whole damn time!  And you wonder why I was confused.”






Author's notes:  Sam captured a cherubim and forced it to guide him to Heaven.  Unlike the more commonly known "cherub" this type of angel is fearsome, with four heads: a man, an ox, an eagle, and a lion, and four huge wings.  They were set as guards by God to keep safe the gates of Eden and Heaven, and are often depicted holding the throne of God suspended upon one set of their wingtips.
Tags: character: dean winchester, character: sam winchester, fandom: supernatural, original author: chase_acow, pairing: sam winchester/dean winchester, remix author: girlguidejones

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