I've gone back through the first half of this fic and done quite a bit of minor editing; I've tried to clean up any redundant or repetitive vocabulary choices, fix any issues with inconsistent verb tenses, ambiguous antecedents, etc. I've also done my best to replace my muscle-memory double en dashes with em dashes instead. Feel free to PM me with anything I've missed!
DJ was well aware—despite never having seen one—that his dad was performing a summoning, yet he still flinched when a woman suddenly materialized next to the gently-smoking brazier. She wore a black dress that covered her from neck to ankle, yet somehow still left nothing to the imagination; her bright red hair cascaded down her back in a riot of curls. Cass started rumbling again the moment she appeared, and Sam wasn't quite successful in biting back a whimper, apparently having had all the apportation he could handle for one afternoon.
"Hello Samuel," she said, smiling, her voice a lilting Scottish burr. "You rang?"
"Rowena," Dad said, scrambling up off the floor and using his shirttail to wipe the chalk dust from his hands. "I need to talk to you."
"That is generally why people call," the woman smirked, adjusting her skirts.
"There have been attacks—" Dad began, but she gave a soft gasp and stepped around him, heading straight for DJ.
"Oh, Samuel! He's darling!" She cooed, cupping DJ's face even as he shrank back in alarm. "Is this why you never come 'round to visit?"
Cass bared his teeth and took a step nearer, protective.
"And what have we here?" Rowena queried, looking Cass up and down. "Werewolves are a bit of an unusual choice for a pet, Samuel," she chided, throwing an accusing glance over her shoulder at dad. "Still," she mused, "I suppose every boy needs a loyal dog."
"Hey!" Cass and Sam snapped simultaneously, offense taken.
"Rowena," Dad sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "These are Garth's boys, Cass and Sam Fitzgerald. They're not pets; the boys grew up together. Say hello, boys."
"Hello," Sam said sullenly; Cass simply continued to growl.
"Um," DJ said awkwardly, peeling her hands away from his cheeks. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"You may call me 'Auntie,'" she replied, beaming up at him.
He forced a nervous smile and shot a half-panicked glance at his dad over the top of her coppery head; dad was no help at all, glaring at the floor while he massaged his temples between his thumb and forefinger.
"You have lovely cheekbones," Rowena informed him, touching them again. "And a good, strong jaw; a Winchester jaw," she added approvingly, using said facial feature to turn his head from side to side.
"Uh, thanks," DJ managed, uncomfortable, tipping his chin up and out of her grasp as tactfully as possible.
He was spared further molestation by Crowley, of all people, who heaved a great, put-upon sigh from his forced confinement in the entryway.
"While I hate to break up… whatever this is," he said scathingly, "could we please return to the matter at hand?"
Rowena's eyes went round and wide; her spine stiffened and her hand fell lifelessly away from where it had been tenderly stroking DJ's hair back from his face.
"Fergus?" she said softly, disbelievingly, turning to face the demon.
Crowley's eyes narrowed.
"No one's called me that in three hundred years," he sneered, but he too was holding himself stiffly.
"Rowena," Dad cut in hastily, taking her by the shoulders and bending to look her in the eye. "This is Crowley," he said, quirking his eyebrows as he emphasized the name. "He's time-traveling, from nearly thirty years ago."
"Is he now?" Rowena said faintly, searching dad's face and seeming to find some sort of answer there. "And why is that?"
"We've come to stop the rise of the antichrist," Castiel answered earnestly, and Rowena jumped, noticing him for the first time.
"Not you too!" She cried, dismayed.
"Him too," Dad said grimly, squeezing her shoulders bracingly.
"Oh, bloody hell," she groused, brushing dad off and planting her fists on her hips. "Someone had best start explaining, before I lose my temper."
"Sam and Cass have been tracking a series of attacks across the midwest," Dad began again. "We have reason to believe something infernal is responsible for those attacks; hellhounds, possibly… or daeva."
"Oh," Rowena scoffed dismissively. "That. That's just a few of the lesser princes sowing their wild oats; it's nothing that warrants a jaunt through time and space, I can tell you that much!"
"The lesser princes?" Dad prompted, folding his arms across his chest.
Rowena sighed.
"Beelzebub, Belial, Legion—absolutely atrocious table manners, they have—Judas Iscariot; you know, the usual small-minded malcontents," she rolled her eyes. "They're none too pleased with a decade of peace, as you might imagine," she said, arching one eyebrow meaningfully.
"We appreciate your benevolence, Your Grace," Dad said, words polite but tone insolent.
"Excuse me!?" Crowley said sharply. "'Your Grace!?'"
"I'm the Queen of Hell, dear," Rowena answered him, simpering sweetly.
"Well, you're not a very good one!" Crowley retorted, face gone red with rage. "I locked the daeva away during my reign for a damn good reason; do you have a death wish!?"
She fluttered her lashes, and DJ's stomach lurched treacherously as her eyes went glossy black and her voice dropped into a sibilant register.
"Dinnae test me," she hissed, stalking over to the devil's trap to spit the words in Crowley's face.
"All right, knock it off," Dad grumbled, stepping fearlessly between them to break it up.
As the demons bickered and his dad served as referee, DJ started rubbing anxiously at his face and neck, feeling unclean. Sam wordlessly passed him a jar of holy water and a dishcloth, both of which he accepted gratefully.
"What the fuck is happening!?" Cass repeated, more quietly, still wound tighter than a spring.
DJ shrugged, scrubbing behind his ears.
"Perhaps we should let them talk," Castiel suggested, joining their little huddle.
"Dude," Cass objected, nudging him with his elbow. "Personal space."
"My apologies," Castiel replied, shuffling a few steps to the side.
"Beyoncé!" DJ blurted abruptly, which made everyone in the room—barring Castiel, whose stolid expression didn't change one iota—look at him as though he'd lost his goddamn mind. "Sorry," he scrambled to explain, "Sorry, it's just… I remembered… there's a fake I.D. in the trunk of dad's old car with his face on it," he jerked his thumb at Castiel. "It says he's Agent Beyoncé with the FBI. I always thought it was… funny."
Dad's mouth twitched up at the side, but he valiantly held in any laughter. Rowena's eyes, violet again, sparkled with mischief.
"We're all going to die," Crowley muttered, to no one in particular. "I'm surrounded by idiots."
"Cheer up, Crowley," Dad said easily, clapping him on the shoulder as he scraped the toe of his boot across the outer ring of the devil's trap. "You're already dead."
Crowley's face lit up once he realized he was free, and he found his way to the liquor cabinet without any trouble. Dad made his way over to DJ and the twins, noticing their obvious discomfort.
"We're going to take this into the library," he informed them, clasping DJ's arm. "You boys should try to get some rest; you have a long drive tomorrow."
"Ow," DJ said, snatching his arm back involuntarily; his dad's grip was aggravating the new tattoo.
"Let me see," Dad pushed up his sleeve to inspect it. "Hmm; it's well done, but the arm wouldn't have been my first choice."
"Told you," Cass gloated.
"Where are we going?" Sam said at the same time.
"Home; back to school," Dad said resolutely, leveling each of them with a determined stare.
"No way," DJ balked, shaking his head. "Dad, we can't just leave you all alone to deal with this; you need help!"
"Not from you," he replied, decisive. "This is… way beyond anything you boys have ever had to deal with. I know you've had a little experience, and you've heard the stories all your lives, but—" he paused, seeming to struggle for words.
DJ found himself caught up in a bear hug without warning, and he realized for the first time that his dad was shaking like a leaf.
"I can't do this," he said roughly into DJ's ear. "Not if you're caught up in it. I need to know that you're safe. Please, Dean."
DJ frowned, crushed against his dad's chest, thoughts and feelings a chaotic muddle. He shoved at him, trying to create a bit of distance.
"You have to check in every day," he insisted, and he could feel some of the tension go out of his dad's arms.
"Every day," Dad promised. "I swear."
"Me and Sammy'll watch his back, DJ," Cass reassured him, and DJ looked up just in time to catch dad's bitchface.
"If you try to follow me, I'm going to sic your dad on you," he threatened the younger man.
"Aw, man," Cass whined, pouting. "You're no fun."