A/N: Okay, guys, this chapter has three different points of view all from the same point. Yeah, I know, you're probably wondering wtf am I talking about - you'll see. Don't worry, I got all POVs separated and titled. Oh and btw, the title of this chapter is derived from an old song by Orthodox Celts. Considering the final central scene of this chapter, terms such as 'roses', 'green' and 'fields of blood' seem so fitting. Enjoy.

Chapter 8: Green roses will grow, while green fields turn to red

2007 (Past) Dean, current year 2007:

Dean jerked awake, immediately rising into a sitting position. Ever since Castiel rescued him from Hell, he had been having these strange nightmares, dreaming of places he'd never been too, of people he had never met, of things that could have never been. He dreamt of his mother standing in an empty field, smiling and reaching out to him and he fell into her embrace, feeling her arms tighten around his torso, barely reaching around him because he was so big, he was an adult and she was alive.

He dreamt of a workshop and his dad's face with oil smudges and a wide smile, looking so damn proud of him. He dreamt of Sam and how he never went to Stanford to find him, so they grew apart, Sam finding a happy life for himself, building a home and a family, while Dean was left behind to hunt and rot.

He dreamt of a dock and a river and a fishing line in front of him while he sat back in his fishing chair, completely ignoring whoever was watching him. But this latest dream was the weirdest one yet, it was as if it was a memory he had as an infant, but no normal person should remember that. He dreamt of his nursery, of a statue of a little angel and his mother and father leaning over the crib. He dreamt of them smiling down at him and of her mother telling him that angels were watching over him.

In the light of recent events, the words seemed so ominous, the dream giving him goosebumps every time remembered it. A month ago he thought the angels were a myth, that they didn't exist, not because he didn't believe in the supernatural, but because, as logic stated, the angels were supposed to be the good guys, and all they did was sit and watch as the world was consumed by evil.

No the angels were real, it was his perception of them that was misguided. Sure, there were exceptions, like Anna, even after she took her grace back, she was still sweet and smiled at Dean and told him she would help, then kissed him so passionately it made his head spin.

Castiel was a good guy too, he saved him, helped him, healed him. Sam said he can be trusted, that he was a friend, that he remembered him. But lately, Dean didn't know if he could trust what Sam said. The kid was acting differently and deep down Dean knew it was because he took on that older Sam's memories, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that his brother was hiding something from him.

Yet Dean didn't know that was exactly how he felt in the original timeline, where Sam's secret was Ruby and drinking her demon blood, but no matter how the timeline changed, some things still remained the same. This was the time their brotherhood had a crisis of faith, of trust, and it would reflect on the events to come.

Dean rose from his bed, threw on some clothes and headed down the squeaky stairs, going past Bobby who only gave a grunt to his "Mornin'." The old geezer seemed even more annoyed lately, but who could blame him? THe boys were always welcome, but they never stayed this long, and it must be wearing the old man down. Plus, there was now Cas there too, and even though he was one of the good guys, he wasn't human, and that fact must make Bobby's skin crawl.

"Morning." Dean greeted as he entered the kitchen, Sam and Cas sitting at the table, both strangely silent as they sipped their coffee, Sam tinkering away on his laptop. Did angels even drink coffee? Dean simply shrugged, it was way too early for this shit and he still hadn't had his coffee.

"Good morning, Dean." Cas said in his gravelly voice, while Sam just "Hey"-ed him, not lifting his gaze from that damn laptop. Dean poured himself a cup and took a long sip, inhaling the aroma and humming to the scent before turning back to face the crowd. Sam still pretty much ignored him while Castiel stared at him, his blue eyes so intense, it made Dean extremely uncomfortable. The angel squinted his eyes, the look contemplative and piercing straight to his soul.

"You seem tired, have you not slept well?" the angel inquired, and damn, he was like a freaking mind reader.

"Just some lame nightmares, all part of the job." Dean waved it off, coming closer and plopping down on the seat next to Sam. "What are you guys up to?" He needed to change the topic, not wanting to share his dreams and make them worry, and act like he needed special attention or anything. With a corner of his eye, he could see the angel frown, his eyes squinting even further and he could feel some strange heat in his gaze, but luckily Sam spoke up, breaking the spell.

"Oh, shit!" The younger brother exclaimed, his eyes widening, his gaze snapping up to look at Castiel first. Yeah, nothing happening there, no secrets there, no sir-e. "I forgot about this." He stated and turned the laptop so that they could see what he found. There was an article about a book being published, the ratings of the series and summary, and the cover. There was a guy that looked like Schwarzenegger, with a clean military cut and another that kind of looked like Thore - both of them musculine and with weapons in their hands. They were standing in a yard of an old abandoned house, moon big and high in the sky and… Wait. Was that the impala?! What the fuck?!

"The supernatural books." Sam said and Dean looked up at him, confused and irritated, because Castiel seemed to know what Sam was talking about, making Dean feel really left out. "Come on, we gotta go." Sam suddenly said without explanation and stood up, Castiel following suit.

"Sam, you cannot simply…"

"He's there. In that house, remember? I have to get to him."

"And do what?!" Castiel raised his tone, making Dean flinch. The angel was dead serious, angry even, the entire room buzzing with electricity. Sam seemed to deflate for a moment, before his spite rose up.

"I don't know, punch him in the face?"

"I will go seek him out. If he is there, I will return and we will consider our options, but Sam… I really doubt he is even there." The angel said, but Sam was clearly ready to fight him on it.

"No. If he is there, what can you do?! He will end you."

"He could end me right now, I don't need to be in his close proximity." Castiel countered and Jesus Christ, who the fuck were they talking about. "Sam, listen - I believe this to be a sign."

"A sign of what?" Sam asked.

"Do you recall who stands to defend the prophet of the lord?" Cas queried and Sam frowned for a moment, thinking it through before going wide-eyed at the angel.

"Raphael!"

"Yes. I believe this to be a trap, Raphael is strong enough to wipe us all. But it is also an opportunity. If I can sway him, or at least plant a seed of doubt, we could maybe even get to Michael through him. Raphael believes Chuck is dead, I can persuade him that he is alive and that he is playing them all, he will believe. The question remains as to what he would do with that information."

At this point, Dean really felt left out. He kept trying to intervene, to ask, to draw attention to himself, but it was as if he wasn't even in the room anymore, no one would tell him anything. Anger was building under the surface and Dean came very close to start shouting at them and throwing things, when suddenly Castiel disappeared with a flap of his invisible wings. Sam let out a sigh and looked back at him, a startled expression on his face, as if he just realized Dean was in the room.

"Dean…"

"No. Just no. Fuck you! Fuck you and Cas too!!!" He screamed and turned to walk away, when Sam's words reached him.

"I'm sorry." The tone was so apologetic, so sincere, and it seemed as though Sam actually meant it. Maybe he would have even talked and revealed what he was hiding from Dean, if Dean pushed, but he shouldn't have to do that. No, Sam should have told him on his own, Dean shouldn't have to push for answers.

"Fuck you!" Dean called over his shoulder and stomped out of the house, sat in his beloved Impala, one that never failed him and drove off.

A few hours later Dean woke up at a desk, papers stuck to his cheek. He frowned, glancing around in confusion. He was in an office, at a desk, with a computer before him. The office had tall windows with blinds, a big ficus plant, filing cabinets and a few pictures hanging on the walls with the building of the Sandover Bridge and Steel company.

Not so surprisingly Dean was wearing a suit, a white and blue striped shirt with a red tie which he remembered putting on that morning. It was a little confusing, but Dean knew he worked here, that his name was Dean Smith, that he was the director of Sales and Marketing, and that he drove a Prius. He knew all this to be true.

He woke every day, drank his protein shake, did his work and went home, same each and every day. Yet the first he felt the sudden chill and saw his breath, he knew it wasn't a problem with the vents, he knew he was in danger.

At the first sight of a ghost, he knew running in the kitchen and spraying salt all over him would make him disperse, that iron might help too and that he needed to find out why the original owner and founder P. t. Sandover was haunting the place. It took him a couple of hours and a lot of typing, and he never figured out the why, but he figured out the how, and that's all it took.

With the burn of the glove of the ghost, Dean's memories returned, while before him stood a familiar face.

"Well done, Dean. Well done." The man before him said, his smile lopsided, his face a mixture of pride and annoyance. "See. We can take away your memories, change everything about who you are, but those instincts… We could never alter those."

"You're… you're that angel, the one Castiel shooed off." Dean said, making the angel roll his eyes, while some anger made his face get up a shade.

"Zachariah. My name is Zachariah. I was also Castiel's superior until he decided to switch sides."

"Switch sides?" Dean asked. Zachariah paced looking around while he talked, but Dean's question made him pause and look at Dean for a few moments before he gave his answer.

"Yes, Dean. Switch sides. There is a war coming, Dean. The biblical apocalypse is upon us, and soon Lucifer will walk the Earth. We cannot allow this to happen. Your friend and your brother along with yourself are currently on the wrong side of the upcoming war." Zachariah said, and Dean made that 'oh, shit!' face at learning the truth. So that was what all this was about, why angels suddenly decided to pop down to Earth, why the demonic activity was at an all time high, but what did this have to do with them?

As if he could read his mind, and he probably could, Zachariah answered that lingering question. "Your brother was destined to free the devil. And with the help of an angel, he will succeed. We need you to help us stop them. We need you to help us stop Lucifer from rising. We need you to say Yes."

"No." The words were out of his mouth before Dean even knew what he wanted to say. No matter what, he would always stand by his brother, even if the kid was being misled. It was his job to keep him safe and on the right path and if Sam deterred from it, he would set him straight. He just needed to talk to Sam, figure out what he and Cas were up to, and why not tell him. Sure, doubt plagued his mind that this Doucheriah could be right, but he refused to believe he could get to his brother and make him see what his actions were doing. The kid might not even be awake, for Christ sake!

But Castiel would be. Perhaps it is the angel that shouldn't be trusted? Maybe Zachariah was right and Castiel switched sides, taking them along for the ride.

All of this could be true, yet those same instincts that Zachariah was just talking about were telling him that the angel before him was the bad guy, not Castiel. It was just this gut feeling, that he just couldn't shake. And besides… He hated his but-ugly face.

"Stubborn, aren't we? Fine. Fine." Zachariah said, throwing his hands in the air. "I wanted to play nice, I wanted you to see the truth on your own terms. But since you want to be SO DAMN STUBBORN… I guess I'll just have to shove the truth in your face! You don't believe me? Fine! Believe your own damn eyes!" Zachariah yelled, snapped his fingers and darkness overtook the hunter.

2014 (Endverse) Dean, current year 2014:

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Dean said as he exited his cabin, leaving a seven year younger version of himself cuffed to a bedpost. He overheard the younger Dean call him a dick, and yeah, maybe he was being a dick, but he needed to think things through, he needed to understand why Zachariah sent this younger version into the future.

It would have been easier to just talk to the douche angel, but big surprise - Zachariah was a no show. Still, it couldn't have been a coincidence that young Dean popped up the same night they were going up against Lucifer. For a while now, Dean had his suspicions that the Colt won't work, that tonight, he will die by his brother's hand and he hated it. But with this younger version of himself, maybe… Maybe there's a chance. Maybe, if he showed him what had happened, what were the consequences of saying No, maybe then, the world would have a fighting chance.

As he walked towards Castiel's orgy cabin, hoping to get a few words of wisdom from his old friend, he slammed into someone, the impact sending him stumbling backwards. "Hey, watch it!" He yelled, agitated, before his eyes fell upon the man in front of him, making Dean's eyes go wide. He looked as if he fell straight out of a horror movie.

The version he left in the cabin was still young, pretty, soft around the edges, nothing like himself. But the man before him… With his clothes ripped, drenched in blood and mud, his face filled with wrinkles and hard lines, a wicked looking axe he probably made all by himself, there stood another him, a few years older and really, really pissed off.

"When…"

"2020." The older Dean said, his eyes roaming the camp, completely ignoring the man on the ground who happened to have a machine gun in his hands. "Camp Chitaqua. 2014. Why the fuck am I back here?" The older Dean mumbled, stepping over his younger version and trolling deeper into the camp. The 2014 Dean jumped back on his feet, running after him, and catching up just in time to hear him say "... this didn't happen."

"What do you mean, didn't happen!?"

"I mean, in 2014 we were… pff… hunting God's sister? Yeah, that sounds about right."

"We? God's sister?"

"Yeah, Sammy and I… Wait! Where's Chuck!?" The elder Dean seemed to have realized something, suddenly looking alert and dangerous, the 2014 Dean knew that look, though it seemed a lot scarier from the other side.

The 2020 Dean turned towards the cabin where Chuck usually resided, but when the 2014 version tried to stop him, to try and understand what was happening, why was he here and what he wanted with Chuck, the older Dean clunk him in the head, and the world went dark.

2020 (Future) Dean, current year 2014:

Chuck was onto them, he had to be. How else would Dean be walking through Purgatory one second and stumbling into camp Chitaqua that shouldn't even exist anymore? Fuck time and timelines, Dean would never be able to understand how all this shit worked.

But as he talked to that douchier version of his younger self, Dean mentioned fighting God's sister, then immediately remembered what it was like for the 2009 version to be in this place, to see the misery and all the hurt people and to have the FUCKING GOD HIMSELF tell him to hoard the toilet paper?!?! That mother fucker!!! He was here, he had to be.

Fuck it all, just the chance to punch him in the face would be enough, even if it cost him his life. He had no real way of getting out of here, and the lame ass attempts they were trying back in 2020 were probably gonna be failiures. I mean, how do you take down GOD?

Dean would be happy with a punch. Roaming around the camp without being spotted was a piece of cake, his skills grew over the years and he knew the terrain. Yet, no matter where he looked, he just couldn't find Chuck. Reconsidering his option to include the 2014 Dean into all of this, he went out to look for him instead.

And he found him, along with the even younger version of himself, preparing for a fight. Oh, yeah, he remembered this one. They were going against Lucifer wearing Sammy. Maybe he could convince him to take him back to his year? Would it be worth it to team up with him?

Did Dean want to? Hell no.

Did he have a choice? Hell no.

So Dean followed them. It had to be a reason why he ended up in this forgotten time, and he knew the grand scene that was about to take place. But nothing could douse down the rage that boiled within him at the sight of Lucifer wearing Sam as his vessel, snapping the 2014 version's neck. Shit he forgot about it, he forgot how it felt to look at his brother, but not find an ounce of him there.

In his fancy white suit, Lucifer stood by the rose bush, three red roses extending from it. He was delivering his annoying little speech about how it was always going to go down like that.

"Whatever you do, you will always end up right here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up… Here." Lucifer said. "I win… So I win."

"You're wrong." The younger version of Dean replied, heavy tears streaming down his face. Yeah, Dean remembered this part well. This was when he decided he won't give up on Sam, he never will. He would never give up, never stop fighting. Huh. Maybe that's the reason he had so see this, to be reminded of that. Well, time to announce it.

"Damn right he's wrong." 2020 Dean said, stepping forth. The younger Dean was completely confused, probably too tired and drained to understand who this newcomer was, but Lucifer knew. He frowned as he glanced back at the 2014 version he just killed, then back at an older one, a one that shouldn't exist.

"We do end up here, you and I. Only you're not wearing Sammy, no… And me? I do say Yes to Michael, and I use him as rocket fuel to propell his archangel blade and gut you right open." Dean said with a smirk that leveled even the Devil himself.

"Did you really think you were that important? To Him? That He'll just let you have all of this? No, sorry, buddy. Sam and I, we are the leads, the heroes of the story. You… You're just another side villain." Dean added. This was about the time when Castiel entered the scene to pull the younger Dean out of this timeline, and 2020 Dean was counting on that, so that he could hitch a ride, but he couldn't help rub it in Lucifer's face that he simply wasn't that important.

That might have been a wrong move, poking the bear. Bewildered, Lucifer glanced at the dead body at his feet, then back at the older Dean, coming to the realization that this reality never really happened, and that there was a pretty good chance that what the elder Dean was saying was the truth. His eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath, turning towards the youngest version, because he did the math. If he killed that one, none other would exist.

Clearly, he didn't count on Heaven constantly bringing them back to life.

Opening his hand, lightening flew in the younger Dean's direction, and for some dumb reason, the 2020 version and his 'savin people' instinct made him launch forward, taking the hit. But at the same time, the younger Dean extended his hands, catching him before he fell and the electricity shocked them both. Somehow, Dean still fell down, gasping for air and the last thing he saw before darkness overtook him was a hand reaching for him and a big khaki blur that might have looked like a trenchcoat.

2020 (Future) Dean, current year 2007:

Dean jerked awake, immediately rising into a sitting position. A big hand landed on his shoulder, making him snapp his head in the direction of the person who touched him. Staring back at him was a much cleaner, less disheveled and less tired looking version of his angel friend. No, this wasn't Cas, this was Castiel, the angel of the Lord. Shit. "Hello Dean." He said, proving Dean's point.

"Dean!" Sam's voice echoed from behind him and Dean whipped around, coming face to face with a much younger brother, with much shorter hair. Oh, great. Now he went even further back in time. Where were Marty McFly and Doc Brown when you needed them?

His hand reached out to swap down his face, a habit he had when trying to process what was happening around him, but when he caught sight of his hand, he paused. It looked a helluva lot younger too, not to mention he still had those rings he wore in his late twenties.

Well, shit.