Present day

Early mornings in London seemed particularly beautiful in October. Trees still had their leaves, although instead of green they were now every shade of crimson and gold. Red foxes were everywhere, snuffling and rooting through garbage bins before the homeowners were fully awake. The air was starting to get noticeably cooler, although when the sunrise broke through the inky clouds you could still feel the last of the year's warmth. Autumn was definitely here, and Sam was looking forward to spending a quieter Halloween in a country that didn't celebrate ghosts, witches and werewolves quite as fervently as the States did.

Sam had been up since 6am. First for a run around the pretty rough back streets of Stratford (although West Ham's London Stadium was impressive), then home for a quick shower and change into his suit before heading down to the bus stop. The D8 stop was right inside Stratford's busy transport hub, with overground and underground trains making the area heavily populated at rush hour. Sam had tried the commute to Canary Wharf a few different ways, but preferred the bus, even though it was a few minutes slower; he got to see more of London that way, and he liked dropping into Westfield sometimes to pick up shopping. It totally wasn't because of Lara.

The ten-minute walk from Sam's flat was peaceful and pleasant, and the bus stop wasn't crowded as usual. In fact, only Lara was there, wrapped up warmly in a smart grey coat and black trouser suit. She smiled as he approached, and made a joke of shuffling up the empty bench so he could sit down next to her.

"Morning Sam…where the hell is everyone today?" She spoke with what he now recognised as an East-London accent, and definitely not the Queen's English.

He absolutely hated to compare the two, but Lara had a similar accent to Crowley's. Her softness and warmth, though, took her as far away from Crowley as night was to day. And, not that he'd given it much thought or anything, but sometimes in the mornings when her hair was still very slightly wet she smelled faintly of vanilla and cocoa butter. Whereas the King of Hell, for all his fancy lotions and aftershaves, managed to stink of dried demon piss.

"Morning Lara. I have no idea...Is today some kind of public holiday I don't know about?"

"Oh god I wish." Lara said, stretching out her legs and arms. "I'm not a morning person at all and my bed is still calling to me."

"In that case…allow me to help. One Latte, two brown sugars as requested." Sam dug into a paper bag, handed over a large purple Costa cup, then pulled out one of his own.

"Sam, you really didn't have to!" She looked surprised, but gratefully took the paper cup from him.

"A bet is a bet, and you won." He crumpled up the empty bag and tossed it into a nearby bin. "Hey, if you feel too guilty you could always pick one up for me tomorrow…"

Lara laughed and raised her cup up to his as a salute. "You've got yourself a deal." She drank a gulp, and Sam chuckled inside at the happy slurpy noise that she was totally unaware she was making. "It wasn't a fair bet though. I must know way more about English pop music than you do."

Sam shrugged. "Hey, I took that bet didn't I? And just because I'm American, doesn't mean I'm completely uncultured. We have Adele over there too, you know…"

As Lara went to answer, her eyes suddenly widened at something behind him and a hand flew to her mouth in shock. At the same time, Sam heard a short, high squeal of brakes followed by an almighty crash. Sam spun in his seat to see a large UPS delivery truck had been rear ended by a green Land Rover just twenty yards up the road from where they were standing.

His fists clenched and pulse spiked from the reactive fight or flight instinct. He no longer carried a knife or a gun around with him – which was probably a very good thing - he would have just instinctively drawn a weapon on this busy London street without even thinking about it. He forced his hands to relax when he saw both drivers emerge unharmed from their vehicles and start shouting at each other. For a second, just for that small moment, he had been hurled into the mindset of his previous life and he didn't like it.

The UPS van had been shunted into the centre of the lane, was completely blocking the road, and by the looks of it wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon. Cars began to U-turn as others behind them impatiently sounded their horns as if it would make a difference. The bus was never gonna get through.

Sam knew for sure that he was going to be late in to work when he saw the Land Rover driver stick two fingers up at the delivery driver and saunter off down the road without a care in the world, leaving his half mangled car at the scene of the accident.

"What the hell…?" Sam said out loud. One or two other bystanders who had also witnessed the accident rolled their eyes at the attitude of the driver, but then carried on about their business as if this were normal.

"Is he drunk or something?" Lara stood up, and kicked a black suede boot against the council garbage can. "Shit. Fucking double shit. You know this means we have to hang around and wait for the police - we are the closest witnesses. Fuck, I really needed to get to work on time today."

"Should I get after him?" Sam didn't want to get involved but was prepared to give chase if he had to.

Lara stared at him. "Hell no! The guy is obviously a prick. If the UPS man aint bothered enough to go get him, no reason you should be."

Sam looked back to see the delivery driver laughing and calling out 'you stupid tosser you're going on You Tube', as he pulled out his cell phone to film the other guy casually strolling down the road.

"Just a typical Thursday in Newham. Crazy-crazy."

"How do you want to play this?" Sam asked. "If you need to get off to work, I'll wait and speak to the cops?"

"You're a gentleman Sam, but no. I've got a better idea, seeing as I've got to be in work double urgent, and I'm sure you don't need to be late either…" Lara quickly walked over to the UPS driver, who had stopped recording the man after he had turned out of sight around a corner. Sam got up from the bench and half-jogged to catch up with her.

"Hi! Just wanted to let you know that my friend and I saw the whole thing – totally not your fault by the way. But, we haven't got time to hang around. Can you give these to the police and if they need to get our statements they can call us?" She handed Sam one of her business cards to pass to the driver, and told him to fish out one of his own. He glanced at hers as he passed them on. Lara Whitmore, Technical Manager, IT Solutions. At least he knew her last name now, and what she did. Sort of.

Lara finished chatting with the driver as Sam put his wallet back inside his jacket pocket, then looked up at him. "Shall we…?" she asked, cocking her head away from the scene of the collision.

"Let's go" said Sam. It was an automatic assumption that they would get on the underground together, and Sam was taking a liking to their fledgling whatever-this-was. He fought the urge to take her hand in his as they went to turn away.

Instead, three men stepped out the back of a black cab that had been halfway through making a U-turn behind the UPS van. From around a foot away they very discretely raised small semi-automatics in such a manner that only Sam and Lara would notice them. Sam's blood went cold. Instinctively, he put his much taller frame in front of Lara and pulled her to a stop behind him. He accidentally knocked her coffee cup out of her hand, then purposely dropped his own to free up a hand. A hand that had no weapons available to it.

Flashback to six weeks earlier

Sam fell forwards, straight through the empty doorway. He landed face first, chin hitting the ground and wrists snapping backwards as he tried, and failed in his weak state, to catch his fall.

The air in the corridor had bitter, ozone-y tang to it, which was far better than the smell he had become accustomed to inside his cell.

He was so confused. He had absolutely no idea what was going on. He knew he was smart, could work situations out fast, but this baffled him utterly. So when he crawled over to his unconscious brother's body, he hesitated before reaching out. How would he feel when the illusion disappeared and his hand went straight through thin air? How would he feel if it didn't?

The decision was taken out of his hands, literally, as Dean began to mumble, vaguely opened one eye, and grabbed hold of Sam with a loose fist.

"D…Dean?" Sam didn't mean to, but hot tears sprang from his eyes. He felt ill, delirious.

Dean seemed to come back to himself with a start, and sat up sharply. "Sammy, where's mom…?"

Sam rolled over onto his back, didn't bother wiping away the tears that were running into his hair.

"Mom's dead Dean. Same as you. Same as me, probably." Sam slurred, drunkenly.

Dean half-stood, dragging Sam by his shoulders to rest upright against one of the walls. He looked his brother in the eye, and mustered every last bit of gung-ho, super fierce, big brother awesomeness he could muster. "You listen to me Sam, and you listen good. I know you've been through a lot, that you are all kinds of fucked up. But you have to believe me when I say I'm not dead. I'm really not."

Sam reached out and briefly rested a hand against Dean's cheek, before dropping it back onto his lap. "You're bleeding" was all he could say.

Dean glanced down at his arm and scowled, hard. "It's nothing." He looked back at Sam and pressed his fingers urgently into Sam's shoulders. "I need you to tell me now Sam, where's mom?"

"You mean the mom-lucination I just had? She cut you, then disappeared in a magical bright light when she opened my cell door. Kicked you good and hard tho'." Sam reached up again, and touched a bump the size of a marble on the side of Dean's head. Dean didn't even wince. Just sat down heavily next to his brother, bent knees touching his forehead.

They sat like that for a small eternity before Dean finally stood, grabbed a firm hold of his bloodied and bruised brother and pulled him upright.

"Let's get out of here."