Now:
Sam placed the flowers beside the old tombstone. It was weather beaten and faded, over a hundred and fifty years of decay marking it's presence on the stone. The name was barely legible, but he knew it was the right one. He'd memorized where it was. He'd been there when it had been placed, so, so long ago, but it felt like yesterday for him. He stood up. He felt the tears well up in his eyes, but didn't let them fall. He rested a hand on the top of the gravestone, running a hand over it gently, then slowly turned away and walked back to the waiting Impala.
Three weeks ago:
Castiel regarded his friend skeptically. "I'm sorry Sam, but I cannot do what you are asking me to do."
"But this is Dean we're talking about, Cas. This might be our only chance at saving him." Sam sat at the table in the library of the bunker, research spread out everywhere, his head in his hands. "I can't come up with another way at the moment. Charlie hasn't sent word from Tuscany. We're getting nowhere."
Cas sat down across from him. "You understand why I cannot help?"
Sam brought his eyes up to meet Castiel's deep blue ones. "Yes. But I figured it was a risk you'd take. Because it's Dean."
Cas shook his head. "Your plan is sound. It's well thought out. But if it works, it changes everything that has occurred in the last century and a half. And you remember what happened when Balthazar unsunk the Titanic?"
Sam nodded miserably. "I do remember." His eyes hardened. "But that was thousands of lives, and this is one. One demon. And the difference is, I don't care. I don't care what happens, so long as going back and helping Cain kill Abbadon then, and saving Colette, keeps Dean alive now. I don't care if when I get back, we're both investment bankers that live in Utah. I don't care if the Croatoan Virus takes over everything. I don't care. I just want my brother back. Without an expiration date, or him being a ticking time bomb. Without eminent doom around every corner."
Cas still shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't interfere with things on that scale. It could cause too much destruction." He looked at Sam sadly. "My job is to protect humanity. All of it. Not just Dean and yourself. Besides, I can't send you back to the past, not in my current state."
"I know. I was hoping you could get one of your angel buddies to do it. Maybe Hannah."
"Hannah went home. She let her vessel go."
Sam sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He was going to have to find another way.
They both turned as they heard a door open from the far reaches of the bunker. Sam looked at Castiel. "You can't breathe a word of this to Dean. Not a work. You hear me?" Cas nodded. "He can't know. He won't let me do it, and it's my only chance of saving my brother."
Castiel gave Sam a forlorn look, but promised to keep mum about the situation.
"Hey guys." Dean walked into the room, eyes bleary with sleep, scratching his head. "What's going on?"
Late that night, long after Dean had gone to sleep, Sam called Crowley.
"Moose." Crowley answered the phone on the second ring, sounding less than overjoyed to hear from the younger Winchester. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Crowley. I need a favor." Sam spit out the words like they hurt to say.
"I'm listening." Crowley's interest was piqued.
"This isn't a "sell my soul" kind of favor. This is a favor that benefits both of us. That's why I figured you might listen."
"I'm all ears, Samantha." Crowley cooed from the other end of the phone. Sam huffed. He really couldn't stand this guy.
"I know you don't want Dean anywhere near the First Blade, and I don't blame you. Neither do I." Sam started, doodling absentmindedly on a scrap of paper. "I have a plan that might get rid of all of this, but I need your help. More importantly, Rowena's help. And I know you have her."
There was silence on the other end of the line. "I may have her. What exactly do you want from her?"
Crowley was being evasive.
"I need a time travel spell."
"A time travel spell? For what, pray tell."
"I'm not getting into specifics with you, Crowley. You need to trust me that, if this works, you won't have to worry about Cas giving the First Blade back to Dean and be constantly looking over your shoulder waiting for a ganking." Sam was trying his damnest to sound hard, but the truth was, he was tired, and worried, and this was his best shot. If anyone could get him to 1863, it was Rowena. "So can Rowena do it?"
"Of course she can do it." Crowley scoffed. "I'm fairly certain that bitch can do almost anything." He paused for so long, Sam thought he'd lost the connection. "So this plan of yours... I'm to understand it will somehow erase the Mark from your brother?"
"Yes."
"By going back to 1863?"
"Yes."
"You do realize I can probably do the math and figure this all out, right?"
"Sure, Crowley, but it saves me the time of having to explain it. So can you bring me the spell and the components? It's a fair trade. If it works, you don't have to worry about my brother going homicidal maniac on you." Sam waited for a reply.
"Anymore than he already does." Crowley retorted. "But I can handle normal Dean. So, yes. I'll play ball. I'll have everything for you by midnight tomorrow. I'll meet you under the twelfth street bridge. Come alone."
"You come alone, too."
"Samantha." Crowley chuckled. "You act like you don't trust me."
The twelfth street bridge was pitch dark at midnight. As Sam drove up, he could see a car already there. A short, stout man in a black overcoat stood at the back of the car, hands in pockets, waiting for him. Sam surveyed the area. There really wasn't anywhere for anyone to hide. It appeared Crowley had actually come alone.
He extracted his tall frame from the car, and approached the King of Hell. Crowley's face broke into a broad smile. Sam frowned. He hated when Crowley pretended they were friends. Crowley and Dean had a weird passive aggressive, love/hate relationship. Sam and Crowley, theirs was basically hate/hate. He just plain didn't like the guy. Plus, he didn't appreciate being called Samantha.
"Moose." Crowley started. "She gave me the spell. Some of the ingredients were hard to find, so this had better work. Oh, and it won't bring you back. So... I'm hoping you have an alternative plan for that." He thrust a bag into Sam's hands. "I did a little digging. Abbadon killed Cain's lady love in 1863. I'm assuming you're going back to help Cain kill Abbadon so the Mark never has to get transferred to your precious Dean."
Sam looked down at Crowley coolly. "And you don't have a problem with this?"
"Why would I have a problem with Abbadon being taken care of before she becomes a thorn in my side?"
"The whole "possibly changing the course of history" thing doesn't bother you?" Sam raised his brows, surprised.
Crowley brushed it off. "I'll climb my way to the top of Hell one way or another. And if this changes the course of humanity, what difference does that make to me?" Sam thought about this. Crowley did have a point. He really didn't give a shit about humans, just their souls. "It's reckless and stupid on your part. But that's what you Winchesters do. Reckless and stupid things for each other. Thank God I never had a brother- I'd hate to think of the sniveling ninny I could have become."
"Yeah, well, thanks for the help." Sam raised the bag Crowley had given him. "How do I know this will actually work and won't just blow us all up or something?"
"You don't." Crowley shrugged. "But if I blow up the bunker, Dean goes demon again, and then I'm royally screwed. Since self preservation is kind of my thing, I obviously wouldn't do that." He turned on his heel and approached the drivers side door to his car. Sam wasn't sure why Crowley was even driving; he could just zap himself wherever he wanted to go. As he went to get in, he turned. "Moose... good luck." Noting the surprised look on Sam's face, Crowley got into his car and sped off into the night.
Sam got back into the Impala that he'd sneakily stolen from Dean, and drove back to the bunker.
Once there, he went into the dungeon, and unpacked the assortment of things in the bag Crowley had given him. There were a lot of different herbs, a few jars containing vile looking things he really didn't want to think about, and a lengthy spell written in Latin. A large bowl with complex symbols carved into the inside was also in the mix.
Sam spread everything out and got it ready. He studied the spell until he had it memorized. Then he got up. He left a note taped to the refrigerator.
Dean,
I've gone back in time to fix Cain's mistake and make sure Abbadon gets taken out in 1863. I don't know what will happen, but if it works, the Mark will be gone. If I'm successful, I'll write a letter and tell you when to have one of Cas's friends come pick me up. If it doesn't work, I'll write, too. If I die, well, you'll read about it in a history book somewhere I guess.
I know you'll be mad, but try to stay calm. We're making no progress. This is the only way I can think of to save you, and I knew you wouldn't agree, so I had to go it alone. You're my brother, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do to save you. Cas refused to help, so don't be upset at him. Hold yourself together until I get back.
-Sam
Then he went into the storage room and dug through some boxes. He finally found what he was looking for. That stupid black cowboy hat from the last time-travel adventure he'd been on. The rest of his clothes would have to do; he didn't really care. He packed a bag with an extra change of clothes, some weapons, threw in an old Polaroid photograph of himself and Dean smiling, standing in front of some classic car at a show in Vegas, and returned to the Dungeon.
He diligently went about adding ingredients to the bowl, mixing and adding as blue smoke began to pour out. It smelled pungent and thick. The last ingredient was his own blood. He sliced his arm and dripped blood into the bowl, and began reciting the spell. Suddenly the room flashed white, and he was out.
1863, near Jasper Spring, Mississippi
Sam awoke in the middle of a field, his bag beside him. The hot sun beat down on him. He looked down at his wristwatch. It had stopped working. He quickly took it off and stowed it in his knapsack. He looked around. There was nothing for miles. He thought he could faintly make out some smoke, way off in the distance to the west.
"Great start, Sam." He picked himself off, dusting the dirt from his jeans and the back of his flannel shirt, and swung his pack up on his shoulder. "Where the hell am I?" He sighed, and began the long walk west, towards the smoke.
Sam had been walking for a few hours, the sun beating down on his back, when he finally came up on a stream. He'd already removed his flannel, now he pulled off his undershirt and, stripped to the waist, knelt beside the clear running water. He splashed the cool liquid over his face and arms, trying to stave off the relentless heat. The snapping sound of a stick breaking behind him startled him. He reached for his knife and turned.
Three people stood on the edge of a small copse of trees, with three horses. Two men and a tall woman, who he noted was also dressed like a man, her hair tucked up under her hat. They all had guns at their hips. He noticed her eyes flicker quickly to the anti-possession tattoo on his chest, then just as quickly move away.
"Who are you?" The woman asked him harshly. She took a few steps towards him.
He stuck his knife back in his belt, but kept it easily accessible. He wasn't sure if these people were bandits, demons, or law abiding citizens out for an afternoon ride. "Um, my name's Sam." He said. He hastily put his shirts back on. "Sorry about the... nudity."
The woman shrugged. "It gets hot out here. I don't blame you." She passed him, knelt by the stream, and filled up her canteen. When she got back up, she extended her hand. "I'm Chastity. Those two over there are Thomas and Michael." The two men nodded, and Michael tipped his hat. "Are you lost, Sam?"
Sam nodded. "I'm looking for Jasper Spring." He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked west. "I'm... not from around here. I saw smoke in that direction and headed that way."
"You don't have a horse?"
"No."
Chastity looked at him for a while,sizing him up.
"It's a long story." Sam finally told her by way of explanation. She nodded. Her eyes kept fluttering back to his chest, where his tattoo was now covered.
"Well, you're headed in the right direction. That is Jasper Spring." She headed back toward the horses and the two men. "You should come with us. It'll be dark soon and... there's things in these parts. You shouldn't be out alone after dark."
Sam wasn't entirely sure going with them was a smart move, but being alone in unknown territory was probably an even less intelligent decision.
"Come on. You can ride with me. My horse can handle it back to town." She beckoned for him to climb up behind her.
Great, Sam thought. I'm back in time for three hours and I'm riding bitch on a horse. It's a good thing Dean isn't here to see this. He approached cautiously, and climbed clumsily up behind her. He wasn't exactly sure where to put his hands. And he wasn't at all fond of horses.
"Around my waist, handsome." She seemed to sense his unease. He gingerly placed his hands on her hips. She shot him a smile over her shoulder. "That's not so hard, is it?" The horses broke into a brisk trot. Soon Thomas and Michael had gone a little ways ahead. Chastity slowed her horse down a little bit.
"Sam, how did you get out here with no horse?"
"Um... actually, it, well, it died. A few miles back." Sam lied. He nodded. "Heat exhaustion, I think."
Chastity nodded, though it didn't seem like she believed him. She coaxed her horse to catch up with her friends. "We're going on a slight detour before we get to town. We just have to stop at a house and do some business."
Half an hour later they approached a small farmhouse in the middle of what used to be a clearing, but was now overgrown with weeds and brambles. The three companions got off of the horses. Sam moved to go with them, but Chastity stopped him. "Stay here and keep an eye on the horses, please?" It was a request, not a question. "Keep them quiet." He nodded, even though he had no idea how to keep a horse quiet. He was getting a weird feeling about this. His feelings were confirmed when the three all pulled machetes out of their saddle bags and made their way up to the house, keeping out of sight of the windows. He noticed that the windows of the house were blacked out. Putting two and two together, Sam gaped. Had he really been in 1863 such a short amount of time and just happened to run into a group of hunters? He was pretty sure they were going in to clear out a vampire den. Either that, or they were old timey serial killers. He was hoping for the former.
Once they were inside the house, he pulled his own machete from his bag, and followed them. He approached the home silently, and peeked in the door. The house was full of vamps, at least six. He watched as each hunter took a head off of a sleeping vampire, but then the other three woke up and all hell broke loose. Michael was thrown out a window, Thomas was tossed into a wall, and Chastity was grabbed from behind by a large man in overalls. Thomas tried to get up, but it appeared his arm was broken, and one of the vampires hit him hard across the face. Sam had to do something.
Kicking down the back door, he leapt at the vamp that Chastity was struggling with, and hacked it's arm off, prompting it to let her go. She turned and decapitated it. Sam then punched the one going after Thomas in the side of the head and sliced it's head off. He gave Thomas a hand up as he saw Chastity leap out the broken window after the last vamp, who was going after Michael. Thomas and Sam both ran outside. They found a headless vampire, and Chastity crouching over the broken, lifeless body of Michael. She turned as they approached.
"You're hunters." Sam said, taking in the scene.
Chastity wiped a tear from her eye, and stood up. "Yes, we are." She nodded at him. "And it appears you are, too."