Set in Endverse after Past Dean leaves. Chuck has begun to have visions of how events have occurred in the canon universe of Supernatural.
This story can be seen as somewhat like a Read the Books story because excerpts from throughout seasons 5 to 10 (and maybe even 11) will be read by the characters and commented upon. Because of this, there are spoilers for the whole series up to the present here. Especially in this chapter, if you have not watched the season 10 finale, I'd suggest not reading this story just yet.
If someone would like to review a scene they want the endverse characters to read about, I'd be happy to put it in. Just know that I'm not doing full episodes and I'm not going to focus too much on season 5 (for plot reasons).
Just know that the story will involve much more than the reading, and may even involve a few surprise meetings later.
This is a work in progress and updates are likely to be irregular. I hope you all enjoy and feedback is definitely appreciated.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Supernatural
BANG!
The shot reverberated through Dean's head as he exited the van. He could still feel his finger on the trigger. He'd felt no hesitation. He was long past that. It had only been for maybe a millisecond, but it had felt like he was on the precipice of a new day. A better one. The end of, well, the end. What a fucking joke.
Dean's neck ached as he headed towards his cabin. He felt the presence of curious eyes burning into his back, but his own eyes stared stonily ahead. What he wanted more than anything was to just pass out for a couple of weeks. Or years. Let someone else deal with the crap hole they called a planet for once. He was tired, but he'd be lucky if he got maybe four hours before he had to figure out the impossible, mind numbing question of where they went from here.
It looked like even when all hope had been stomped over like road kill, Dean would never catch a break.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw as Cas ghosted into his own cabin, shoulders slumped and likely off to shoot up with some more crap. Dean honestly had no idea how he had survived. How either of them survived, really. He'd felt the pressure of Lucifer's foot on his neck. Something had snapped. He'd died and he'd sent Cas off to his own death. Yet somehow, here they were. Everyone else was dead.
He wasn't sure if it even mattered anymore.
"Dean!" Came a familiar, if stressed, voice.
Dean suppressed a groan, "Not now, Chuck."
The prophet was panting heavily, as if he'd run across the whole camp just to find him. His dark hair was ruffled and messy. Below his eyes were dark, tired circles. Those eyes were now staring at Dean with an intensity that the hunter hadn't been sure Chuck was capable of.
"I need to show you something," he said, his eyes glinting manically.
Dean didn't care what Chuck's problem was. It could wait a few hours. Continuing his brisk pace back to his cabin, Dean called over his shoulder to the prophet who was no doubt struggling to keep up.
"I really can't do this right now, man." Even Dean was surprised by how defeated he sounded.
Still, Chuck's response came at rapid fire, "I'm sorry Dean, but this can't wait."
Reluctantly, Dean turned to face the shorter man. "Fine. What is it?"
"Come with me."
SPN SPN SPN
Chuck's cabin was a mess. Where he was usually organized and practical when planning for supply runs and keeping general order in camp, his living space clearly didn't show it. It was surprising, considering the very small amount of personal possessions that those of Camp Chitaqua often kept. The meager bed sheets and pillows that Chuck had allotted himself were sprawled about haphazardly. Stacks of paper littered the floor, some of it appeared to be lists and records that Chuck had kept over the years. Others looked like old manuscripts from the Supernatural books.
"Okay," came Dean in a hard tone, "What is it? What did you wanna show me?"
Chuck fiddled through his stacks of paper, looking jittery. After a minute, he pulled a thin pile from the mess and handed it to Dean. Chuck gave the hunter an encouraging look, glancing at the sheets in expectation.
Dean just raised his eyebrows. "Do I have to read the whole thing?"
The prophet shook his head, "Just flip to a random page. I'm sure you'll get the idea."
Sighing, Dean flipped the manuscript open to the last page. Eyes darting down to Chuck's messy scrawl, he began to read.
Sam stepped out of the bar, followed closely by Dean. He looked up to the sky as if in prayer and a relieved sigh came from the younger Winchester, telling a tale of bone-deep exhaustion. It was finally over.
"This is good, Dean. This is good," said Sam, glancing over at his brother. "The mark is off your arm. Nothing crazy happened."
Things were finally going their way for once. Of course things weren't perfect. Death was dead and Sam knew that whatever that meant, it couldn't be good. Still, they were Winchesters. They could handle whatever came next. Together.
Feeling around, Sam pulled out the keys that had been burning a hole in his pocket for hours. "You get your baby back," Sam said reassuringly as he handed the jingling things back to his brother.
Dean accepted them, still looking tense, his eyes on the ground. "Yeah," the blonde answered, looking up, "I'm sure everything's perfectly fine." There was that look in his eyes. Like he was just waiting for shit to hit the fan again, but was just too tired to care. Sam couldn't blame him. They'd both been through hell this past year. Thankfully, that was figurative this time, but Charlie's death and Dean's time with the mark would surely haunt them both.
The pair headed away from the empty bar and Sam placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. He knew it wouldn't help much, but he hoped that he could at least offer some form of comfort.
Abruptly, a harsh boom disrupted the quiet scene. Startled, Sam tensed, his hand jerking away from his brother. The noise lapsed into a strange crackling and the two quickly looked up in search of the source.
"What the-" Sam gasped as red light streaked across the previously clear sky. With a crash, the first streak of lightning struck down. More followed, swift and random, as strangled thunder echoed around the field. The brothers just stood, dumbfounded, as the onslaught raged on.
And then finally, it was over. Everything was silent.
It didn't take Sam long to put the pieces together. "What did Death call this?" He asked nervously, hoping to anything that would listen that he was wrong.
Dean offered no such relief. "The Darkness," he said forebodingly.
And as if things weren't bad enough as it was, the ground began to shake. Sam and Dean looked down just as black smoke burst from the ground beside them. The two looked on in horror as other chains of smoke began to erupt, soaring over their heads and assembling at a further point in the field in a thick black mass.
Sam gaped. What the fuck!
"Get in the car," came Dean's panicked voice, "Lets go! Let's go!"
They simultaneously rushed towards the Impala, slamming the doors shut as fast as they could. Sam saw as Dean slid the key into the ignition, feeling cold. His brother backed up, but they were soon brought to a screeching halt. The car groaned as Dean slammed on the gas, and Sam felt as his brother opened the car door in order to take a look at the problem. It was too late, Sam knew. They'd landed themselves in a freaking pothole, and now this "Darkness" was going to kill them.
Sam stared straight ahead, watching the black mass role towards them like a tidal wave.
"Dean," Sam uttered, clutching Dean's shoulder.
The Darkness consumed everything in its path. His brother slammed the car door shut as the wind howled around them. Sam clutched at the impala as they both stared in apprehension at the oncoming force.
It was almost upon them. Sam's eyes widened. "Dean!" he shouted.
The smokey mass enveloped the car.
Everything went black.
Dean looked up from the manuscript, chest tight. "What the hell is this?" He let out, teeth clenched.
Chuck just nodded giddily, "I know!"
Dean sighed, "No, I mean seriously man. What the fuck? You're writing fan fiction now? I mean I know it's the apocalypse, but really? I didn't think you'd stoop that low."
"Wait, what?" Chuck stuttered. Quickly though, the prophet's eyes widened in realization. "Oh! No, no, Dean. It's all real."
Dean snorted. "Really, huh? Because I think I would notice if I was suddenly 'enveloped by darkness' or whatever. Besides, Sam is the Devil right now. It's kind of a problem we've been dealing with for the past couple of years. I'm not sure if you remember."
Dean might have been getting a bit too worked up about the stupid story, but Chuck should cut him some slack. He'd just failed in their only chance at icing the devil. Had waisted five years on a pointless mission. Hell, odds were that he'd recently died and been brought back again. He didn't need more crap to deal with.
"Are you done?" Chuck asked with raised eyebrows, uncharacteristically snappy.
"Are you?" Dean bit back, shoving the manuscript still clenched in his hands back at the prophet.
The shorter man just stared at him, waiting.
Dean had to give the guy some credit. Most people rarely bothered to pick fights with him anymore. Maybe they respected him. Maybe they were just so done with it all that they barely cared anymore. Cas made an effort sometimes. He questioned some of Dean's more outlandish plans, but for the most part he just went with whatever ideas Dean settled upon. Risa was an exception, Dean guessed. She never hesitated to challenge him. And now she was gone like all the others.
Dean gave in. Might as well get this over with.
"Go on," he prodded unenthusiastically.
Chuck shuffled his feet nervously, reticent all of a sudden.
"Chuck," Dean growled, irritated.
"I've been having dreams again," came Chuck's rushed response.
Dean blinked, "What? You mean like...psychic dreams? Like the kind you had when you were writing about my life?"
Chuck nodded furiously, "Exactly!"
Having overcome his initial shock at the admission, Dean glanced over the prophet skeptically. "So you're saying that what I just read is my future?"
Chuck's words stumbled a bit, "Well...no. I think it's the other Dean's actually."
"The other Dean's?" Dean repeated quizzically.
"Yes," Chuck confirmed, "Past Dean from 2009."
Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Look, Chuck," he said slowly, trying his best to remain calm in the outset of a raging headache, "I can see you must be...pretty enthusiastic about this, uh, theory of yours, but you do know that Dean from 2009 will eventually become me, right? 2014 me. Are you sure you're not just having, you know, actual dreams?"
"That's what I thought at first too, but they were just so vivid," replied a once more jittery Chuck, "and they felt exactly like the visions from before. I know that-"
"Wait, at first?" Dean cut in.
"Oh," answered Chuck, looking sheepish, "Yeah, they starting happening a day or two before Past Dean showed up."
Dean huffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "And you didn't think sharing with the class would be a good idea?"
Chuck rolled his eyes, "Like I said, I didn't believe in the dreams at first either. Besides, we had a lead on the Colt! It didn't seem like a good time."
"Yeah, well look how good that turned out," came Dean bitterly.
They both went silent, the weight of the losses the day had brought still sinking in.
Chuck cleared his throat, "So I think he changed something."
Dean's own throat felt raw, "What?"
"I think that maybe Past Dean saw something here in our time and ended up changing his future."
Dean raised his eyebrows, "Wouldn't that mean that all of us shouldn't exist anymore? Besides, you haven't had any prophet-dreams in years. Why would that change now?"
Chuck nodded emphatically, "No idea, but it's exactly the sort of thing we should probably ask Cas."
Chuck and Dean had been standing in the middle of the cabin for nearly 15 minutes, arguing over a stupid manuscript. They had accomplished nothing. Dean felt like pulling his hair out. "So why didn't you just ask him first before coming to me with this?" asked Dean severely, "We have more questions than answers."
Chuck hesitated, "You're better at dealing with him when he's like this."
"Like what?" Dean demanded. He already knew the answer though. Him and Cas were the lone survivors of their mission, and while Dean was shaken by what had happened, he knew that Cas must have been infinitely worse. Probably getting killed by the Devil? Well it wasn't like Dean hadn't died before. Cas had watched as his most skilled colleagues were taken down around him. A part of Dean thought it might've even been better if he'd been killed by the Croats as well. At least then there would be less misplaced guilt on Cas' part. Dean knew very well where that guilt should really lie.
So they both knew the real answer.
"High off his ass," Chuck said instead.