Okay, I am so nervous right now. This is the first time I've posted a NEW fic for a NEW fandom in years and I feel like I'm going to get eaten by piranhas. Besides that, if you're a Supernatural fan and you're reading this, all you really have to be aware of from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is Skye's storyline from the first two seasons. If you're an Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. fan and you're reading this... Well, you're gonna have to be aware of the first three seasons and the final season. If you're a Supernatural fan and you read that last sentence and are questioning why the big timeline gap... You'll see...

Disclaimer (and this is the only one you're getting): I do not own the Supernatural, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., or any other related recognizable characters and/or properties contained within. All rights go to Warner Brothers, Marvel Comics, Marvel Entertainment, ABC Studios, and any other interested third party (I don't think I could name them all.) This work contains lines from Supernatural Season 4, Episode 1 "Lazarus Rising", and Season 15, Episode 18 "Despair." All credit for those lines go to Eric Kripke and Robert Berens respectively.

This fic is rated T and for the most part doesn't show anything worse than what's normal fare for Supernatural, although be warned a character does cut themself with a silver knife, there are depictions of panic/anxiety attacks, and there is at least one instance of strong language. Be advised if these things disturb you. The biggest warning I must put here is that this fic, while rated T, does depict relationships that do not comply with cannon and that some people have an ideological, moral, or otherwise bigotted opinion about. If you do not like the Dean/Castiel pairing or are turned off by the other disclaimers, please do not read this fic. Death threats will be taken seriously.

Finally, I do not consent to my works being hosted on any unofficial app, particularly ones with ad revenue and subscription services. You should only be able to read this on FFN and AO3. Nowhere else. If you see my stories being hosted on a third-party application, report it to iTunes or the Google Play Store immediately.

Thursday, September 18th, 2008

Pontiac, Illinois

Everything was dark. A cold, violent shudder ran through him, causing him to knock his head back against the wood. Alarmed, he felt around him. There was wood above him, behind him, and on either side of him. He was trapped in a box.

A coffin, his mind supplied for him.

Breathing heavily, he reached into his right pocket where he usually kept his Zippo lighter and did not come back disappointed. He flicked it on, and the space became awash with pale orange light. His suspicions were confirmed; there was no way he could be in anything else but a coffin. Eyes widening, he swallowed hard before trying to speak up. As expected, his voice was horse from disuse.

"Help!" he tried to call out. "Help! Help!" However, it was futile. He was several feet below the ground so even if someone were around, they probably couldn't hear him. Besides, if a normal person heard him their first instinct would be to head for the hills. …Or at least he thought it should be. Zombie movies told him otherwise.

Frustrated, he pounded his fist against the wood above him and felt it give slightly. Encouraged, he repeated the action until the coffin's lid finally gave way completely, causing dirt to rain down on him. The possibility of getting crushed under the weight of the earth crossed his mind, but he was quickly relieved to catch a glimpse of light shining above him. If he could see light – even for just a moment – then maybe he wasn't buried that deep and he could dig himself up.

He got to work right away, pushing his hands up through the soil crumbling above him, trying to scratch free to open air. Gravity was not on his side. With every shift in the dirt, he held his breath in anticipation of the moment it would all cave in on him. However, that moment never came. The weight of the dirt never became too much, and his breathing didn't become constricted in any way. He dug up and out, his hands inching their way through the earth until they hit the motherlode, fresh air.

He would have whooped in victory right there if he weren't risking losing precious air and a getting a mouthful of dirt. Besides, he was only halfway there. He still had to pull the rest of himself out. Feeling around the crust of the Earth, he sought out stable purchase and started pulling up.

His muscles strained and the rough dirt scraped away at his skin, but he managed to do it. As his head emerged from the dirt, he took his first deep breath in a long time. It felt so good; so clean. He reveled in it for a second before he pulled himself the rest of the way out. Finally, free! He laid down on his back, panting rapidly like he was trying to make up for all the breathing he missed during his time underground.

With his escape came a moment to think and thinking brought with its memories. Slowly, it all came back to him.

My name is Dean Winchester, he recalled. My parents are John and Mary Winchester. …They're both dead. My little brother is Sam. Sam died, too, but I saved him. I sold my soul so that he could live. Then my time ran out…

Unbidden images flashed through his mind. He could see the hellhound above him, ripping into his flesh. He could feel sharp teeth breaking apart bones and mashing up organs. The smell of fresh blood was pungent in the air, and through it all he could hear Sam's screams as Lilith kept him pinned to the wall.

Just like that, Dean was done thinking. It would only lead him down a dark road and it was best if he didn't go down it right then. …Or ever. He needed to keep his eyes on the ball and that ball came in the form of a very astute observation.

I should be in Hell. Why aren't I in Hell?

Hauling himself to his feet, Dean struggled to blink away the harsh glare of the sun's light. His impromptu dirt nap hadn't done his eyes any favors, not that he'd been expecting to wake up from it. His eyes did adjust, though it happened much slower than he'd like. Once he could properly see again, he was taken aback by the scene surrounding him.

The hole he just dug himself out of laid in front of him. Behind it stood a simple wooden cross. No markings, no name; nothing else to indicate that there had been a body buried there, just the cross. There were indications that something odd had happened there, though. Specifically, how all the trees surrounding the grave had collapsed in a perfect circle.

Finding the road hadn't been hard. If the trees had been standing, it would have been impossible to see from where Dean's grave was. However, with them down it was easy to see that it was just a straight shot out to the road, which would hopefully lead back to civilization. That is, if there was even a civilization to get back to.

Dean hadn't ruled out the possibility that this was just some elaborate trick. At least, not yet. Psychological torture wasn't unheard of in Hell, but that usually wasn't Alistair's style. He took pleasure in causing physical pain. The fruits of his labor wouldn't be displayed as clearly when messing with someone's head. Still, it was something that Dean needed to be mindful of. At any second, the illusion could break, thrusting him back into the midst of pain, horror, and terror. He did not want to be caught off-guard when that happened.

Illusion or not, Dean wasn't going to let that stop him from trying to figure out what was going on. Sure, it could be pointless, and he could be playing into the hands of whatever demon was directing this little puppet show, but if it was real, then he at least needed to try. Giving up was never an option. Not for Dean Winchester. Besides, he'd feel stupid if he sat around waiting for a trap to spring that never did.

Knowing it didn't matter what direction he went in, Dean picked one and stuck with it. He followed the road as the morning sun began to rise high overhead. As it did so, the temperature rose in kind. Dean had to strip off his top layer as the heat became more intense, tying the garment around his waist. As he pulled off the button-up shirt, his fingers brushed up against his left deltoid. Through the fabric of his t-shirt, he could feel that the skin there was raised.

Intrigued, Dean pulled his sleeve up to get a look at it. He couldn't get a full look, but he could tell without a doubt that the injury was a burn. He almost went to touch the affected area, but at the last second, he pulled back. Something felt weird about this; just a little too familiar…

It was a feeling that had been lingering ever since he pulled himself out of the grave. There was something wrong about this; something that made his gut twist and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. All of Dean's finely honed instincts were screaming at him to stop what he was doing. Normally, he would listen to those instincts, but something was compelling him to keep going. It was like he couldn't change his course of action now that he was already on it. In fact, he had a sinking suspicion that he wouldn't have been able to change anything from the moment he woke up. Maybe his initial suspicions were right, and this was all just some demon's sick little psychological torture trap.

What are you, a coward you son of a bitch? Dean couldn't turn that thought into words, but he still felt all the rage and venom he would have spat them out with. Come out and face me like a man!

Nothing responded to his non-verbal taunts and Dean didn't expect anything to. If this was the work of a demon, he wasn't going to get one. They were just going to sit back and watch him drive himself insane falling for the same trick repeatedly. At least, until that got boring, or Alistair finally grew impatient with the games. Then they'd start right back up with the physical torture, or worse…

A feeling of impending doom settled upon Dean. Even though he was aware that there was something wrong with what he was doing, he couldn't compel himself to stop. His feet forced him to keep moving while his mind screamed that he was about to die. It felt like his body was trying to tear itself apart…

…Until it stopped. Just abruptly, it all stopped. No instincts screaming at him the wrongness of the situation and no force mysteriously making him keep moving forward. In fact, just to prove it to himself that it was gone, Dean stopped dead in his tracks and turned in a slow circle to take in his surroundings. There were no cars on the road, no people following behind him, and no one hiding out in the brush that bordered both sides of the street. Dean even waited a moment to see if he missed anything, but the scene remained serene. All sense of foreboding was completely gone.

"Yeah," he said aloud. "That isn't weird or creepy at all."

Dean hesitated a moment longer. Other than a slight breeze blowing through the trees, nothing moved or made a sound. He scanned the area one last time to make sure he wasn't being watched or followed. Becoming as satisfied as he could be, Dean turned to continue down the road the way he had been.

It was then that he spotted it. Up ahead there was a gas station off to the side of the road. Relieved to at least see some sign of civilization, Dean picked up his pace a bit as he started moving toward the building. About halfway there, he noticed that the windows were boarded up, but didn't let that deter him. Even if the place were abandoned, he still could check if it had usable supplies and/or running water.

To his luck (or possibly disadvantage given that it just occurred to him that he probably didn't have any money) it turned out that the gas station was open. As he got closer, his attention was drawn to a piece of green poster-board taped to a cardboard fold-out sign. The handwriting on the board was a bit messy and uneven, but for the most part could still easily be read.

Yes, we are open! Please pardon our appearance as we go through renovations! We're sorry for any inconvenience! Thank you! (Smiley Face.)

Dean frowned and turned to look back at the building. There, his suspicions were struck. The windows were boarded up – that much was obvious – but the thing was that they were boarded up from the wrong side. Normally, people boarded up windows from the outside to keep debris from smashing the glass in. However, whoever had boarded them up had secured them from the inside instead. He wondered what kind of renovations called for that. Probably not the ordinary kind.

Cautiously, Dean approached the door. The glass window in the center of the door was boarded up as well, so he couldn't see inside. Everything about this screamed "trap!" but he couldn't bring himself to walk away. Besides, if it were a trap it would probably be better if he fell into it rather than some innocent civilian.

If there are any innocent civilians. Dean tried to shake that thought off, but he didn't have much luck given that he hadn't seen a single person since he dug himself out of his grave. An eeriness like that couldn't be ignored.

Keeping his guard up, Dean brought one hand forward to pull open the door while his other hand reached for the knife he kept sheathed at his belt. When he felt nothing but the material of his jeans in its usual spot, a realization had donned on him that should have come much sooner.

Sam pickpocketed me! Yes, he was calling it pickpocketing. If Dean had stayed dead, it would have remained a respectful removal of a loved one's personal belongings from their corpse, but since Dean was alive and in need of the knife, it was downgraded to plain old dirty pickpocketing. Frowning, he realized that he no other options but to hope his fists would be enough to at least buy him some time if it was a trap.

Pulling the door open, Dean found himself met with nothing but pitch blackness. If that didn't scream "trap!" he didn't know what did.

"Hello?" he called out seemingly uselessly. It wasn't like the trap was going to call back to him. …Or at least that's what he thought.

"Hey, yeah. Uh, we're open." A dismissive sense of boredom permeated the voice's tone, which startled Dean more than it probably should have. So much so that before he could properly think it through, he took a step forward into the store.

The doorway didn't allow much light into the space, so Dean couldn't really see more than a foot in front of him. That was, except for the dim glow of candlelight emanating from the corner of the room. There, behind the counter, a woman stood lighting a candle with a plastic lighter. Two more sat already lit on the surface in front of her. All Dean could discern about the woman's features were that she was short and had dark hair. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to tell her apart from any other plain Jane walking the streets.

She doesn't look demonic, though, his brain couldn't help but note. His hunter's instincts immediately stomped down that thought. Just because he couldn't see her true face didn't mean that this wasn't an illusion.

"Sorry about the lights," the woman continued saying. "Something about an electrical shortage and needing to take out the bulbs. I don't know. I don't really listen to the manager when he talks."

By this time, the woman had finished lighting the candle and looked up at Dean. Right away he started searching her eyes for any indication she was inhuman. Thanks to the dim lighting, though, he couldn't tell if her eyes were black or just a really dark brown.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Dean tried to think. He didn't have holy water or silver on him and if this were a trap, he doubted that the demon would give him time to fumble around in the dark looking for the salt aisle. He was starting to think that he was going to have to step in blind and hope for the best when he remembered that there was one way to check for a demon that didn't require supplemental materials. It wasn't as fun as throwing holy water in people's faces but invoking the name of Christ did work in a pinch.

"Christo." Dean looked for any sign of agitation or discomfort, but all he saw was the woman's brow furrow in confusion.

"Gesundheit?" At that moment, Dean finally let himself relax a bit. Of all the things she could have responded with, "God bless you" in German was the one thing that one-hundred percent certified that she was not a demon.

Unless this is more elaborate… Dean fully stepped through the door before he could let himself finish that thought. Slowly, he approached the counter.

"What's today's date?" he asked.

"Thursday, September 18th, 2008," the woman said without missing a beat. Dean just blinked at her. "What?"

"No, I'm just uh…" Dean waved his hand, hoping the motion would bring the right words to him. "Processing."

"Right," the woman dragged out the word, pushing the candle she just lit towards him. "Well, take this with you if you're going to be looking around. There are flashlights in here somewhere. It's just that the lighters and emergency candles were closer to the counter."

Dean eyed both the woman and the candle suspiciously, but he still took it from her. The candle had a metal tab sticking out of the base of its cradle, meant to be used as a finger hold. The thing was it could only be held by pinching it between two fingers. Given that he'd just risen from the dead, his dexterity wasn't up to par and he almost ended up dumping it on the ground. To that, the woman raised an eyebrow.

"You okay there, champ?" she asked. "Because not for nothing, but you look like you've been through hell."

Dean threw the woman a sharper glare than he probably should have considering it was just a phrase, but the woman was unphased. In fact, she just shrugged.

"Okay," she said. "Sensitive topic. Sorry I brought it up. At least get something to drink, though. There's water in the fridge on the other side of here."

Water? Disregarding the unintentional slight, Dean turned right and rushed over to where she indicated. He never thought he'd be this excited for anything non-alcoholic, but after essentially spending forty years in a barren desert, he found he was ready to kill for just a single drop of water. Dehydration is a bitch.

Reaching through the panel, he pulled out the first bottle he saw and dropped the candle to twist the cap open. The flame went out on its way down, leaving the immediate area plunged in darkness. However, Dean couldn't bring himself to care. He chugged down the water hard and fast, his thirst feeling nearly unquenchable. He even forgot for a second that he wasn't alone.

"Whoa, dude," the woman said. "Slow down. You're going to make yourself sick if you keep pounding it back like that."

Even though his body was screaming at him to drink as much as he could as fast as possible, Dean heeded the warning and slowed down. He pulled the pulled the bottle away from his lips but poured a generous amount over his head. The water wasn't cold, but it still felt nice on his dirty, sweaty skin. He tried to allow himself to enjoy it, but of course he had to ruin it for himself.

No cash flashed through his mind unbidden. He tried to look at the bottle to see if there was enough left to justify putting it back, but it was too dark to tell. Besides, he probably couldn't put it back now that it was infused with his backwash. That was the kind of thing that made people like Sam groan and squirm with disgust.

"Hey, listen," Dean said to the woman across the room. "I don't have any cash…"

"Yeah, I figured as much," she cut him off. "Don't worry about it. Take as much water as you like. It's on the house." Dean looked at her with wide eyes.

"Seriously?" The woman shrugged.

"There's obviously something wrong here," she said. "I'll just take the money out of my paycheck. Call it my good deed for the week. You clearly need the help."

"Uh, thanks…" Dean meant it sarcastically in response to her clearly patronizing tone, but she took it another way.

"Skye." Dean blinked.

"What?"

"Skye," the woman repeated. "That's my name."

"Skye," Dean said. Pulling his Zippo back out of his pocket, Dean flicked it on so he could find where the rest of the water was. Dean narrowed his eyes when he realized something. Not only was the fridge turned off, but the door had been removed. That's why the water was warm.

"Hey," he said. "What kind of renovations is your boss doing here anyway?"

"I don't know," Skye said. "Like I said, I don't listen when he talks."

"Well, why are you staying open like this?" Dean asked.

"Money?" Skye shrugged.

"Really," Dean said. "Is that why the fridge is unplugged, so you can lose all your merchandise?"

"Uh…"

Before an explanation (or rather excuse) could come out of her mouth, the sound of a radio's crackle echoed through the room. A lurch of surprise ricocheted through Dean while Skye whipped her head around.

"What the hell?" she said as she followed the sound. "I unplugged everything. Why…?" She crouched down behind the counter and naturally that made Dean suspicious. He started to bound across the room and demand that she tells him what was going on when…

Pain.

Dean's hands shot up to his ears as he fell to his knees. He couldn't describe the noise he was hearing. All he knew was it was causing intense pain and pressure in his eardrums. Pushing his hands as hard as he could against the sides of his head helped, but it couldn't block out everything, like the effect it was somehow having on him.

Something flashed before his eyes. An image he didn't recognize; a face that was unfamiliar to him yet looked at him like he knew him all too well. Dean was certain his heart stopped beating for a moment as words began to accompany the image. The man before him spoke.

"When I experienced a moment of true happiness… It would take me forever."

Dean was gasping for breath. He didn't realize the noise had stopped until well after he had removed his hands from his ears to place against his chest. His heart was slamming against his ribcage, giving him a good indication that he was still alive.

He felt around the floor for his lighter. Luckily, it went out before it hit the ground, so nothing was set alight. Dean found it lying next to his knee and pocketed it before turning his attention to the other side of the store. The candles were still lit, but Skye was nowhere to be seen.

At last recognizing that something wasn't quite right there and that it wasn't worth the risk anymore, Dean shot up to his feet. He was across the room and at the counter within seconds. Upon arrival, he found Skye still behind the counter, attempting to sit up. He noticed that she was clutching at one of her ears with a pained expression on her face, but otherwise paid her no mind as he reached across the counter and hit the button to open the cash register drawer.

"Hey!" Skye screamed in a way that made it obvious she couldn't hear herself. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dean didn't answer her. Instead, he started to grab as much money as he could clutch in his fist. Both bills and change were fair game. He didn't know where he was or what he would need, so he couldn't afford to be picky. He took as much as he could before Skye grabbed at the counter to use as leverage to pull herself up. He knew he had to use those few seconds the action bought him to his advantage and get a head start. So, he took off running, ignoring her shrilly screamed protests.

Going back outside into the sunlight nearly blinded him again, but Dean didn't let that slow him down. He ran until his feet hit pavement, only turning to run alongside the road. Fortunately, he didn't end up going back the way he came.

He kept running for at least five minutes before he felt safe enough to stop and catch his breath. He heaved air in and out of his lungs for a long time before he was finally able to voice the perfect words to describe the situation.

"What the fuck?"

Do I have your attention?

Christ, I wrote this chapter a year ago and it's making me so nervous to publish this now. Hopefully, someone likes what I'm doing here. Otherwise, I'm sorry for wasting your time.

If Skye seems a little OOC in these first few chapters, that's because I originally had an OC in that role. Initially, this was never intended to be a crossover. However, the more I worked on the character, the more she started looking like Skye from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. I was even picturing Chloe Bennet in the role. So, I decided to screw it and made it a crossover.

So, what do you guys think? Please review, comment, leave kudos, favorite, follow, do whatever it is that's appropriate for the site you're on. If all goes well, I'll just end up talking into the void because no one really reads crossover fics.

Remember kids, always ask questions if you're confused.

Originally uploaded to FFN on 2/11/22.