Oh my god, Season Nine. No spoilers, but it is painful to watch. I keep having to go back to previous seasons and de-stress myself. The Ghostfacers episodes are good for a laugh. So are "Tall Tales" and "The French Mistake". And the S2 finale is surprisingly relaxing, which is funny because it made me want to cry the first time I watched it. I swear though, this show is gonna kill me.
Oh, the gag reels are good to. If you haven't seen those, I'd recommend you take a look. They are HYSTERICAL.
Yeah, so. Another chapter. Guys, I'm going to have to ask you to start reviewing. To those of you who have reviewed, thank you so much. The rest of you...please? Feedback? I'll give you pie...
I must get at least two reviews before the next chapter is posted. I hate it when authors do that, I really do. But I think you can manage TWO. Seriously. I really really REALLY love them. They make me feel like a movie star.
Me: S-
Sam: Bianca Valdez does not own Supernatural or any of the associated character.
Me: Whoa, that was quick.
Sam: Figured I'd get it over with.
Then
The Winchesters stared at him with undisguised horror as the room began to fill with a blindingly white light. "What did you do?!" shouted Sam.
Crowley flashed a grin. "Have fun with this one, boys!"
"You have an angel on speed dial?"
There in the middle of the room, in all his trench-coated glory, was Castiel. "Sam," he said. "But not…this time's Sam. Tell me what happened."
Sam stumbled out the door to Dean's parting shot of, "If we find out you hurt Sammy, we'll hunt you down and kill you then!"
The demon's black eyes stared at him hatefully as it slowly squeezed the life from him. Just when Sam was beginning to realize that there really was no way out this time, a familiar voice finished the incantation.
"Boy, you look like you've been run over by a steam roller. What happened to you?"
"Demons, Bobby," said Sam with a weak chuckle, eyes closed. "Demons happened."
Now
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Bobby Singer stared down at the half-dead young man who lay on the floor before him. The kid opened his eyes slightly and peered up at him, his mouth forming a perfect 'o'.
"I…uh…" he tried to get to his feet, but stumbled, and Bobby caught him. Eyes narrowing, he noticed a dark red stain spreading across the boy's side, as well as the bruises forming on his jaw, around his eyes, and in stripes around his neck. His right arm seemed to be dislocated as well, and overall the kid looked like he'd been in a meat grinder.
"Take it easy, son," said Bobby, catching him before he could fall. "What were you doing takin' on a demon all on yer own? And how come you know me, when I'm pretty damn sure I've never seen you before?"
The young man laughed, then winced as if it had hurt him. Broken rib, maybe? Bruised, in any case. "It's kind of a long story," he said weakly.
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet. Let's get you out of here first, shall we? Make sure know more demons show up. And I think you need some medical attention."
"Yeah..." said the man, trailing off as his head lolled back. Bobby rolled his eyes and hoisted him over his shoulder.
"I'm gettin' too old for this," he grumbled as he headed for his truck.
"So…you're an angel. An actual angel."
Cas nodded seriously. "Yes. My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the lord."
"And…do all angels looks like office workers?"
Dean sat on the couch, amusedly watching this intercourse between his brother and his angel. Sammy seemed awed by Cas, and Cas seemed intrigued by Sam's inquisitiveness. Rolling his eyes, he stood to interrupt them.
"All right, enough chit-chat," he said, popping the lid off a beer bottle and taking a swig. "Cas, can you reverse the spell?"
"No," said Cas. "This spell is irreversible except by the original caster. I'm afraid that unless you can convince Crowley to undo it, we are stuck with this Sam."
Dean sighed and took another drink. "Dammit. Fine. Can you take us back?"
Cas seemed surprised. "Take you back to this Sam's time? Both of you?"
Sam raised a hand. "Wait a second. You can time travel?"
"Yes, he can. That's beside the point. Cas, can you take us back?"
The angel squirmed. "Yes…" he said reluctantly. "But it would be difficult. And I would be weakened."
"Right, like the time we followed Anna," said Dean, remembering that disastrous event. "Ok, well, we survived, didn't we?"
Cas stood and adjusted his trench coat. "Perhaps it would be simpler for me to bring only Sam," he began, but Dean shook his head adamantly.
"No. I'm going with you. If something goes wrong, I need to be there."
"Uh…is something likely to go wrong?" interjected Sam. "And how bad is 'wrong'?"
Dean ignored him studiously. "You said it yourself it would drain your batteries. If you get there and you're all out of juice, who's gonna protect Sammy?"
"I'm not completely useless you know!"
Cas sighed. "Fine. I can take you back. It may be a while before we find him though. He could be anywhere in the past. Sam," he said, turning to the boy, who looked relieved to finally be included. "What was the exact date you were taken from?"
"Um…" said Sam, brow furrowing. "February 17, 1993. Afternoonish, I think. Do you need, like, the exact time? Because I have no idea…"
Cas shook his head. "No. The correct date is adequate. Here, take my hand."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Dean. "Wait a second. Not right now."
"Why not?" asked Cas, confused. "Dean, we must reach Sam as soon as possible, before the past is altered any more than is repairable."
Dean crossed his arms. "We need to pack, for starters. I'm not heading back there without being prepared for everything. And I'm sure Sammy here is tired. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow? Rest up?" he shot his brother a meaningful look, as was met with an indignant expression.
"I'm fine!" said Sam, getting to his feet stubbornly. "I wanna go home, now!"
Dean grinned. "Atta boy," he said. "Still need to grab some stuff though."
"Yeah, okay," Sam shrugged. "What are we bringing?"
His everything hurt.
Sam blearily blinked his eyes open, wincing as the light momentarily blinded him. Groaning, he sat up and looked about him.
Metal walls. Mildly inappropriate posters of women. Books. Guns. Fan above him. Devil's Trap on the floor. He was currently sitting on a rickety metal bed on the round wall.
Bobby's panic room.
His Bobby, or past Bobby?
This question was soon answered as the door creaked open, and the man himself walked in. "Oh," he said in his unique accent. "Yer awake."
The hair slightly browner, the lines on his face slightly fewer, the clothes he wore slightly cleaner. Past Bobby.
"Uh…hey," said Sam, massaging his forehead. "I…how did I get here?"
Bobby rolled his eyes and grabbed a glass of water from the nearby table. "I brought ya here, ya idjit," he said, handing Sam the drink.
Sam took a deep swig, the liquid immediately relieving the dryness of his throat. It was oddly stale, though, and from that and the look that Bobby was giving him, he knew it was holy water.
"I'm not a demon," he said, raising the glass meaningfully.
"Well, can't hurt to check," said Bobby, taking the glass back and refilling it with fresh, cold water. "You got a name?"
"Uh, yeah," said Sam, blinking away the lights that still swam before his eyes. "I'm S—Ash."
"Don't you lie to me, boy," threatened Bobby. "What's it actually?"
Sam sighed, a small smile playing on his face. "Sam," he said. There were a lot of Sams. Couldn't hurt, right?
"Huh. That's weird. I know a Sam who looks a bit like you. Same eyes, if ya know what I mean."
"Oh yeah?"
Bobby nodded. "Younger, though. Boy's barely ten years old, and already hunting."
Sam didn't know what to say to that. "Sounds dangerous," he finally came up with.
Bobby laughed dryly. "You betcha. Apparently his dad's gone and lost him, too. Idjit called in a panic last night. That's why I was out there to save yer neck."
"About that," said Sam. "Thanks."
"Is' no problem."
"No, really," Sam insisted. "Thank you. If you hadn't shown up, I don't know if I'd have gotten out of there. I've had a rough couple of days."
"Boy, why were you out there by yerself?" Bobby said, turning on him. "When I came in, there was more than just one demon there. How many'd you exorcise?"
"Uh…five? Six?"
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Why'd ya have so many on you?"
"It's…" Sam laughed. "It's a long story. I guess they just really don't like me."
"Hm," said Bobby suspiciously. "Sam, lemme tell you how this is gonna work. Yer gonna tell me who exactly you are, and why you've got a hoard of demons on yer tail. Then, if I like the answer, we'll go get something into that stomach of yours. If I don't like the answer, then I'll shoot ya. Got it?"
Sam swallowed. "No, really, it's a long, long story."
"I got time."
"You won't believe it."
"Try me."
