X.

Salem Spell

Time is making fools of us again. ~J.K. Rowling

"Okay, got the ingredients—mirror shards, holly cut from the plant at midnight, and blood of the caster spilled by an angel blade, all set on fire to a chant. Got the script for it, guys?"

"Yeah Sam, we got it. Let's do this."

It was about three hours after they'd eaten. Sam lit the contents of his bowl on fire, and he passed the lighter off to Dean and Adam to do the same. All three started chanting off the manuscript that Castiel and Adam had translated together.

As soon as the chant was over, the room fell away, and they were in a circular room with three glass walls dividing it in thirds, separating them. Dean glanced at his brothers.

"Well, we've got the mirror. You sure this was what you thought it was, Adam?"

"Who the hell are you and what is going on?" asked a voice from behind Dean. He whipped around.

A kid had a gun pointed at him. Had to be fourteen, fifteen. But another guy had a gun too—couldn't have been more than twenty-five, probably not even. He guessed this was the version of him that had just gone back to Sammy at college. The third one was glancing around, too, but hadn't drawn his weapon yet. Dean wasn't sure, but maybe this one had just seen the Croatoan-wrecked world, because he didn't seem too fazed at seeing his likeness standing by him. The last one was a given, and he had prepared for it with a floor mat that had a devil's trap painted on the underside.

Sam didn't turn around quite yet at the command of "Hands where I can see them!" He simply told Dean, who'd turned to his new versions, and Adam, who hadn't, to do their respective things and they could all talk when they were done getting death threats.

Sam turned finally, hands empty and up, once the voice had urged again.

Well. A kid, a college boy, and two he wasn't positive about. He examined the two older versions closely—one definitely stood differently. Predatory. While the other was clearly the opposite—jumpy, glancing around. So—soulless him, and probably a version of him that was hallucinating about the Devil.

"Calm down, all of you, if you can help it," he sighed.

"Care to explain what's going on?" asked the soulless one. He sighed.

"Well. You're all from different points in my past—I'm from the future? Anyway. We have to do this ancient angel spell to stop an evil thing from taking over the world. Again. Basically."

"Is it—was the Cage opened?" asked the nervous one, wide-eyed. Sam shook his head.

"Lucifer's dead; Michael and Raphael too."

"Whoa, whoa, Lucifer, Michael? Those are archangels," said college-him. Sam shrugged.

"And I've been way too close and personal with all of the above and then some from the Heavenly Host. They're not all exactly as great as you might think."

"You can say that again," said the nervous one, glancing to the left.

"He's not real, and I know he will tell you that I'm not either, because that's his thing, but can you roll with it for, like, a few hours, and tell yourself he's not the real one?"

"What's going on? Who?" asked kid-him, still holding a knife up in defense.

"Okay, so let me guess. You're—ten?" The youngest one frowned.

"I'll be eleven in two months." Sam chuckled.

"Right. You—Stanford still? Dad hasn't gone missing yet for Dean to pick you up?" The student frowned.

"Is that why you're messing with angels and spells again?" Sam shrugged.

"Angels and demons have been pulling the strings on us since before we were born . . . though that didn't really stop us from doing what we do. Dean brings us back Monday morning, but . . . never mind."

"Jess burns on the ceiling so we go for revenge," finished the soulless one. College Sam stared in shock. Sam frowned.

"You're gonna have to shut up, got it? He didn't need to hear that." The soulless one shrugged.

"What's wrong with him?" asked kid him, glancing at the nervous one.

"What's he doing now?" Sam asked calmly, putting a hand on the shoulder of his most recent counterpart.

"Going through the DSM debating whether or not one of us has the disorders." Sam nodded.

"He did that in the mental ward. But they were all diseases we remembered from Psych 102 freshman year, right?" That somehow reassured the twitchy version of himself.

"Okay, can I get an explanation here? A real one?" asked the college student, crossing his arms.

Adam knew he wouldn't be having as much trouble as Sam or Dean, but he would have a lot more confusion on his plate. He was right.

The kid that had never met a member of his family except for his mom—a little eight-year-old. He was crying already, and Adam moved to shush the kid.

"Hey, it's all right, sh, it's okay."

"What the hell is going on?" demanded the most recent version—the one that had just been resurrected and met Sam and Dean. "Where's Michael, or Zachariah? What happened?"

"Give me a minute," Adam sighed. "This spell that I had to cast—hi everyone. I brought you here, God knows why. Hehe . . . Look, I know I sound crazy to seventy-five percent of you, but I'm you from the future, and I cast an angelic spell to meet up with you because it's on a to-do list from God. That's the short version." Him from high school snorted. Adam frowned—he'd been a bully to a guy who'd been his best friend in college, his roommate—he'd been an asshole. Well, more of an asshole.

"Your first kiss was Millie Crane in the seventh grade and she tasted like those sour candies you like," he said, shrugging. He knew he wouldn't have to do much to prove himself to the kid that didn't know better, but the older versions raised their eyebrows.

"Never told anyone about the taste," said the version that was likely him in college.

"Yeah, well, that only means one thing, huh? I'm from the farthest in the future. You're only a couple years back, I think," he mused, looking at the most recent one, "But I've been out of commission too long to be completely sure. You're almost a year before him, right before I kicked the bucket the first time, you're rooming with Mark, you hate Mark's guts for no particular reason, and you," he finished, looking the kid dead in the eye, "Are going to have two big brothers around when you're older, and they're going to be awesome."

Dean caught the last sentence Adam said and smiled to himself.

"Care to explain all that?" asked the second youngest one. Dean shrugged.

"What they said—we're following a heavenly to-do list, and this spell is number three. Gotta take down the next big bad somehow."

"Next? This isn't Zachariah's thing again, is it?" glared the third.

"Nah, Zach's dead," said the demon, not turning his eyes black yet. "And judging by the fact that this guy's not all that antsy, I'd say he's your—our future self. And that's Sammy. And that's Adam."

"Who's Adam?" the youngest two asked, not lowering their guns.

"Half-brother that Dad failed to mention. Good kid. Sammy's brains apparently are a genetic thing, since he was pre-med, and he has no appreciation of good music, a bit of a pain sometimes but that's what little brothers are for. And before you try anything, you son of a bitch," Dean growled and threw down the mat, wrestling his demon self onto it.

"Damn, what was that for?" his apocalyptic counterpart asked.

"Your worst nightmare come to life," chuckled the demon, still not revealing his status. Dean was very glad that the First Blade wasn't in his hand.

"Not the crap of, my worst fear is myself again?" the third one rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

"Funny thing. Cause I'm not lying, and this is much more real than that little dream." His eyes turned black. The youngest Dean aimed his gun at the demon, and the second aimed his at the oldest.

"Whoa, whoa, easy, fellas."

"Why's he possessed? Don't you have the tattoo still?" asked the third.

"I do. Problem is, he ain't possessed," Dean grunted, sighing.

"The genuine article," the demon grinned, shrugging, "Y'see, Sammy and I avoided the apocalypse. But other things fell apart and, well, here I am, just like you dreamed!" he said in a sing-song voice.

"In my nightmares, you mean," scoffed the third one back.

"Don't worry. Sammy cures us and we get back to what we do best," Dean interrupted, "But he's most definitely us, and most definitely a demon, so leave him be for now, the asshole that he is."

"Apocalypse averted, then?" asked the apocalyptic Dean.

"Yeah, pretty much all the angels jonesing for it are dead, including Michael and Lucifer."

"The apocalypse?" asked the second, frowning.

"Yeah, well, angels are real, and both them and demons have been planning since before we were born that we'd be the ones to start the end of the world."

"Is that right? Huh." The second one looked impressed, "So all the crap we've gone through . . . the fire?"

"Demon named Azazel—yellow eyes—made a deal with mom ten years before. Unfortunately."

"Now how do we exactly get back to business? I've gotta find Sammy, y'know."

"Well—I don't actually know. Adam? Did you find out how the spell ends, with all that research you did with Cas and Sam?"

"Each version needs to hear something important. Kinda like putting a ghost to rest. They need to know something that matters," Sam answered instead, surprising his younger selves.

"Easy enough. You get your little brother back—it's a long road and you'll lose him again and again, but you get him back, okay? Don't let anyone tell you different, not even him—protect him, all right?" This was to the second Dean that was off to find Sam. He nodded—and began to disappear.

"I could've told him how to do it," Adam called over to Sam, "But I was busy making my minime go home. And now, for my next trick—I'll make myself disappear." Both Sam and Dean snorted.

"He is my brother," the third Dean nodded, impressed at the attitude of the younger man in the situation.