Reflection or Perception
Chapter 25

Co-written by the wonderful sexdrugsandoreos, we apologise for how short the next few chapters are.

Tired and drained as they were, the brothers got straight back on the road, attempting to put as much distance between them and Mount Vernon as possible. Around 7am, they pulled up at a gas station for some much needed fuel (for themselves and the car); one breakfast burger – on Dean's part – and some (probably organic) hash browns and baked beans – on Sam's –later, they had been on the move again, Dean constantly checking the rear view mirror for any signs of either police or 'angelic' life. Thankfully, there were none – but they still didn't feel safe, and, even with no leads on Metatron's whereabouts and nowhere in particular to go, it was only when Sam, his own eyelids drooping, caught Dean pretty much falling asleep at the wheel that he put his foot down and insisted they stopped off at a motel for some much-needed rest.

For hours Dean drifted in and out of sleep, the heat making him restless. He woke up properly around midday, sitting up and squinting at the sun which was streaming in through the gap in the worn, red curtains. Dean had lost all concept of time in this alternative timeline, considering the strength and the warmth of the sun recently he knew they were reaching the end of spring and the beginning of summer. April? Even May possibly.

That meant that time had almost run out.

Pushing that uncomfortable thought out of his mind, Dean lay back down on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. It wouldn't hurt to sleep a few minutes longer, he reasoned; not like he'd be getting any sense out of Sam for a good few hours yet anyway.

When Dean finally awoke it was dark outside, his phone ringing loudly from beside him, Sam still snoring in the next bed. Confused and disorientated, his eyes flickered to the clock on their bedside table. 18:30; Dean groaned inwardly. Well, that was a waste of a day.

At the sound of another high-pitched ring from his phone he sighed, rubbed his eyes slowly and then glanced down at the number of the caller. It was one he didn't immediately recognise, but this wasn't his 'work' phone so there weren't many people who knew the number, not many who were still alive anyway.

"Dean Winchester" he answered gruffly.

"Well good evening to you too sunshine, is that any way to greet the Goddess of all things technical who has been helping you as well as completing my own much more important work" the voice chirped.

Dean closed his eyes but could not help but smile, "Hey Garcia" he replied in a much softer tone, "what news?"

"Well I expect a visit from you now that I have done all this, our phone calls are beautiful but I just don't think they'll suffice and after all you do owe me big time now-"

"-Garcia, what have you got?" he interjected a little impatiently.

He could almost hear her smiling triumphantly from her FBI office, "I found Metathingy" she sang sweetly.

Dean was suddenly very much awake, "Garcia you are the world's greatest person" he smiled grabbing the nearest piece of paper and pen, "where is he?"

"A security camera picked him up outside a bar in Houston a few hours back...got the name here somewhere." Garcia paused momentarily, silence filled only by the sound of her furious typing. "Ah, that's right. The Texan Star. He was with a cute guy in a trench coat. Ringing any bells?"

He closed his eyes in despair, "God, I wish it didn't." he sighed running his hand over his head.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean forced himself to maintain a cheerful tone, while his brain struggled fruitlessly to work through the situation in a way that didn't screw them all. "You're an angel, Garcia. Thank you."

"Dean, now you've found your guy, this better not mean years of silence again, I've become quite accustomed to you being in my life…"

He smiled, "I promise, there won't be, anyway like you said, I owe you big time. Now you concentrate on your own work and stop worrying yourself about us, bye."

Dean's smile faded as he pulled the phone from his ear and slipped it into his pocket, turning to meet his brother's inquisitive stare.

Sam didn't need to ask who Dean was speaking to, or what about, "she found him? That's good news, right?" he asked sitting up straight on the bed parallel to his brother's.

Dean pulled a face, "I've heard better. Security cameras picked Metatron up outside a bar in Houston. Him and 'some guy in a trench coat'."

Sam frowned. "So he's with Cas already? What does that mean?" They'd been planning on taking time to work out Metatron's location, tracking him and trying the spell first just in close vicinity to him and then – if that failed – at or around the exact time they believed he was completing his own spell. "I mean, they must have met up quite a few times before the actual spell, right? Do we assume this is the last time and try the spell now or drive..." Sam pulled out his laptop, typing in location details and squinting at the screen. "...23 hours to check. Well. I guess we try it here first, then if all else fail stake a couple of days to drive there and hope for the best?"

"Plan B's definitely a no-go." The calm, cheerful facade Dean had maintained throughout his conversation with Garcia was now fading rapidly, replaced by something dangerously close to panic. This couldn't be it – surely, for God's (and Heaven's) sake, they hadn't come all this way and worked their asses off for this to be it. A freaking archangel hadn't come back to life and sent them back in time just for all their efforts to be dashed by a simple issue of timing.

"You remember when Cas came to find me outside the church, to get my help with the so-called trials?"

Sam nodded, almost wincing at the memory. If anyone needs a chaperone, it's Sam. He'd understood where his brother was coming from – and that it was, ultimately, because he cared – but those words had stung nonetheless, perhaps all the moreso because they were probably deserved.

Unexpectedly, Sam's mind flicked back to his final minutes inside that church, trying to convince Dean to just let him die while his brother fought ferociously for the reverse. In that moment, he had felt so broken, so weak – so ruined – he had wanted nothing more than to just give it all up, to sacrifice his life for the sake of (finally) doing the right thing.

Dean had eventually convinced him not to give up the fight – though whether that was a rational decision, an instinctive desire for life or just to please his brother, he was still unsure. And had he been too late...?

Maybe he was just tired – or a hypochondriac – but the ringing in his ears and the weakness in his bones made him fear he may well have been.