Emmanuel couldn't explain his compulsion to trust this gruff man and his uncanny companion so implicitly. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. Dean Winchester he felt that he could trust with his life, if it came to it. The other, however - the one who bore his likeness - he felt uneasy in his presence.
It wasn't anything entirely tangible, nothing he could grasp and label and quantify. He had no identifiable reason to not trust Cas, but something about the man simply felt wrong. It was as though there was some tether between them, something that connected them, yet at the same time he had never sensed anyone who felt so completely alien to him.
The wrongness that Cas exuded seemed to ripple outwards into the rest of the world. Since setting eyes upon the two men in the black car, everything seemed to spiral further and further away from anything that resembled right. When he first came face to face with the man down the block from Daphne's house, he felt as though he had been pressed against the pliable surface of the wall separating him from his memories of what happened, who he had been before being found in the woods, a wall that terrified him as much as it intrigued him, that had begun to turn brittle when he had touched the other man and dispelled his illness.
For months he had stayed with Daphne, who had helped him so much, assured him when the guilt and the fear of his unknown past became too much that he was all right, that he was a good person, that his path was open before him. He realised now how much he had been avoiding, things that lurked beneath the surface of his consciousness that he had subconsciously shoved down and refused to acknowledge, now realised by the sudden presence of these two men who seemed both strange and yet so familiar to him at the same time.
Images floated through his mind as they drove in silence, catching a pair of startling green eyes in the rear-view mirror every so often when he dared to look. Dean Winchester. The name filled him with an odd mix of hope and dread, comfort and guilt. He had done something unforgivable to this man. He was certain of this, despite the denial he'd been given when asked. Something to do with water and blood and darkness...
"You with me back there?"
Emmanuel blinked, turning his gaze away from the side window to meet Dean's gaze, the other man's expression a mixture of concern and wry humour. They were stopped in a gas station lot, his twin asleep in the front passenger seat.
"Yes, my apologies," he replied, "I was lost in thought. Have we arrived?"
"Nah," Dean shrugged, turning back and pulling the keys out of the ignition. "Still about two and a half hours out. Just stopping in for some road food. You, uh... you want anything?"
Dean was pretty sure the answer would be the same as it was the last time they'd stopped off, but it felt awkward not to offer.
"No, thank you," Emmanuel confirmed with a wan smile.
Dean nodded and climbed out of the car, heading into the Ma-and-Pa shop.
Emmanuel watched him disappear into the store, then turned his attention back to the remaining occupant on the front bench.
It truly was uncanny, how similar this man was to himself, and yet words like brother and family didn't quite seem to settle right in his mind when attempting to reconcile said similarities. A part of him - a part barely heard and somewhere between the wall and his waking consciousness - told him that this man was much closer than a simple familial bond, but it made no sense.
Gingerly, he reached out on instinct, placing his fore and middle finger against the sleeping man's temple with the lightest of touches, wondering (hoping) that he might see into the other's thoughts, the way he had caught fleeting glimpses when he had touched him before.
Closing his eyes, he caught chaotic flashes; a battle, violent and mindless creatures that only appeared human, Sam Winchester in a white suit, staring down at him with pity - Sam Winchester, broken and unconscious, his soul freshly restored and tearing his mind apart, Sam and Dean Winchester, beating the odds and averting the Apocalypse. The Winchesters, two impossible humans bucking their destiny, sacrificing themselves for one another.
Dean Winchester, staring him down in the old water-house, pleading, refusing to bow before him as Bobby had done, placating and frightened... frightened of him... but why?
"Your new God. A better God."
A hand grasped his wrist, jerking him out of the confusing reel of images conflicting in his mind, a pair of livid blue eyes that matched his own coming into sharp focus inches from his face, the near-mirror reflection of which set in hard, angry lines.
"Don't," Cas growled, his tone barely a harsh whisper, "you have no idea what you're digging into."
"Who are the Winchesters," Emmanuel asked, disregarding the threat in the other's words and the vice-like grip on his wrist, "I know them. I know you."
"Yeah," Cas huffed, releasing his wrist and sitting a little further away, his back resting against the passenger side door, watching his counterpart warily, "we established that already. You're not ready to know yet, Dean promised he would tell you after this was all done. Though, if I had my way, I would just as soon send you back to your lovely wife and be done with you."
Emmanuel frowned at this, sitting back in his seat, slightly dejected. "You... dislike me."
Cas raised an eyebrow at his younger self. It was almost disgusting, how naïve this version of himself was, and yet how wounded at the same time. The subtle change of one event, Dean's acceptance of his brother at that one crucial turning point and an insane plan that could have ended so bloody had resulted in two such vastly different versions of himself. It was, to say the least, off-putting, but did he truly dislike this divergent past version of himself, giving him those sad, reproachful eyes? No, he supposed he didn't. This version of him had never experienced the world the way he had, had never fallen so far as to become completely human, had never lost his wings and his Grace.
He had never loved, either - not the way Cas had learned to love. There was no doubt in his mind that Castiel knew love, that he loved Dean. He himself had loved Dean long before his slow fall, before human emotions and sensations had swallowed him whole, drowning him in his own personal hell that had culminated in what had ultimately become his life in Chitaqua.
With a heavy sigh, Cas rolled his eyes and faced forward again, keeping his angelic, amnesic counterpart in the side mirror.
"I don't 'dislike' you," he murmured to the dash, "it's complicated."
Emmanuel's face scrunched up at the word, looking for all the world like a child that had just been told he couldn't have something that was greatly desired.
"I'm really beginning to dislike that word," Emmanuel grumbled back.
Cas smirked, shaking his head, effectively ending the conversation as Dean returned to the car and slid into behind the wheel and tossed a foil wrapped hot case burger into his companion's lap. As the hunter reached back over to pull the door closed, however, a pair of hands seemed to appear out of nowhere as he was bodily wrenched from the vehicle and tossed across the mostly empty lot.
"Shit!" Cas swore, tearing at his seatbelt and making to follow, only to have the passenger side door wrenched open behind him, cruel fingers twisting in his hair and yanking him out onto the concrete.
A wave of nausea hit Emmanuel as he watched the proceedings; there were four - no, five attackers in all, the gas station attendant had also joined the offensive - now surrounding the car. Dean was back on his feet, swinging wildly at the man who had pulled him from the car. Only, no. He only looked like a man. Beneath the twenty-something man in the denim jacket was something vile and mutilated, something that shifted just under the man's skin, smothering a wildly flickering light that radiated panic beneath the swirling black mire.
It took Dean a moment to regain his bearing after being torn out of the car and hitting the pavement, bewildered at the sudden change of scenery. It didn't take him long to figure out what he was dealing with, though - freaking' demons. It would figure, wouldn't it? No matter what world-shattering event was taking place, demons always found a way to figure into the equation.
He rolled, avoiding the heavy boot-clad foot aiming for his face as he groped under his jacket for Ruby's knife, his mind frantically circling thoughts of the hippie and the amnesic angel still in the car. He'd never really seen Cas in action in that bleak future. He knew the former angel could handle a gun, for the most part (though it didn't go unnoticed that his own future self had at one point had to help him with the safety), but there was no telling if Cas even knew there was one in the glove box or if he could get to it in time, for all the real good it would do him. And Castiel, or rather, Emmanuel... There was no telling how the guy would handle himself, if he remembered how to handle himself against a demon.
After a brief scuffle, Dean managed to gain the upper-hand and plunge the demon-killing blade into the evil son of a bitch's heart, ending the hell-spawn in a flash of crimson light and brimstone as the demon burned out of its host. His fears about the fallen angel were quickly assuaged as he scanned across the lot, spotting the former junkie ex-angel sparring off with a pair of demons of his own and kicking some serious ass.
Even without a weapon, after years of mortal exile in an apocalypse where he had all but rotted away in a haze of drugs and debauchery, Cas still had it where it counted. He moved like greased lightning - a fluid force of nature, grabbing the arm of the demon that had tried to lunge at him from behind and using the forward momentum to throw the freak over his shoulder and into the one he'd been squaring with in front of him. The former angel had a look of focused concentration that, if it wasn't for the black t-shirt, jeans and ratty old green army-surplus jacket, Dean would think that he was watching his Cas - the Cas of this time and this reality, going toe-to-toe unarmed against the demons.
Despite that the fallen angel seemed to be holding his own, Dean moved to assist, only to find himself hindered as an arm snaked around his neck, his attacker's free hand grabbing the wrist of the hand holding the blade and wrenching it painfully behind his back, forcing him to drop the weapon.
"Dean!" Cas called out, distracted long enough for the demons to subdue him with a heavy blow to the back of his head, taking him out of the equation.
"Cas! You sons of bitches, DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Dean struggle against the demon holding him, desperate to get to the fallen angel laying now unconscious at the feet of the other two hell-spawn. Belatedly, having been caught up in the fight, he remembered his other passenger, his eyes shooting toward the back seat of the Impala. His heart sank, realizing that car now stood empty, and he prayed to whoever was listening that the dude had picked up a clue and gotten the hell out of there, rather than what he feared might have happened.
It made sense in his mind - a healer pops up on the radar, and it's only natural the usual suspects would take an interest, not just hunters. If Crowley was clued in as to who Emmanuel really was, that was really just the icing on the fucking cake, wasn't it? It never just rains in the world of Dean Winchester.
"Where's the angel," a feminine voice purred in his ear, the arm wrapped around his neck pulling just a bit tighter.
"Screw yourself, bitch," Dean grit back at her, testing the hold on him as he clawed at her grip.
The three demons laughed darkly at this, the two hovering over Cas stooping to gather the unconscious man up, holding either arm between them.
"Speak up," the demon lilted, "or I'll order them to tear your little friend apart..."
Cas, Dean thought frantically, willing the fallen angel to come to as he fought his own captor. They were thoroughly screwed. And where the hell did Emmanuel get off to?! He hoped the son of a bitch had bailed, but a more selfish part of him inwardly cursed the bastard for ditching out.
"Pity," the lead demon sighed. "Guess we're just going to have to tak-"
The demon's words were abruptly cut off by a surprized shriek and a waft of brimstone, and suddenly Dean's arm was free, the pressure gone from his neck. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, he spun to the side, keeping Cas in his peripheral as he positioned himself to take in whatever had saved his bacon, only to come face to face with the last being he'd expected.
"Meg," Dean hissed, now torn between getting to Cas and not wanting to turn his back on the two-faced demon that seemed to be embedded in his existence whether he wanted her there or not.
Meg simply gave him a smirk, flipping the knife so that the blade was in her hand, offering it back to the hunter. "You dropped this," she quipped.
A sudden shout from his right followed by three near-simultaneous thuds drew his attention back to the other two demons and the fallen angel, staring dumbfounded at what he saw there; the two demons who had been holding Cas lay on the ground, the eyes of their hosts burned out of their sockets. Cas lay crumpled between them, still out, but now groaning and shifting a bit, which was a good sign. But the biggest shock of all was that Emmanuel stood over the three forms, staring down at his hands in a maelstrom of confusion, horror and anguish.
"What's with the Double-Mint twins?" the demon prodded, curious. "You think a guy is dead, and not only does he prove you wrong, but he turns back up in duplicate? Man, do I envy your life, Dean-o."
"Shut up," the hunter growled in response, of half a mind to turn around and plug the thorn in his side once and for all when suddenly the awkward situation took a turn for the worse.
"What," the still-standing angel breathed, no longer staring at his hands, but down at his double instead, horror taking the forefront as he turned his wide-eyed, searching stare on the hunter and the demon. "Dean?"
"Shit," the hunter sighed, slipping the knife back into his inside pocket and moving over to the visibly shaken man. This was totally uncharted territory; there was no way to know what was going on in the guy's head, but whatever it was couldn't be good, if the sheer panic radiating off of him in waves was any indicator. The worst case scenario played itself out in his mind a hundred times over as he crossed the dozen or so yards between them.
"Hey," he ventured once he got within a few feet of the angel, "you okay, Emmanuel?"
Emmanuel frowned, looking down his own likeness who was slowly regaining consciousness on the ground, nonplussed. "Dean," he said, this time with clarity as his penetrating gaze returned to Dean's own concerned one, "... I remember you."
Fuck. That was not how this was supposed to play out. It made explaining Cas a lot simpler, but that didn't mean it made it any easier. What the hell was he supposed to say, anyway? 'Oh, hey, glad you got your marbles back, Cas! Oh, by the way, that's you from a future that never happened. He's kinda screwed up, and we have no idea how the hell he got here, but hey, what the hell, you know? Oh, and yeah, we've totally been doing it for a couple of weeks now.' Yeah, no. That wasn't gonna cut it.
"Howdy, Clarence," Meg chipped in, having sauntered up to Dean's side in the interim. "You're looking pretty good, for a dead guy."
"Dean..." Cas groaned, complicating the matter even further.
The hunter held Castiel's lost blue eyes for a moment longer before kneeling down to help Cas up, bracing him as he got his wits about him. "Hey, easy... you're good. How's your head?"
Cas blinked to clear his vision, shaking his head to try and get the ringing in his ears to stop as the world swam back into focus. "D'you get the license off that truck?" he slurred, putting on a sloppy grin.
Dean let out a long sigh. Cas would be okay, which just left...
"I should go..." Castiel murmured awkwardly, his tone a bit terse.
"Cas, wait - Don't-" Dean stood quickly, trying to reach out to the angel before the space in which he was standing simply became vacant in a faint rustle of feathers. "Damn it!"
Dean spun, pacing a few feet to the gas station and driving his fist through one of the storefront windows, slicing a deep gash across his knuckles in reward for his stupidity. It was no less than he deserved - despite everything Castiel had done, he was the one who had dragged him down in both realities, had led him to fall in some fashion or another. But regardless of what he deserved, he needed Cas. Needed him to fix Sammy.
"Cas! Come back, please! Don't run on me now, man! I need you! Please..."
"That could have gone better," Meg stated uselessly.
"Shut the hell up!" Dean roared, reaching for the knife again and rounding on the demon. "Why the fuck are you here, anyway?!"
"Dean," Cas placated, placing a hand on the hunter's arm.
Dean shrugged him off, but didn't make a move on Meg. Despite the anguish of having lost their only hope - and by effect his best friend, again, the storm in his chest was beginning to subside. The demon, despite their past at odds with each other, had helped them, now for a second time. It didn't make up for it, but the last time she'd been on their side of the thin red line, she'd risked her own ass to buy them time. He figured he at least owed her the chance to explain what she was doing here.
Cas was glaring daggers at the demon, confused. The last time he'd seen Meg had been in the null-future 2013. They'd been ambushed on a lead to the Colt; Meg leading a pack of demons in Des Moines, descending on the group of hunters as they'd entered the old packaging plant where Dean had gotten a tip that the weapon was supposed to have been.
Out of seventeen men, nine made it out alive, Cas and Dean included, though not without injury. The Colt hadn't been there, and in addition to a myriad of the usual cuts and scrapes, Cas had been rewarded for his survival with a broken foot after jumping from a catwalk to take Meg down, the demon having backed Dean into a corner, weaponless. He knew that his Dean was just insouciant enough not to give a flying fuck if he died right there, so really a broken foot was its own reward in comparison to the reaming he got for his actions later.
Meg smirked at the pair of them, resting her hands akimbo on her hips, thumbs hooked into the pockets of her black jeans. "I caught wind of these asshats down the grapevine. They're working for Crowley, and the new King of Hell got interested in the mysterious healer that's popped up on the radar the last couple of months. Naturally, when I heard Crowley wanted him... well, let's just say I couldn't pass up an opportunity to throw a wrench in his gears," she grinned, looking oh-so-pleased with herself.
"That doesn't explain why you helped us," Cas said warily, and it made Dean's heart stutter just a bit, because the broken man looked and sounded so much like his old self just then that the hunter half expected him to just smite Meg where she stood.
Meg just raised an eyebrow at the fallen angel, glancing sidelong at Dean. "They run outta toner when they ran him through the copier?"
Dean let out an exasperated sigh, once again tucking the knife away. "It's a long story. He doesn't remember you helping us go after Crowley, he wasn't there," he explained, then turned to Cas. "Don't trust her an inch. She might, might be on our side now, but she's still a demon."
"Naturally," Cas replied with a shrug, eyeing Meg with wry contemplation. Obviously Dean didn't trust her, but for whatever reason, he tolerated her, so for the time being he would play along. That didn't mean he wouldn't rip her putrid, rotting heart out if she hurt Dean. Angel or no, his wrath was not something to be incurred lightly.
"So," the demon grinned tightly at the two men, clasping her hands in front of her with a sharp clap and rubbing them together eagerly, "what do we do now?"
"We," Dean said, gesturing between himself and Cas, "are out of here. You," he continued, pointing at Meg, "can fuck off."
Meg placed a hand over her heart, giving Dean a mocking, wounded pout. "Ouch, that hurts. And after all we've been through together..."
"Exactly," Dean countered, putting a hand on Cas's shoulder and steering him towards the Impala.
"Hell's eyes have seen angel-boy," Meg called after them, "both of them. When they can't find the real Castiel, who do you think Crowley's gonna send his dogs after, Dean-o?"
Dean stopped in his tracks, clenching his teeth in annoyance. Of course, she had a point - whether he wanted to admit it or not. With Castiel MIA again, now that Cas was out in the open - because in all likelihood there were more than just the four demons they'd fought - Crowley was bound to be curious about Cas.
"I'm guessing Clarence's stunt-double here ain't got no spidey-senses to tell you if you're bein' tailed," she continued smugly, "I mean, hell. He didn't pick up on me, and I've been ridin' your wake since the state line."
Dean sighed, glancing to Cas, who returned a dubious look. He knew she was baiting them. It was obvious. Meg had never been straight with them, there was obviously something to all this, it just wasn't clear what.
"Fine," he spat out finally, stalking around to the Impala's driver side and all but throwing himself into the seat, cramming the key into the ignition and cranking it, the engine roaring to life. He didn't like this. It reeked of trap, foul play - but a demon radar was just what they needed right now if what she was saying was true. And besides, they could stand there in the lot facing off with each other, but sooner or later some civilian or someone was going to wander in on the scene, see four dead bodies on the ground, and eventually the cops were going to get involved.
Cas paused, staring at the demon contemplatively for a long moment.
Meg looked him up and down, a wry smile on her lips. "Humanity suits you," she said playfully. "I'm just dying to hear your story."
"I don't kiss and tell," Cas shot back, forcing a grin, raising his eyebrows at her suggestively.
"Oh, I like you," she purred, stepping a bit closer, giving him a carnivorous smirk.
"Don't flatter yourself, sweetie," he rolled his eyes, turning his back to her and heading for the front passenger door, "I don't get it up for sulfur, either."
"Touche," the demon followed, climbing into the back of the car where not fifteen minutes ago an amnesic Castiel had sat before all hell broke loose.
Dean barely waited for Meg to settle before tearing out of the lot. Of all the possible scenarios, this was definitely top tier in terms of how things turned out. He needed to get back to Bobby's, regroup, and figure out a way to get Castiel to come back, because fuck if he wasn't Sam's last freaking hope, regardless of if he stayed or not.
(AN: Oh my word! I know I said I was gonna get this up a couple of days ago, but ugh. You know, life and stuff. Hopefully, however, we're back on the wagon and rolling again :) I have to admit, though, part of the hold up this time was because I was debating whether or not to throw Meg in there. I know a few of you had expressed an interest in seeing her interact with future Cas, but it took a bit of dicking around to get her in the story in a way that made sense. Like I said before, canon has no meaning here. Muahaha! There are Levis in the world, but they're not of any real concern to the plot in this fic, so screw 'em. You probably won't be seeing any, anyway.
So wow, a month-long break and we come back with this. Castiel remembers Dean, remembers who he is, and whew! What do you think his first real impression of Cas is, now that he realises (sorta) what's going on?
I sense things will be spiralling quickly out of control...