Author's note: Not a whole lot to say this time around. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Neither of these shows belong to me. Also, i am not trying to say bad things about cops in this chapter. It's just these characters. It's not like all cops are like this.

Chapter 5: We're So Screwed

"Is your arm okay?" Sammy asked, coming over to the bed to sit next to me.

"I already told you, it's fine." I shrugged slightly. "I'll take care of it later."

"Dean, you've got blood all over your sleeve. You've got to do something about it." Sam reached out for my arm and I leaned in the other direction.

"You don't have to handle it, Sammy. I can do it. You just go to bed." I patted his shoulder and got up.

"Can I do my homework instead?"

I blinked a couple times, surprised. "But we're not in that town anymore. It's not like you have to turn it in."

"I still wanna learn the stuff, Dean."

"But… you don't have to."

"And that is why I've got As and you're failing."

"That's not the only reason." I muttered, walking into the bathroom, but Sam didn't hear me.

I pulled off my overshirt and pushed the sleeve of my t-shirt up over my shoulder, checking out the cut on my bicep in the mirror. It was bleeding a fair amount, and it was deep, but it definitely could've been worse. It was almost bad enough for stitches, but not quite.

Super Glue it is, I guess.

But where were we keeping that? Did we even have any left?

"You want some help?" Sammy, stealth ninja that he could be when he actually felt inclined, had come over to the bathroom without me hearing and was now leaning against the doorframe, a little bottle of Super Glue in his hand.

I smiled slightly and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "Sure, thanks." Super Gluing your own bicep could be a little tricky when your arm got so upset with you every time you moved it.

Sam grabbed a towel, got it wet, knelt down next to me, and started wiping up the blood. "Do you think we'll see him again?"

"The Doctor?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, yeah. He said we will, didn't he?"

"How long?"

I shrugged one shoulder while he got started with the Super Glue. "Dunno. But he's done everything he's said he'd do so far. He'll show sooner or later."

"If you say so."

XxXxX

I don't know what I was dreaming about, something weird, but I was actually kind of disappointed when a sound in the room that I didn't recognize woke me up. I didn't open my eyes, though. I knew better than to do that: it tips whoever it is off that your awake.

I listened hard for another sound, one hand tightening around the gun under my pillow and the other sliding sideways to grab Sammy's wrist, making sure he was still there next to me and cluing him in that something was wrong. His breathing shifted subtly, and I knew he was awake.

I was thinking quick, trying to decide what to do, when a cold, foreign hand pressed against the small of my back and suddenly everything changed.

The bed was gone, replaced by wet asphalt. Rain was falling on my face, and it was maybe forty degrees. Definitely outside. The only things that stayed the same were Sammy's wrist and my gun in my hands. I opened my eyes and sat up.

An alley. We were down some random alley.

Sam sat up too and grabbed my arm tightly. "Dean, where are we?"

I shook my head. "I dunno, Sammy." I looked around and spotted the Empire State Building out one end of the alley. "How'd we get to New York?"

"We're in New York?"

"Yeah, the tall one's over there." I stood up and pulled Sam to his feet. "I think the weeping angel got to us."

"Dean, we're so screwed." Sam's eyes darted around the alley like he was looking for an escape route. "Nobody has any idea what happened, we don't even really know what's going on, it's freezing, and you don't even have a shirt."

I glanced down. "Oh, yeah. I should probably find one of those."

"Yes, Dean. You probably should."

"Don't you get condescending with me." I said sternly, but smirked so he'd know I was messing around. "Come on, let's go; we gotta find a place to hole up till we can figure out how to get home."

"It's not like we can get a motel room. You're still a minor, and we don't have any money."

"Two words, Sammy. Abandoned buildings."

"Rats, Dean. Rats."

Damn it, I always forgot about those. "I'll shoot them."

"You've got really limited ammo, Dean."

"Stop patronizing me. I'll just kick em or something; it'll be fine."

I stuck my gun in the waistband of my jeans and we carefully walked out of the alley, trying to get a feel for what exactly was going on.

"Dean, all these cars are from, like, thirty years ago." Sam pointed out.

"There's a newspaper in that trash can." I grabbed that paper out and looked at the date at the top. "Ah, man."

"What?"

"It's 1966. Our car hasn't even been invented yet. Damn it."

Sam folded his arms. "I'll say it again. We're so screwed."

"We'll figure it out. C'mon."

We started down the street, trying to avoid being noticed. Except with me walking around in just my jeans and Sammy in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, we didn't really have a whole lot of success. But even though it was 1966, and people were just generally more friendly back then, this was still New York, and nobody stopped to see if they could help out. Sure got a lot of funny looks though.

"Okay, we really need clothes." I scanned the apartments on either side until I found what I was looking for. "That one looks like nobody's home. Let's go see if we can find some there."

Sam shifted slightly. "Dean, that's stealing."

"It's just a shirt for me, some jeans for you, and a couple pairs of shoes. It's not a big deal: they can spare it. C'mon."

I led Sammy into the alley next to the building and up the fire escape until we were on the same floor as the apartment, then carefully peeked through the window.

"Okay, I don't think there's anybody home."

Sam bit his lip. "Dean, I really don't feel good about this."

"Quit your bitching, Sammy." I kneed the window hard a couple times and shattered it, smirking at the small sound of protest Sammy made, and climbed in. He looked in, but stayed out on the fire escape.

"I'll keep watch."

I shook my head, but smiled a little. "Alright. See you in a minute."

I was in a small living room, not particularly extravagant, but cozy. They wouldn't miss some clothes. I carefully crept through the apartment until I found a bedroom that looked like it belonged to a couple teenage boys and started digging through their closet. I made a pile of the clothes we would need and was about to get up when I heard three people enter the room behind me. I tensed, my hand moving towards my gun.

"Freeze!" a man's voice shouted. "NYPD!"

Shit.

"Hands in the air and turn around slowly."

I did as I was told, clenching my jaw when I saw two policemen, one of whom had Sammy in cuffs.

"Put your weapon on the ground and kick it over."

I cocked an eyebrow. "You want me to kick a gun? Who taught you how to handle weapons? Wile E. Coyote?"

One of the cops stepped forward and hit me hard with his billy club, knocking me on the ground. He bent over and pulled the gun out of my waistband. "Watch your smart mouth."

"Get away from my brother." Sam snapped.

The cop raised his club to hit Sammy, and I pushed myself up off the ground and got in the way, taking it for him and winding up right back on the floor again.

"That's enough, Phil." The other cop, the one that had ahold of Sammy, looked a little uneasy. "They're just kids."

The first cop - Phil, I guess - rolled his eyes, but he did stop swinging his club around. Instead he cuffed me and hauled me to my feet. "Alright, wiseguy, let's go."

Author's afterthought: I hope you enjoyed and please review. I'm not kidding about more review meaning faster updates.