Hope moved out of Dean's embrace, studying him with narrowed eyes. "Who are you and what have you done with Dean?"

Sam snorted from the doorway, stifling a laugh. Dean shot Sam a glare over his shoulder, then turned his attention back to Hope. "Now you're mad because I agreed with you? Make up your damn mind, would ya?"

"I'm not mad, Dean," Hope said, shaking her head. "I just know you, and you don't give in that easily, especially not about something like this. Like Cas pointed out weeks ago, the three of us are the most stubborn creatures on the planet, so what gives?"

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," Dean snapped, stomping outside to get the rest of the gear out of the Impala.

Hope stared after him, opening and closing her mouth several times while she tried to decide whether or not to follow him. She glanced at Sam, narrowing her eyes at his bemused look. "You think this is amusing, don't you?"

"Only a little," Sam admitted, pushing himself off the door frame. "I was certain he was going to blow the roof off this place when you tossed out that ultimatum. If you'd been anyone else, he probably would have." Sam shook his head, watching through the window as Dean unloaded their duffle bags and supplies from the trunk.

"It wasn't an ultimatum," Hope said, her breath hitching as she lowered herself gingerly into the chair. "It was more of a—challenge."

"That's nothing but semantics, Hope, and you know it," Sam said with a half-smile. "So why do it?"

Hope propped her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. Did she dare tell Sam about her memories? Some part of her thought that she should tell Dean first, but she wasn't sure he'd even believe her and given where his head was at right now, Hope didn't feel like opening that particular can of worms with him. Silence settled over the room as Sam waited for Hope to answer his question.

"You need to tell them, Hope. They deserve to know." Castiel's voice filled her head, and Hope dropped her hands and stared at him. He was still lying on the couch, his eyes closed and breathing even as though he were just taking a nap. Was he even awake?

"Wait, how are you talking to me like this? I thought your grace was gone."

"So did I. Apparently it's not completely gone, but it will take some time to recharge."

"Oh, well I guess that's something then. As for Sam and Dean, what am I supposed to tell them? That I have acid-trippy memories of other lifetimes? That I was a hunter once too? Do you really think Dean will even believe me?"

"I think Dean is capable of believing more than you think, Hope. And even if he doesn't believe you immediately, Sam will."

Hope sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. Her eyes felt like someone had mixed glass shards and sand together and poured a bucketful into her eyes. When was the last time she slept? Two days ago? Three? She shook her head, glancing up at Sam, who regarded her with a raised eyebrow. She sighed again, dropping her hands between her knees.

"Sit down," Hope said, gesturing toward the other chair. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" Sam frowned, settling himself into the chair. "Is something wrong?"

"Depends on your definition of wrong, I guess," Hope said, propping her chin in one hand. "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to spit it out. Ever since Cas pulled me out of the coma, I've been remembering things. While I was in the coma, I was having these really weird dreams—or what I thought were dreams anyway. It turns out, I don't think they are."

"They're not," Sam murmured. "They're memories."

"Wait—what?" Hope lifted her head, searching Sam's face. "You knew!?"

"Of course I knew, Hope," Sam said with a dry chuckle. "Unlike Dean, I do actually read to find answers to my questions. The first time I watched the two of you sparring in the yard and the way Dean talked about your aim when he had you doing nonstop target practice, I knew there was something else going on. So, I dug deeper into Bobby's lore about souls and it turns out, there was more to the story. If I had to guess, I'd say you were either a hunter or an assassin in another lifetime."

Hope snorted as a smile crept across her face. She avoided his gaze, picking at her cuticles instead. "Why the hell isn't this happening to Dean?"

"Who's to say it isn't? He's not exactly known for sharing," Sam shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Have you asked him?"

Hope shook her head. "I was too afraid to say anything after mentioning it once before and him saying they were just dreams. Well that, and I didn't want to tell him about the one memory that's stuck with me since the hospital. I can't shake it. I think it might have something to do with why the angels are after me now."

"That doesn't make sense," Sam said, shaking his head. "How would a memory of a past life have anything to do with why the angels want you dead now?"

"I don't know," Hope said, glancing at Castiel. "I do know the memory isn't just from a past life, it's from a different timeline. After what Cas told us about this timeline, it's the only explanation for what I saw."

"What did you see?" Sam asked, tilting his head to one side as he watched Hope's expressions change like a flip-book. She shook her head, propping her elbows on her knees and covering her mouth with one hand to hide her trembling lip.

"I can't, Sam," Hope whispered as tears welled in her eyes. "It's horrible, and I just can't." She stood up, ignoring the pain in her ribs as she practically ran from the cabin.

"Hope—" Sam called after her, but she didn't stop. The cabin's back door slammed as Dean entered the front, dropping their bags on the floor then grabbing the cooler off the porch behind him.

"What just happened?" Dean asked, heading for the kitchen. Sam sighed, picking up the dropped bags and heading for the bedrooms.

"I'm not sure, honestly," Sam said, disappearing down the hallway.

Dean frowned, dropping the cooler onto the kitchen table with a thud. What could possibly be wrong with Hope, other than she decided it might be fun to go toe to toe with an angel? He shook his head, ignoring the pit of anxiety yawning in his gut. He'd agreed to Hope's ultimatum, but she saw right through him. It never ceased to amaze him how easily she could do that.

He went back to the living room, flopping down onto the chair next to the couch and flipping on the TV. There wasn't anything to watch, but it was too quiet in the cabin without it because—as usual, his thoughts were too loud.

"Dean." Dean's head snapped up at the sound of Castiel's voice, only to find the angel staring at him with an odd look on his face like he was trying to read his mind.

"What do you need Cas?" Dean said. Castiel pushed himself upright on the couch, breathing heavily past the pain.

"I need you to be honest. Have you been having any weird dreams lately?"

Dean frowned, chuckling softly as he shook his head. "You're going to have to be more specific than that, Cas. My dreams are more like nightmares so…"

"Do you have any dreams about you and Hope?"

Dean shrugged, staring at the TV without actually seeing it. "Sometimes. But even those are mostly nightmares. There are a few good ones though."

"I see," Castiel said, looking thoughtful. "You should probably go talk to Hope then."

"What? Why?" Dean said, darting a worried glance toward the back door of the cabin.

"Because, your dreams aren't dreams, they're memories. Hope's had them since the coma, and I think she's struggling right now. She needs you," Castiel said, nodding toward the door.

Dean stared at the back door, letting Castiel's words sink in. Since Hope's coma, he'd had odd dreams too, but that was nothing new for him, and he chalked it up to just another day in the messed-up life of Dean Winchester. He sighed, pushing himself out of the chair. "Okay, Cas. I'll go talk to her, but I don't know how much help I'll be."

"It's not help she needs, Dean," Castiel murmured as he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. Dean hesitated, glancing down at him as he walked by. "She just needs to know she isn't alone in this."

"Of course she isn't alone," Dean grumbled, shaking his head. Didn't she know that? Hope, Sam, and Cas were his entire world; why would Hope believe she was in whatever this was alone?

Maybe because you refuse to put a name to it, the little voice quipped. He supposed that could be true, but what difference would that make in the end? It didn't change the way he felt about her, and he'd never admit it out loud, but he was too far gone for anything to change that.

Dean pulled open the door and stepped out onto the back steps, surveying the clearing behind the cabin. Hope stood alone, leaning against a massive evergreen tree as she stared blankly across the hills beyond the house. Dean watched her for a moment, etching the profile of her face in his memory. The midmorning sun danced in the strands of her windblown hair, bathing her in an almost ethereal glow as she turned, glancing over her shoulder at him and then quickly turning away so he couldn't see the tears on her cheeks.

He had seen them, though, and he bounded down the steps and across the clearing, the blanket of dried leaves crunching beneath his boots. Hope swiped quickly at her face, plastering on a smile as he approached. Dean stood next to her, their arms brushing against one another and Hope relaxed as Dean's presence steadied her.

Dean didn't say anything for a long time, waiting for Hope to decide if she wanted to talk. Cas told him she didn't need help, and if he was honest, he was pretty terrible at the emotional support thing sometimes, but he could stand next to her as long as she needed him to. Hope sniffed, glancing up at Dean, her eyes still wet.

"I guess Cas told you," she said quietly, setting her jaw and staring out over the hills, her mind a million miles away.

"All he said was that you've been having memory dreams since the coma, and you needed to know you weren't alone," Dean said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Hope nodded but didn't respond. "The thing is, you're not. It's been happening to me too, ever since the hospital."

Hope gave Dean a sidelong glance, lifting her chin as she blew out a breath. "Well, I guess that makes sense. Although, if they're anything like mine, I'm sorry, because it fucking sucks."

"You want to talk about it?"

Hope turned to face him, squinting slightly as she studied his face. "Not really, but I suppose it'll be necessary sooner or later. The only thing that I keep asking myself is why me? Why us? Of all the souls in the universe, why did God pick ours to live through hundreds of lifetimes? If my dreams are any indication, I'd say none of them were normal, happy lives. God's favorites, my ass. If that was true, he should've made sure we were treated better." Hope crossed her arms, her lower lip puckering slightly into a pout.

Dean snorted as a smile crept across his face. Leave it to Hope to say what she really thought. "I dunno," he replied, shrugging, "some of them weren't so bad. And no matter what, the four of us are together."

"Four?" Hope frowned, shaking her head. "If you're counting adults, there's five. Or there will be anyway."

"Me, you, Sam, and Cas," Dean said, looking confused. "Who else is there?"

Hope bit her lip as she smiled up at him. "You didn't really think you were the only one who possessed a mirrored soul, did you?"

"Sam?" Dean asked, his eyes widening. "But I thought Jessica…"

Hope shook her head. Not long after they met, Dean had told Hope about Jessica's death, and even now, her heart still broke for Sam and she mourned the life of a woman she'd never known. "Jessica was important, but she wasn't his mirror, if that makes sense."

"Should we tell him?" Dean asked, his expression thoughtful. Hope shook her head, turning her gaze toward the landscape once more.

"I don't think so. As open-minded as Sam is, I don't think he's ready for that. You damn sure weren't," Hope teased, the corners of her mouth twitching as she caught sight of Dean's ears turning pink out of the corner of her eye.

"Neither were you, smartass," Dean said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him. "So, you wanna tell me which one of those memory dreams brings you to tears?"

"Touche," Hope said, then cleared her throat, the lightened mood gone. "And no, not now. Maybe someday, but I'm just not ready to put it to words right now."

"Got it," Dean said, nodding. "Just don't forget, Hope, we're in this together. All of us."

"I know," Hope said, snaking her arms around Dean's waist under his jacket and laying her head on his chest. Despite everything, that's the one thing Hope knew for certain now—they'd survive anything the universe could throw at them as long as they stuck together.

Atropos stood on the roof of the cabin, watching Dean and Hope from a reasonable distance. She didn't worry about being seen; after all, humans didn't regard Fate as an invisible force guiding their lives for nothing. Lachesis appeared beside her, a knowing look in her eyes.

"You like them," Lachesis said. "Admit it."

Atropos rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her sister's words. She was a Moirai; for Chaos' sake, liking the humans was beneath her. "I'll do no such thing," she said, huffing primly.

"Oh really," Lachesis said, nudging her sister. "Because from where I'm standing, you spend an awful lot of time watching the four of them. Not that I blame you, those boys are definitely nice to look at. The girl's nice too, if you like that sort of thing, but it's not just about them being pretty. Is it?"

Atropos glared at Lachesis, biting the inside of her cheek and resisting the urge to shove her annoying sister off the roof. Whether she liked it or not, Lachesis had a point. Atropos did spend an inordinate amount of time watching Hope, Castiel, and the Winchesters, especially now that the human girl had thrown a wrench into the timeline. Atropos wondered more often than not how, in over three thousand years, she had not foreseen a single incarnation of Hope Bennett that battled her selfish, petty nature the night Dean stood on her doorstep and begged for her help—and emerged victoriously? Something was different about this Hope, and Atropos found it fascinating, to say the least.

"Tell me, sister," Lachesis said, nodding toward Hope and Dean. "If their fate lies beyond what you can see now, will you help or harm them on their path?"

"You've asked an impossible question, Lachesis," Atropos said, crossing her arms. "If I don't know the outcome, how can I do either? This group of humans will be the only ones in the history of the universe to exercise true free will, and something tells me they have a while to go before anything begins to make sense again."

"As the humans say, it's going to be one hell of a story. Don't you think?" Lachesis smirked, winking at her sister. Atropos didn't answer, just continued staring at Hope and Dean as they drew comfort from one another's presence. Indeed it would be, she supposed, and that's precisely what worried her.

Three months later

Hope woke alone to the morning sun streaming in through the window of the cabin, hitting her directly in the eyes like a golden laser beam searing her retinas. She yawned and stretched, ignoring the toddler pounding on the bass drum inside her head. Nausea washed over her, and she laid flat on her back, staring at the ceiling and breathing deeply until it passed.

"I'm never drinking again," she muttered to the empty room as she sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet tight across her naked body as she listened for the usual sounds of Sam and Dean bickering over breakfast foods. Castiel's injuries had healed, and his grace returned three weeks before, and he'd left the cabin in search of answers about why Raphael wanted Hope dead.

Riiightt, and how many times have you said that over the years? Hope ignored that little voice, more concerned about the silence that filled the cabin. Where the hell was Sam and Dean? She couldn't possibly have been asleep that long. Sighing, she threw the sheets off her and pulled on a tank top and jean shorts, tossing her hair into a messy knot as she left the bedroom looking for them.

Hope found the note on the kitchen table, scrawled in Dean's handwriting.

You were still snoring, so me and Sam went on a supply run. Someone ate all the chili-lime jerky last night. D.

"Yeah, you did, ya jackass—and I don't snore," Hope grumbled, dropping the note onto the table and glancing around the kitchen at the remnants of the previous night's entertainment. There had been beer—lots of beer if her headache and the empty bottles everywhere were any indications, and Hope vaguely remembered the poker games and blaring music as Dean scarfed down his entire stash of jerky.

Hope shook her head, examining the messy room as she took a deep breath and padded back to the bedroom, grabbing her phone and popping a couple of painkillers after brushing the old newspaper taste out of her mouth. She put on her headphones and started her '90s alternative grunge playlist as she grabbed a trash bag from under the sink.

Hope spent the next half hour dancing like a fool around the kitchen as she cleaned up the aftermath of their party. She was so busy washing dishes and reenacting her own Risky Business dance scene she didn't notice she wasn't alone anymore until she spun around, glancing up to see Dean leaning against the doorway, struggling to contain his laughter.

Hope let out a screech, pulling the headphones off her ears and settling them around her neck, the music still blaring through them. "Oh my god, you gave me a fucking heart attack, you asshole!"

Hope turned four different shades of crimson, and Dean couldn't hold back his laughter anymore as he pushed himself off the door frame and walked toward her. "Spin Doctors? Really?" he snorted, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. "You're breaking my heart, Hope. I don't even know who you are anymore." Dean clutched at his chest, feigning shock.

"Bite me," Hope replied, her face returning to its normal color. "Some of us have broadened our horizons beyond mullet rock."

"Ouch, sweetheart," Dean said with a grin, shrugging one shoulder. "Still, I expected better from you." Hope rolled her eyes, standing on tiptoe to kiss his stubbled cheek.

"Too bad," she smirked, taking a step back and holding her arms out wide. "I yam who I yam." She said in her best Popeye impression as she pulled her headphones up and started dancing around the kitchen again, singing loudly and purposely off-key. To her surprise, Dean caught her by the arm and grabbed her headphones, placing them around her neck again, then spun her away from him as they both started dancing to the tinny sound of "Two Princes" crackling through Hope's headphones.

Sam walked in, carrying a handful of bags, shaking his head in amused bewilderment as he watched Hope and Dean dancing in the kitchen, chuckling to himself as he set the bags on the table. What the hell had he just walked in on? Sam couldn't remember a single time in his life when Dean did something spontaneous like dance around a room while completely sober, and it was just one more reason Sam believed Hope was good for him. Something close to jealousy shot through him, and he shoved it away. He wasn't jealous, he told himself as he looked away and emptied the bags onto the table.

"Heya, Sammy," Dean said, slightly breathless as he grabbed a bottle of water and took a long drink. "Is that everything?"

"Yeah," Sam said, lost in his own thoughts. He glanced at Hope, his mouth twitching as he tried to contain his smile. "You are now required to explain whatever black magic fuckery is going on here. Anyone who can get Dean to listen, let alone dance to, anything that isn't an '80s hair band has a powerful grasp of the dark arts." Dean glared at Sam as he tossed the empty bottle into the trash, and Sam shrugged. "I'm just sayin'."

Hope took off her headphones and grinned at Sam, her face flushed pink from embarrassment and exertion. "Oh, I don't know Sam. I can be pretty persuasive," she teased, grabbing the six-pack from the table and putting it in the fridge.

"Obviously," Sam murmured, glancing at Dean and smirking at the frown he wore. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out, swiping at the screen. Without a word, he grabbed his laptop off the table and headed toward the living room. Hope glanced at Dean and shrugged, following Sam.

"What is it?" she asked, settling herself on one end of the couch and watching him with curious eyes.

"It's a case," Sam said, swiping his finger across the touchpad on his laptop as he scanned the screen. "Something weird is happening in Nebraska."

"Oh," Hope mumbled, unsure how she should feel about the news. It occurred to her that Sam and Dean hadn't been hunting since she'd joined them almost six months ago, and she hadn't wanted to think about the day that they would eventually return to it. She wondered idly if Dean would try to dump her back at Bobby's house while they chased the lead, or if he'd actually stick to the agreement they'd made and let her join them.

"What kind of case?" Dean asked, sprawling across the chair and turning on the TV. They never actually watched it, but someone always turned it on when they were in the room.

"So according to the internet, people are getting killed by—" he pursed his lips, frowning at the screen, "children's toys?"

"What?" Hope said, blinking in confusion. "What kinds of toys?" She glanced at Dean, who gave her an odd look, then turned his attention to Sam.

"Um, let's see. This report says a woman scratched herself all the way through her skull. The culprit—itching powder," Sam grimaced, shaking his head.

"That doesn't make any sense," Hope said, cradling her chin in her hands. "Itching powder is nothing but ground up maple seeds. It's not powerful enough to cause a reaction like that."

"Exactly," Sam said absently, still scrolling down the screen. "Or, how about this one—a guy electrocuted someone with a hand buzzer."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," Dean said, shaking his head. "Are we looking at some sort of cursed objects? Those things don't even have batteries. Either way, it definitely sounds like something we should check out."

Sam nodded, glancing up from the screen, his eyes darting from Dean to Hope and back again. He raised an eyebrow in question, but Dean ignored him as he stood up and stretched. Hope pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"So what are you going to do with me?" Hope asked, bracing herself for Dean's inevitable speech about keeping her safe and out of the way.

Dean stared at her in startled confusion. "Well, I want to drop you at Bobby's to keep you safe." Hope made a face, opening her mouth to spit out a scathing retort and closing it again when Dean continued. "But—something tells me it will be less painful for everyone if I don't suggest that. So what do you say? Are you up for it?"

Hope stared at Dean, stunned into speechlessness as she nodded dumbly. Her ribs had healed completely a few weeks before, and Hope had long suspected Dean was dragging this remote vacation out as long as possible under the guise of Hope needing to heal to delay an inevitable moment like this one.

"Well, let's get the cars loaded then. We're outta here in twenty," Dean said, nodding and heading toward the bedrooms, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls.

"That went easier than I expected," Hope said, standing up and staring after Dean in confusion. "Are we sure that's Dean?" She pointed toward the hallway and regarded Sam with an incredulous look.

Sam's eyebrows shot up as he shrugged, unsure of how to react to Dean's behavior himself. "I'm telling you, Hope. Black magic fuckery. It's the only explanation."

Hope rolled her eyes. "Ha ha, very funny."

Sam chuckled, then shrugged as he closed his laptop. He tucked it under one arm as he stood, flashing Hope a half-smile. "Well, you heard him. Let's get moving."