Now
The night was dark, the air cold and foreign on Dean's face and hands as he held the shotgun. Urgency was in the air and in his body. The soles of his boots made tiny sounds on the wet pavement. He could feel the adrenaline coming. Sam was on a parallel alley, covering another angle. He had back-up and the thought gave him a dose of confidence. His footsteps were quick and synchronized with Sam's. The metal was warming in his hands. He had to get to the warehouse in time or all would be lost…
*
Several months earlier
Chuck Shirley, otherwise known as Carver Edlund to his few and fanatic admirers, woke up from another one of his predictive dreams, panting. It had been different this time. God – whoever sent him the dreams – had shown the unwilling prophet two possible futures, a fork in time. Chuck didn't have the strength to tell either Sam or Dean what their endgame looked like but he knew that this was something he needed to help happen or Dean might never be able to right his wrongs. Tripping on his own feet and landing in an ungraceful heap off his couch, Chuck cursed loudly at the pain in his knee, hip and wrist. The linoleum was grimy and dismal under his palm and he instantly hated his pathetic life. What good was being a messenger of God if he still lived in squalor? Eyes sad and disillusioned, he got off the floor and picked his phone off the bottle-and-detritus covered coffee table. He searched through his contacts, pressed the dial button and waited for the person at the other end of the line to pick up.
"Hello?"
"Dean, its Chuck. Chuck Shirley, the –"
"I know who you are, Chuck." Chuck could see the rolling eyes in his mind. "What can I do for you?"
How to say this to the broken, willful man Chuck knew Dean Winchester was?
"You need to go save the girl, Dean."
There was a sigh at other end of the line.
"Saving the girl is what we do best, Chuck."
*
Julia raced down the field, soccer ball kept firmly in the range of her kicks. She could feel the opponent at her heels, a very real threat to the victory that was so close so she stepped up her speed, ignored the burn in her lungs. Dodging a different opponent, she changed course but kept on barreling towards the goalpost, two people breathing down her neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, come on!
Willing her legs to move even faster, she didn't realise when she left the two other girls in her metaphorical dust, aimed for the spot she knew the goalie would have the hardest time defending and gave it her all: she kicked the twirling ball, a blur of black and white flying through the air, narrowly missing the goalie's outstretched fingers and… winning the game for her team. Chest heaving, she smiled perversely at the goalie laid out on the dirt, savoring the cheers of the crowd and the whoops of her teammates, all running towards her down the field. The first game of the season was in the bag. Not a bad start for her last year at uni.
*
Dean's tired sigh had turned into a frown and as he listened to Chuck, Sam noticed how his face got darker, more forbidding, pissed.
"Great. Fucking awesome. So how does this episode end, Chucky Boy?"
A pause.
"You're lying!" he hissed.
Another pause, broken by Dean slamming his fist down on the table.
"If you can't tell me, then I can't save the girl either – so no deal."
"You have to save the girl, Dean. This all ends badly if you don't."
Dean closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in the stiff chair.
"Okay. Shit. Okay. Okay. Bye, Chuck." And his brother snaps the phone shut.
Sam gave it a minute before he pressed Dean for more details.
"Well, where is Chuck sending us?"
Dean opened his eyes. They were storming. They were alive. Sam saw the old Dean sliding back.
"Denton, Texas. And get this: she's a college chick."
Sam grinned, partially because Dean seemed to be finding his spine again, partially because he was well-aware Dean hadn't enjoyed their last experience with college.
"Cool! This will be just like old times!" Sam gushed, more to piss Dean off than anything.
"Shut up Sammy and get packing," Dean ordered.
"Already done," Sam beamed at him.
Dean looked at his through narrowed eyes.
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
"Just get your ass moving already."
*