"Who was that?" Rachel caught sight of her older brother pocketing his phone as she stepped out of the bathroom.
"Cas."
She sniggered, falling into the closest bed and sitting up against the headboard. "He's a bit clingy, don't you think?"
"Get some sleep." Dean walked over to ruffle her hair, sitting on the edge of his own bed, burying his face in his hands. "We need to be up bright and early in the morning."
"You can stop acting now," Rachel leaned over to put a calm, reassuring hand on his knee. "Stop acting like you're taking everything in stride, Dean."
Without a word, he threw his legs over the bed and reached up to turn off the lamp that sat on the stand between the two beds. "Like I said," he said coldly. "get some sleep, Rach."
Rachel sighed as she settled into her own bed. She knew that Dean was barely keeping it together. She was just trying to help, to be a source of comfort for him as he had been for her all these years. Trying not to let it bother her, she soon drifted off into dreamland.
Sometime during the night, Rachel was brought out of her sleep by the piercing sound of Dean's phone vibrating on the nightstand. She was just about to reach to press a random button to turn it off but her older brother was there before she could pull her hand out from the warm covers.
"So, what, you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again?"
She must have drifted back into sleep but the skepticism in Dean's voice made her alert and she reached her head farther out to hear more clearly. The voice patterns from the phone speaker were barely discernible but Rachel knew Sam's voice no matter what.
"Look, Sam—it doesn't matter—whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the, uh, the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good."
"Dean, it does not have to be like can fight it," Rachel heard Sam faintly speak through the phone when Dean neared her bed.
"Yeah, you're right. We can. But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us—love, family, whatever it is—they are always gonna use it against us. And you know that. Yeah, we're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing, if we just go our own ways...Bye Sam."
A thought crept into Rachel's mind. It was small, almost insignificant. Dean was talking about how he and Sam were so dangerously codependent on each other that one day that love and all those aspects of filial piety would backfire. It would come back just to bite them in the ass and Dean didn't want it to come back and swallow Sam up whole because he just couldn't do that to his little brother. It was a small thought but spoke volumes to Rachel as she buried herself deeper in the microfiber blanket, wiping her rising tears with the soft material until she faded into another bout of sleep.
Dean sat in the chair beside the window, watching the rise and fall of his baby sister's body as she peacefully slept. He couldn't love himself, therefore he thought he couldn't possibly be capable of loving her. She was his blood, his flesh, and his family. He talked a good deal about family to push Sam further away but he still had to keep Rachel at a distance to keep her safe too. She wasn't ready to go out and hunt by herself yet. She was just a kid and he was mother and father to her now - no longer an older brother with a clear job strictly restricted to teasing and being kind and comforting her when she cried. He needed to tell her no pointblank; he needed to tell her that she wasn't ready or that it was too dangerous. An older brother was supposed to make their little sisters feel safe even when danger was apparent. But their current situation didn't permit that. Dean's heart broke as he thought about it. He had to straight out tell her that she was in danger and there was only so much he could do to keep her in one piece.
All he could do was do. He couldn't tell.
He couldn't tell her how much he loved her or how much he wanted to keep her out of heaven's plan or hell's wrath. Dean wanted to wrap her up in a fire proof blanket and keep her tucked away safe and sound.
His eyes fluttered closed to sight of a comforting motel room where his little sister was safe and innocent. And his eyes fluttered open to a rotting motel room where she was nowhere in sight. Dean sprang up out of the groaning chair in surprise, his head poking out of the window to see the streets, the buildings, the entire city destroyed.
"Rachel?" He called out of the window, staring up and down the deserted streets before starting down the nearly leveled motel outside, his voice still calling out one name. "Rachel?"
XXX
Dean couldn't believe his eyes as he stood outside the motel building; gazing at what was now ruins of abandoned buildings, broken and trashed vehicles and probably dead people. He didn't want to think about that. It seemed as though a hurricane had flown through here, or worse.
The distant sound of something like glass smashing made Dean turn towards the source and he cautiously made his way towards it to investigate. He finally crossed an alley and spotted the first sign of life. He felt a little relieved. He saw what looked like a little girl clutching a teddy bear. He slowly started making his way towards her.
"Little girl? Little girl?" Dean called out, frowning when she didn't answer. "Are you hurt?" he asked. Still not receiving an answer, he smiled nervously. "You know the not-talking thing is kind of creepy, right?"
Suddenly the girl looked up at Dean, blood dripping from her mouth. Before Dean could react, she was charging towards him, brandishing a shard of glass. He managed to flatten her and that's when his gaze fell on the graffiti decorating the wall to the side of him.
CROATOAN, it read.
"Oh crap," Dean muttered as he spotted a large number of people round the corner into the alley. With only one look at them, he knew that they were already infected with the deadly virus. He didn't allow himself to give a second thought as he sprinted out of the alley, all the while dodging and jumping over rubble and dirt.
He ended up being blocked by a chain linked fence. He hurriedly climbed over it, retreating into an alley on the other side, gaining cover from the croatoans momentarily before breaking through yet another chain linked fence on the other side of the alley and out of the affected hotspot. He eyed the board attached to fence post which said,
CROATOAN VIRUS
HOT ZONE
NO ENTRY
BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND
AUGUST 1, 2014
KANSAS CITY
Dean frowned as he read and reread the board. "August first, 2014," He was in twenty– fourteen? How the hell did he end up here?
Looking around, he spotted a car and hurriedly walked up, grinned in success as he successfully managed to hot-wire it. Getting in, he started down the littered road driving into the oncoming darkness. Dean grumbled under his breath as he pulled out his phone only to realize that there was no cell service. He resorted to turning on the radio. It only gave off static.
"That's never a good sign." He rolled his eyes and muttered, nearly jumping out of his skin when Zachariah popped up in the seat next to him, holding a newspaper and reading from it.
"Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia."
Glaring at Zachariah, Dean snapped unhappily, "I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap."
Zachariah ignored him as he continued to read from the paper, "'President Palin defends bombing of Houston.' Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports. That's right—no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum, if you ask me."
Dean had had enough of Zachariah's signature beating around the bush act. "How did you find me?"
"Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late—human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out," Zachariah explained indifferently.
Dean groaned. "The Bible freak outside the motel—he, what, dropped a dime on me?"
Zachariah nodded in amusement, pumping his fist in the air. "Onward, Christian soldiers."
"Okay, well, good, great." The hunter threw out sarcastically. " You have had your jollies. Now send me back, you son of a bitch." He would always deny it, but he was terrified. Sam and Rachel, both were nowhere to be seen yet. This was anything but good and he needed to get back. He at least needed to locate them just to know they were safe.
"Oh, you'll get back—all in good time. We want you to marinate a bit,"
Dean looked confused and pissed off as he countered, "Marinate?"
"Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you," Zachariah chanted, looking overly cheerful for a angelic being who was in the middle of a war.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that your choices have consequences. This is what happens to the world if you continue to say 'no' to Michael. Have a little look-see in Chitaqua," Zachariah quipped and, before Dean could say anymore, vanished leaving Dean to his thoughts; thoughts that were anything but hopeful.
Dean soon stood outside Camp Chitaqua. He was careful to dodge the men that were patrolling around the area as he snuck inside the camp, picking the lock on the perimeter fences. Making his way further into the darkness, his eyes caught sight of the Impala, now wrecked, rusted, and beaten to her frames. "Oh, baby, no," he said, shocked, and hurried over to the car, a look of dismay on his face. "Oh, no, baby, what did they do to you?"
A twig snapped close behind him, and Dean barely had time to look before something hard struck him against his head and a white light flashed in his eyes before black invaded his vision.
"Are you dead?"
A faintly familiar voice broke Dean out of his hazy state. He lifted his head slowly, wary of his stiff neck, and squinted against the light that seemed to overpower the small room he was in. "Rachel?" He began to move his arm and briskly sat up when he found his wrist handcuffed to a ladder.
"He speaks!" Her voice cackled in a darker, more indifferent drawl then Dean remembered. "Gotta hand it to you Dean, you didn't age very well."
"Shut up!"
The young woman curled her expressions and made a face at her older brother, rolling her eyes and throwing her AK-47 on the table where he sat cleaning his own gun. Dean stared at the older version of himself from the floor of the cabin before tearing his eyes toward his sister. Her hair was longer and her face was so much colder than he remembered. It was like all the innocence and kindness that once made her so much more beautiful was now sucked from her body.
"What the hell?" He gasped under his breath, watching when his older self stood and approached where he sat with heavy footsteps.
"I should be asking that question, don't you think? In fact, why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?" The line between his eyes were deeper and a shadow seemed to shadow his face as he stuck his finger into Dean's face.
"Because you'd only be hurting yourself," Dean replied, trying to lighten the moment.
His older self feigned a sardonic smile. "Very funny."
Dean held out his free hand cautiously, trying to approach the subject with the right words. "Look, man—I'm no shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?"
"Yeah, I know." He squatted on his ankles, motioning back to Rachel with a quick wave of his hand. "We did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water—nothing. But you know what was funny? Was that you had every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now, you want to explain that? Oh, and the, uh, resemblance, while you're at it?"
Rachel stifled an amused snort from ways behind them, crossing her arms and kicking out one leg, ready for a good answer.
"Zachariah."
"Come again?" Dean's face hardened, his shoulders squared at hearing the angel's name again.
"I'm you from the tail end of 2009." Dean explained, trying to sound as truthful as he could even though he didn't need to try so hard. "Zach plucked me from my bed and threw me five years into the future."
"Where is he? I want to talk to him," demanded his older self.
"I don't know." Dean shrugged. "Look, I just want to get back to my own friggin' year, okay?"
"Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know."
Dean thought for a moment before a wide smirk drew on his lips. "Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kind of liked it."
"Ew," Rachel echoed from where she stood, grimacing at the very thought. She'd rather not have heard that.
"So, what, Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?"
"I guess. Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?" Dean tried adjusting himself with the discomfort of being handcuffed.
"It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that," Dean told his younger self grimly.
"What about Sam?"
His older self went still. "Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it."
Dean's eyes expanded slightly in disbelief. "You weren't with him?"
"No. No, me and Sam, we haven't talked in—hell, five years."
"We never tried to find him?"
"We had other people to worry about." He straightened his dirty coat and stood straight, obviously trying to tell himself that his answer was justifiable and started to gather his weapons into a duffel.
"Where you goin'?" Dean craned his neck to see what he was putting into the duffel.
Looking up, his older version pointedly said, "I got to run an errand."
"You're just gonna leave me here?"
"No, of course not. Rachel'll give you company. I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of The Parent Trap. So, yeah, you stay locked down."
"Okay. All right. Fine. But you don't have to cuff me, man. Oh, come on. You don't trust yourself?"
He stopped at the open door, barely looking back to answer. "No. Absolutely not."
"Dick." Dean growled as the door slammed shut and Rachel walked forward.
"Oh, good, you see it too." She pulled out a paper clip from her pocket and squatted beside him to work on the handcuffs.
"Didn't he - I - Didn't we tell you to guard me?"
Rachel almost laughed in his face at his choice of words. "I don't give a shit what he says. You and I aren't exactly sympathico anymore."
"What happened?"
She shrugged lightheartedly still picking at the lock. "Life. You were too busy always putting Sam first. Both of you treated me like I was baggage keeping you from doing the things you wanted to do. And I tried so hard to be there for you, Dean. Remember that one night at that sleazy motel? That night Sam called you and you shut him down. I tried to help you and you kept pushing me away and treating me like I was a child. And one day I just stopped caring. So, now," Rachel lifted her arms to motion around her. "This is what happened. You don't exactly get better. We barely talk anymore. Which is fine, you weren't exactly brother of the year in the first place."
Before Dean could even begin to make up for his actions, Rachel was halfway out the door. He struggled to catch up to her speed but was stopped short when Chuck approached him, the prophets nose stuck in a clipboard.
"Hey, Dean. You got a second?"
Dean froze. "No—yes. Uh, I—I guess. Hi, Chuck."
"Hi. So, uh, listen, we're pretty good on canned goods for now, but we're down to next to nothing on perishables and—and hygiene supplies. People are not gonna be happy about this." He looked up. "So, what do you think we should do?"
"I—I don't know. Maybe, uh, share? You know, like at a kibbutz."
Rachel walked back from behind a cabin just as Chuck said, "Wait a minute. aren't you supposed to be out on a mission right now?"
"Absolutely." Dean quickly stood at his little sister's side, feeling out of place anywhere else. "And I will be."
"Uh-oh." Chuck shared a look with Rachel at the woman who angrily came up to them, trying to throw a slug at Dean.
"Whoa! Jeez! Easy, lady!" Dean ducked and hid behind his sister, who stood rooted to the ground.
"Oh, hi, Risa," Rachel greeted over-enthusiastically, pretending to be interested in why she was pissed. "What happened today? Did you chip a nail?"
"Shut your whore mouth, Winchester." Risa sneered before turning to attack Dean. "You spent the night in Jane's cabin last night, didn't you?!"
"Uh, what? I—I don't—did I?" He looked at Chuck and his sister who nodded together.
"I thought we had a 'connection'."
Dean managed his best smile. "Well, I'm sure that we do."
Without another word, but just large, frustrated expressions, Risa strutted away. Leaving Rachel grinning ear to ear, and Dean with his mouth hanging open.
"Oh, jeez. I'm getting busted for stuff I haven't even done yet."
"Hey, Risa!" Rachel called out and once Risa turned, hands on hips, she said, "You look lovely! It must have taken you all day! Just remember to keep all that shit off your face before you bang my brother again."
"Since when did you start giving a damn about your brother, huh?" Risa briskly walked back, ready for a fight.
"Since he started sleeping with trash like you." Rachel easily replied, blocking Risa's quick left hook with her forearm and bringing the heel of her palm against the other woman's nose, drawing blood almost immediately. "Oh, no!" She sarcastically drawled. "Better get your pretty nose put back in place before you get blood on that tacky jacket. Chuck'll help you."
Chuck threw her a frightened look, gently instructing Risa to lean her head back before leading her toward a cluster of cabins nearby.
"Why would you do that?" Dean blanched.
"I like 2009 you better, and I hate that bitch. Breaking her nose was on my bucket list anyway." She cracked a smile. "Wanna go see your boyfriend?"
"My what?"
"Cas."
"Is...Cas still here?"
"Yeah!" Rachel motioned her head toward another cabin. "I don't think he's going anywhere."
They walked up the steps of a cabin, Rachel going through the beaded curtain first and gesturing Dean to follow suit. Cas was sitting in a circle with several women hanging to his every word, fawning and grinning.
"So, in this way. We're each a fragment of total perception—just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind. Now, the key to this total, shared perception—it's, um, it's surprisingly physical." Castiel caught Rachel's eye before his concentration turned to Dean. "Oh. Excuse me, ladies. I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy?"
Dean caught his sister's wrist just as she was about to follow the rest of the women, glaring the smug smile off her face.
"Future you wouldn't give a shit." She mentioned.
"Well, I'm not future me yet." He hissed back. "And you're not getting washed up for any orgy...ever! Not while I'm still kicking."
"They're all so beautiful." Cas stood before the two Winchester's, grunting in exhaustion as he stretched his back.
Dean looked him over, noticing the disheveled hair and the bare feet. "What are you, a hippie?"
Cas simply smiled. "I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me."
"Clearly an absence of judgement," The youngest Winchester threw in, leaning on the door frame while her brother squared himself with Castiel.
"Cas, we got to talk."
"Whoa. Strange," Cas said, his eyes widening.
"What?"
With a slight squint, Cas continued. "You...are not you. Not now you, anyway."
"No! Yeah. Yes, exactly!"
"What year are you from?"
"2009."
"Back when he wasn't as big of an asshole." Rachel added in helpfully as she crossed her arms.
"Who did this to you? Was it Zachariah?"
Dean nodded grimly.
"Interesting," the former angel mused.
"Oh, yeah, it's friggin' fascinating," Dean snapped sarcastically. "Now. Why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?"
"I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry, no dice."
"What," Dean judgmentally tilted his head. "are you stoned?
"Uh, generally, yeah." Cas replied.
"We're all generally stoned nowadays, brother dear." Rachel let out a rippling laugh and rubbed his back reassuringly.
"What happened to you?" Dean demanded. "Both of you!?"
Cas looked between the two Winchester's and answered what anyone else would have said,
"Life."