Dean was really taking his time with the food. Honestly, she knew that he was tired from the long drive but that was his own fault for not letting her take a turn. She wasn't the best driver, she'd be the first to admit that, but Kansas City was almost 16 hours away from Billings and they'd been working a case just outside of the city. Nothing major - just a ghost with a grudge - but Dean still wouldn't let her forget crashing into that bank wall when she was nineteen. Heaven forbid she even scratch his Baby.
He'd headed out to grab them some burgers what felt like hours ago, but was probably only 45 minutes and already she was getting impatient. After a week of living on the road, only eating burgers and sleeping on whatever bed they could find, the whole situation was starting to make her impatient. She wanted to talk to her Uncle Bobby but she was too stubborn to pick up the phone, no matter how many times Dean told her to. Dean, on the other hand, refused point blank to talk to his brother no matter how many times she told him to, so they were both drifting in the middle somewhere, just looking for another job to do.
She flopped back onto one double bed that they had been able to get. Not that they had any issue sharing a bed together but they really needed to start calling ahead. What she wouldn't give to be able to stretch out on her own and sleep in a full bed like a normal adult.
The door opened and she looked over from where she'd laid her arm over her eyes. "Took you long enough," she said to him. "Did you get lost or something?"
He placed the bag of food on the little table the room offered. "You won't believe the guy outside," he told her as she jumped off the bed. "He wanted to know if I had 'taken time out to think about God's plan' for me."
She snorted. "Oh, plenty," she retorted. "I don't want to think about how you're Michael's playmate, or I've got an army I can't control. What I want is," she reached into the bag and pulled out a portion of fries, "some food, some booze, and some sleep."
He picked up a bottle from the table, another thing he'd apparently taken the time to fetch, and held it out to her. "No complaints here," he replied. "We'll head on out tomorrow. Until then, I am done."
They both climbed on the bed, Dean with control of the tiny TV on the other side of the room. That's where they were when Dean's phone starting vibrating. He reached over to the bedside table and picked it up. "What?"
He sat up. "Cas," he replied, a grin on his face. "What can I do for you?"
Amelia swallowed her mouthful and held her hand out, making grabbing motions. "Give it to me," she demanded, reached over to take it from him. Dean leant out of the way, shooting her a dirty look. "I want to talk to him!" she whined.
"Hold on, Cas, you've got a fan," he grumbled before handing the phone to her. She shot him a giant smile, then held the phone to her ear.
"Hi Cas!" she called. "How are you?"
"I- I guess I'm fine, Amelia," he told her, sounding baffled by the question. "Dean said I had a fan."
"Oh, he means me," she explained. "He's just being a jerk about it."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Did you want something?"
"Yes, I wanted to make sure that you were looking after yourself," she said patiently. "I knew Dean wouldn't think to check. I just wanted to make sure you weren't wearing yourself thin or anything." Dean held his hand to his chest, looking offended. She flipped him off. "Not burning yourself at both ends, are you Cas?"
"I'm- I'm not sure that's possible," he replied. "But I am fine, thank you." Another pause. "Are you well?"
She smiled to herself. "Just fine," she told him. "I'll pass you back to Dean, now. Look after yourself."
She handed the phone to Dean, who rolled his eyes. "Fancy the freaking angel," he grumbled. "Should have known." He placed his phone against his ear. "What's happening, Cas?"
Amelia settled back onto the bed, listening to Dean's side of the conversation and not even trying to pretend that she was paying attention to the television. All the same stuff; the devil was out there so everyone better pay attention. It felt so big that sometimes it was hard to even be worried about it.
Dean frowned. "We're talking about the Colt, right? I mean, as in the Colt?"
Amelia sat up straighter, surprised at the sudden conversation topic. "The massively destructive gun that was stolen by the Bela chick?" she asked and he put Castiel on speakerphone. "Why the hell would it still even exist? She gave it to Lilith or something, didn't she?"
"She has a point," Dean told Cas. "I mean, why would the demons keep a gun around that, uh, kills demons?"
Both humans winced slightly as the loud sound of a car going by echoed sharply down the line. "What? What? Did—I didn't—I didn't get that."
Dean chuckled. "You know, it's kind of funny. Talking to a messenger of God on a cell phone. It's, you know, like watching a Hell's Angel ride a moped."
"This isn't funny, Dean," Cas snapped. "The voice says I'm almost out of minutes."
Amelia smiled. He sounded genuinely concerned about that fact, like it was something grave and worrisome. "Don't worry about that, Cas. We can always call you back," she reassured him. He was too darn adorable.
"Okay, all right. I'm—I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted down the gun by now," Dean said with a little shake of his head.
"Well, I hear differently," Cas told him firmly. "And if it's true and if you are still set on the insane task of killing the devil, this is how we do it."
Dean looked at Amelia, looking for backup in his argument. She shrugged. "Dean's right, Cas," she said to the angel. "But it ain't like we've got any other ideas."
Dean sighed. "Okay. Where do we start?"
"Where are you now?"
Amelia grabbed the room key off the bedside table. "Century Hotel, room 113, Kansas City," she called over.
"I'll be there immediately."
Amelia groaned and Dean shook his head. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on, man. I just drove like sixteen hours straight."
"Your own fault!" Amelia called over.
"Okay?" Dean continued, flipping her off like she had done to him. "We're human. And there's stuff we've got to do."
"What stuff?"
"Eat, for example. In this case, sleep," Dean told him. "We just need like four hours once in a while, okay?"
"Yes."
"Okay, so, you can pop in tomorrow morning."
"Yes. I'll just-" Cas started, but Dean hung up before he could continue. Amelia rolled his eyes.
"He could have waited here, you know?" she pointed out. "You know he'll just wait where he is until he decides it's morning."
Dean got back onto the bed, picking up the remote once again. "There's not enough room in the bed," he retorted. "If you want to get your rocks off, do it in your own room."
She hit him on the arm. "I don't have rocks, jackass," she said. "And if I did, I don't want to get them off with Cas. You're just jealous because I like him and it detracts from you."
He scoffed, a bit too much. "No I am not!"
"I think the lady protests too much," Amelia teased, grabbing her beer. "Drink up, Winchester. We've got a day and a half ahead of us."
"I'm the boss here, not you," he told her in a sulk.
"Yes, you are," she replied, with every indication that she didn't believe him at all.
~0~0~0~
Amelia could hear him talking. It was annoying, because even from behind her eyelids she could tell it was pitch black and still not morning. So, it couldn't have been Cas because he would have waited until it was exactly morning before turning up. Although, the more she thought about it, the more that she figured that it could have only have been Sam who would ring Dean now. Her uncle would have waited, and anyone else he probably would have hung up on the moment he realised it wasn't anything as important as sleep.
So she did listen in. It was nice to hear them talking, she had to admit, even if the conversation went down south towards the end. Dean telling Sam that they needed to stay apart did break her heart a little, but she knew her Winchester boys. Dean couldn't stay away from his little brother any more than Sam could. They'd get back together, and that was definitely something that could be handled when they didn't have a couple of arch angels hunting the pair down.
The bed sagged as he climbed back on next to her and she rolled over to face him. "So, Sam's Lucifer's suit?" she asked, barely able to see him in the dark.
"It would appear so," he drawled, his head both swimming and strangely numb to the news. "Why can't we ever catch a break? Even for a night."
She shrugged with one arm, shifting so her hand was resting on the pillow next to her face. The room was dark, but she could see the light coming in from behind the curtains reflected off his eyes. He looked so heavy, and she couldn't blame him.
"This is our night," she replied softly. "Ignore Lucifer, ignore Cas. Hell, ignore me if it makes you feel better. But take this night, because otherwise it's going to crush you."
"I don't know what to do, Amy," he said. "Even if the Colt is out there, even if we get it, how am I supposed to get close enough to ice the devil?"
She shot him a smile. "Maybe it's not your job to ice him," she replied. "Just because you've deemed yourself responsible doesn't mean you are. I could do it very easily if I had an all-killing gun."
"Not a chance," he barked back.
"What I mean is…"
"No," he insisted firmly. "And that's the end of it. Go to sleep."
He rolled over and she stared at the back of his head. This was the one thing she couldn't never really help him with. He held such weight on his shoulders, and she was fairly new into the game considering how she'd been raised. She reached out slowly, resting a hand on his arm. He didn't flinch away.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I don't mean to push. We'll work it out, though, Dean. You are not on your own with this." She held her hand on his arm for a moment longer, before moving to turn back around. His hand shot up, closing in on hers and he gave it a squeeze.
"Get some sleep, Amy," he told her, but this time kinder. She nodded and rolled over, closing her eyes.
~0~0~0~
She grunted as she rolled off the bed and onto the floor. That was the problem with these stupid motel beds; they were too small for one person, let alone two. Dean also had a habit of rolling out across all available space when he went to sleep after drinking.
She noticed the cold before she noticed the change in surroundings. There was dust and debris everywhere, furniture knocked over and even missing. Her eyes widened in panic and her hand shot up, feeling the decayed state of the mattress.
"Dean!" she shouted. "Dean!"
He stirred and groaned. "What the hell Amy?" he snapped as he woke up, opening his eyes. He shot up into a sitting position, obviously as confused as she was. "What the hell?" he asked, taking in the room.
"Are you seeing this too?" she asked. "I'm not- I'm not going crazy, am I?"
He shushed her with a wave of his hand, jumping off the bed and walking around the mess of a hotel room. Amy looked over the floor and, thankfully, found her shoes underneath the bed. She grabbed them, slipping the brown boots on as Dean looked out.
"Amy," he called lowly and she joined him, looking out of the broken window to look at the street outside. Cars were burnt out and left in ruins, the building across from them had no roof or upper floors left to speak off. Trash littered the grimy streets, and the grey overcast sky didn't help with the overall ambiance either.
"What happened?" she whispered. "I mean, did we miss a war or something?"
"I have absolutely no idea," Dean replied, closing the curtains again. "Stay close."
"Well, duh," she murmured to herself before following him. The rest of the motel was in as bad a state as their room, and when they walked out onto the street the destruction really became more apparent.
Amelia grimaced at they walked passed an upturned fridge. The smell that was coming out of it was vile. "Seriously, what the hell?" she asked Dean. "Am I still dreaming? Is that what this is?"
"I don't know," he replied as they headed down the street. There was no sign of any life anywhere apart from them. The whole city was deserted. "We both must be, because this is freaking weird."
They kept side by side, Dean slowing his steps slightly and Amelia speeding hers up. It was beyond unnerving, she was actually rather frightened and that rarely happened. She and Dean had completed a couple of jobs over the last week, a ghoul and a vengeful spirit. Nothing new, all common place. She worried about dying, but the creatures themselves didn't bother her much.
This terrified her.
There was a crash in an alleyway, the sound of glass hitting the floor, and she jumped, grabbing onto his arm. They shared a look and he nodded towards it. They headed down together, taking in the graffiti that was plastered on the walls like some post-apocalyptic movie.
In one of the offshoots of the alley sat a little girl, in a dirty dress with matted hair. She was sat around some broken glass, with a teddy bear just in front of her. Another shared look and Amelia rolled her eyes, slowly approaching the little girl.
"Hey," she said in her kindest voice. "Are you okay?" She crouched next to the little girl, but she didn't look up. "You're probably frightened, I understand that. We can help. My name is…"
She trailed off as blood dribbled out of the little girl's mouth, landing on the broken glass. "Er…"
The little girl looked up at her, eyes wide and animalistic. She shrieked, grabbing a piece of glass off the floor as Amelia screamed in surprise. The little girl dove at her, slashing her arm as Amelia backed away.
Dean rushed over and punched the girl, knocking her unconscious and sending her into the trash that was littering the floor. He quickly turned to Amelia. "Are you alright?" he asked as she checked her arm. It was bleeding but it wasn't too nasty. "Amy?!"
She looked up at him. "Yeah, yeah, I'm…" Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the word scrawled on the wall behind him.
"Croatoan," she whispered, horrified. Dean spun around, seeing the word scrawled in big, red lettering. That explained the carnage in the city. Amelia hadn't been there when he and Sam had first encountered the biblical virus, but he knew she'd heard the story, he'd told her himself.
"Oh, crap," he murmured just as a group of people came around the corner. All with angry looks on their faces, and all pausing when they saw the two new people stood in the alley.
"Oh, crap," Amelia echoed before they both turned and ran. The snarls from behind them from the approaching mob was incredibly good fuel for running, but Amelia still couldn't quite keep up with Dean. He glanced behind him to see her just in front of the group, but still far behind him.
He looked down at her feet and saw her wearing those stupid heeled boots again. "What did I tell you about those boots?!" he yelled.
Amelia glared at him. He knew she wasn't as fit as he was. He'd been hunting all his life, she'd barely been at it properly for a couple of months. "It's not the fucking boots, Dean!" she yelled back, panting.
More people appeared from different streets, homing in on the two non-infected humans who had wandered into their midst. Amelia could feel her heart racing painfully. They couldn't outrun them, they just couldn't. There was too many.
Dean turned a corner and she followed, although it didn't lead anywhere but to a chain-link fence that blocked any chance of escape. He stopped first, catching her as she barrelled straight into him and quickly positioned himself straight in front of her. Normally she would have teased him for his saviour complex, but she was too scared and so just held onto his hand as they stared back at the mob with no idea how to survive the attack.
One of the pack stepped forward to attack and was immediately shot down in a barrage of bullets. Amelia and Dean spun around to see a couple of armoured vehicles rolling up with a tank in tow. Dean pulled her behind an abandoned car as they opened fire on the infected people, shooting them all down with machine guns as they started blaring 'Do you Love Me?' by The Contours, of all things.
They both dropped low and he practically dragged her over to an alleyway, where they rushed through a gate and down some stairs, falling to the floor behind some discarded canisters.
Dean wrapped his arm around her, holding her close as they both panted. She clung to him tightly. "This- This is bullshit," she whispered. "The Contours? Really?"
Dean could feel her shaking, whether out of adrenaline, or shock, or fear, he wasn't certain but he wasn't feeling too peachy himself. He kept her close, making sure they were both hidden in the dark. "This can't have happened overnight," he whispered back, baffled as the gunshots seemed to taper off.
She shook her head. "We need to get out of here," she replied. He nodded in agreement. But when? And how?
He looked down at her and saw the dark patch of blood that had come from the glass the little girl had sliced her with. He shifted slightly, pulling out one of the many bandanas he kept in his jacket pocket for this very occasion. It was one of the many lessons that John Winchester had bestowed onto his sons; always have something to stop the flow of blood. A lot of things could smell it, it could leave a trail for them to follow.
He held it out to her and she nodded, shrugging off her own jacket. He wrapped it around, tying it for her. "We wait," he instructed. "If we get seen by anyone, they'll probably shoot us down before checking that we're safe. Then we'll look for an exit."
~0~0~0~
It was dark before they found the edge of the bordering chain-link fence. They couldn't find a gate, but with one edge up against the wall it didn't take long for them to dig a little gap in it. Dean pushed his way through first, holding it open for Amelia to join him. Her eyes immediately searched for the next move, while Dean just took a moment to ponder over the ridiculousness of what was happening.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a sign that was sat on the fence and he walked over to read it. It big red letters it declared Kansas City a 'Croatoan Virus Hot Zone' – which he could have told them by this point – but it was the date that held his attention more than anything.
"August first, 2014?" he read out loud. Amelia walked over, also absolutely bewildered by the words. She reached out, running her fingers over the lettering. "Do you have any idea?"
She shook her head. "If it's a prank, it's fucking elaborate," she replied softly. "If it's not, then…"
"Then what?"
She looked at him. "We've seen crazier shit than time travel," she pointed out.
He didn't like the sound of that, but having been through it once before nothing else made any sense either. He looked around and settled on the first beat up car he saw. He nodded to it. "Come on."
Amelia climbed in the back and Dean hot-wired the engine. He normally would have pointed out she could have sat in the front, and normally she would have put her seatbelt on. Instead he just focused on driving as far as he could away from Kansas City as she put her feet up on the seat, wrapping her arms around her legs to hug them close.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Your house," he replied and she nodded with a soft smile.
"If anyone could help, it's gonna be Uncle Bobby," she agreed. "If there is a way to help, anyway."
"We got sent here, right?" he said. "Stands to reason there must be a way back."
"Maybe it's one of those shared dream things?" she offered and he shrugged. "None of thing might be real." Although, her arm did sting still from the cut in it.
"Call ahead," he told her. "Otherwise he might kill us when we get there."
That was very true. She reached into her pocket, frowning as she felt around for her cell. Each pocket was empty and she cursed. "I don't have my cell," she said. "It must have fallen out of my pocket."
He reached into his and chucked it onto the back seat. She picked it up and quickly dialled home. However, the phone just beeped at her to tell her there was no signal. So she tried Sam, which again cut out before it even started to ring.
"There's no signal. I can't get anyone."
Dean reached forward, trying the radio. The sound of static filled the car with each switch of stations. "That's never a good sign."
"Communications are down," she whispered. "Here was me thinking that the apocalypse might be more, you know, rivers of lava and fire and screaming."
She looked out of the smashed rear window, barely able to see anything but the moon trying to shine from the cloud cover above. There were no lights on the roads at all, which meant no cars, no electricity. No sign of any life apart from her and Dean.
"Do you think everyone's okay?" she asked him. He didn't have an answer to that. Neither of them knew the future.
"Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia.'"
Amelia jumped in surprise and Dean lifted his arm, both to protect himself from the noise as well as attack whatever had appeared. While normally being used to angels appearing, Amelia was already freaked out enough for it to genuinely scare her.
Zachariah had appeared in the passenger seat, newspaper in hand. Dean slammed his hand back onto the steering wheel as he tried to get his heart to stop pounding a mile a minute.
"I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap," he snapped back as Amelia's face fell into a scowl. She should have known angels were involved in this weird-ass change of scenery. Seeing Zachariah again really wasn't what she wanted, ever.
Zachariah continued to read the paper like he was just passing the time. "'President Palin defends bombing of Houston'," he continued. Her brows furrowed and even Dean seemed slightly concerned by the headline. "Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports. That's right—no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum, if you ask me."
"How did you find us?" Dean asked. Both he and Sam were heavily warded from the angels, and he knew Amy's wouldn't let anyone see where she was.
Zachariah folded the paper up. "Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late—human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out."
"The bible basher outside that cornered Dean, right?" Amelia replied from the back.
"Onward, Christian soldiers," the angel replied, although he didn't sound too happy about having to team up with humans. It gave her a little blast of pleasure that he was even slightly uncomfortable.
"Okay, well, good, great. You have had your jollies," Dean said. "Now send us back, you son of a bitch."
"Oh, you'll get back—all in good time," Zachariah promised. "We want you to marinate a bit."
"Marinate?"
"Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you," Zachariah told him with what sounded like a warning in his voice.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.
"It means that your choices have consequences." Zachariah showed him the front page of the newspaper, which had the headline printed on loud and clear. And to see it in black and white did frighten him somewhere. "This is what happens to the world if you continue to say no to Michael."
Dean fumed, his hands clenching around the steering wheel all the more. He couldn't believe anything that the angels told him, and yet they'd both seen it with their own eyes. They'd both been chased by infected people who wanted to tear them limb from limb. He glanced back in his rear-view mirror at Amelia, who was opening glaring at the angel in the front seat. All of this to show him what he 'needed' to do?
"Alright, fine. You want to 'scare' me into saying yes," Dean summarised. "Why the hell did you bring her along?" He nodded back at Amy.
Zachariah looked over his shoulder, shooting her a smirk that made her skin crawl. "That's simple. Her attitude needs taking down. Two times she's tried to take on our most powerful. It's time she realises what side she should be fighting on."
Amelia snorted. "What, yours?" she scoffed. "Get bent, Zachy."
"Have a little looksie," he replied and then he was gone. She sighed, lying back against the door of the car.
"What a dick," she grumbled and Dean nodded.
"You can say that again," he replied. She closed her eyes and leant her head on the window, the rocking of the car both soothing and irritating her.
"When we were being chased, why didn't you sing?" Dean asked. Zachariah appearing reminded him of a fact that he very rarely forgot; that she had angels who were actually on her side. "You know, that would have been very useful. Just saying."
She opened her eyes, her brows knitting together. Why hadn't she thought of singing?
"You know, I didn't even think about it," she replied slowly. "I was more concerned about not being killed, I guess." She looked down at her feet, and her dusty, moody boots. "I should have, though. Why didn't I?"
He glanced back again. She pretended that she was strong, but the fact was that most of her experience was theory only, even now as she'd jumped into the life with him and Sam. True, she'd been flung in at the deep end with the whole Lucifer and impending apocalypse thing, but she really wasn't as experienced as he was and he was still freaking out about what was happening.
"You know, probably for the best," he reassured her and she looked up. "Now we know this is angels, probably best not to add more into the mix, eh?"
She smiled, but more at him than his words. "Yeah, you're probably right," she agreed. "Just because the Choir hide me from the angels doesn't actually mean that the angels can't find the Choir."
Dean nodded along in agreement. "Exactly. Keep them schtum for now, or at least until we have no other option. We'll do this the old-fashioned way.""
They both fell silent for a moment, thinking about what the hell was waiting for them when they found Bobby and Sam. A whole world of destruction, that's what.
"And change those freaking boots," he told her. "If you can't run in them, you can't hunt in them."
"It's not the boots, Dean!" she protested.
He scoffed. "They're not as nice as you think they are."
She gasped. "How fucking dare you?!" she protested. "They are beautiful!"
~0~0~0~
The house was a mess. As Dean pulled the car up outside – still not letting her drive but it wasn't far – daylight was breaking. She had always lived in a scrapyard, with burnt out and stripped out cars as far as the eye could see, but this was beyond any state she had seen it before. She was out of the car before Dean, looking around the area with a deep sense of dread building. The weeds were overgrowing and yet also on the wrong side of dead as well. The roof was falling apart.
"Uncle Bobby?" she called, rushing into the house. She froze in the hallway. Everything had a thick layer of dust on it. The air was stale. It was all wrong.
"Bobby?" Dean called as he joined her. "We're coming in, Bobby!"
He motioned down towards the kitchen and she nodded, heading that way and to the back door. Dean headed into the living room.
The backdoor was hanging off its hinges, the fridge was on the floor. "Uncle Bobby?!"
Where was everyone? Where was her uncle? Where the hell was the other Amelia that should have been walking around? Nothing had been good so far, and this wasn't any different at all. She ran her finger through the dirt on the countertop. She'd feel so much better if she could just call him.
"Oh, no."
She looked towards the living room, heading back into the hallway. Her hands were shaking at the sound of Dean's voice. "Dean? What is it?"
He looked up from the overturned wheelchair, eyes wide in alarm. She couldn't see this, it would kill her. "Don't come in!"
She paused in the doorway, hesitating at how urgent he sounded. "Why?" she asked slowly before stepping in anyway. "What did you…"
She saw him on the floor, she saw the wheelchair with cobwebs still in its wheels. She saw the bloodstains that had long since dried in the bullet holes that littered the back and the very distinct lack of her Uncle Bobby.
She shook her head. "No," she whispered, horrified, her heart breaking. Dean shot up off the floor as she dashed forward. "NO!"
He caught her as she started sobbing, holding her tight against him as he, too, felt the loss of his own father-figure. She sobbed into him, clinging tightly and he allowed her a moment to let it all out, let himself mourn for a death that hadn't happened for them yet, before taking hold of her arms, moving her so he could look down at her.
"Amy," he started as her knees wobbled. He tightened his grip. "Amy, this future… this future, it's fucking awful," he told her. "I'm not going to defend it, but there's nothing we can do about it now."
"How- He's dead, Dean," she sobbed. "How can he be dead?"
"I don't know," he admitted freely. "But Amy, listen to me; Bobby is alive." She shook her head. "No, he is. You're pissed at him, remember? But he's alive. He's at home, and he's alive."
She sniffed, but she understood what he was trying to say. He was right. Her Uncle Bobby was at home, drinking himself stupid and being the grumpy ass he always was. And she missed him so much.
"He can't die, Dean," she whispered. "He's my dad. He can't die."
"Then we will find out how it happened so it doesn't happen again," he promised her. "I won't let it happen, okay?"
The smile that flickered onto her face helped him relax as well. She'd always had such faith in him. Knowing she still did always helped him.
"You have enough on your shoulders," she told him.
"I'll always have room for this," he insisted before turning around, looking around for a clue, something that could help them.
His eyes fell on the fireplace and the hidden compartment that they both knew was there. He walked over and brushed the cobwebs out of the way. After shuffling the decorative stone slab that hid the compartment out of the way, he pulled out his father's old journal.
He flicked through the pages until he came upon a photo. Cas and Bobby were on it, both holding shotguns, with three men standing with them that neither of them knew. Amelia took the photo off him, smiling at the sight of not only her godfather, but at the angel who she would absolutely adore to see at that moment.
"He looks strange with a gun, doesn't he?" she commented, meaning Cas.
Dean nodded. "Camp Chitaqua," he read off the sign they were stood next to. He looked at Amelia. "Any clue?"
She shook her head. "I'll go find a map," she told him. "I don't think it would be far."
She was wrong. It was about a nine-hour journey away from her home… or, her future home? Her fake home? Bobby's home?
It was hard to work out which one made her feel better, because each description of the house just made her feel awful. It was like someone had come in and ransacked her whole life. She'd gone upstairs to her bedroom and found it in pieces. The painting she had done what felt like years ago had begun peeling. Her bed was in two and the mattress had seen much better days. The window had been smashed him, her wardrobe was completely empty. She run out before she'd taken all the destruction in and Dean had found her on the stairs, just staring at the wall ahead.
He didn't say anything – what could he say? He remembered losing his dad, but their relationship had been hard at best and while he missed him, sometimes he found himself relieved that he didn't have to live in that shadow anymore. He also guessed that seeing her home destroyed made this so much harder for her, but he'd not had a home since he was four so he couldn't really relate either.
And it wasn't as if she would want words of comfort even if he knew what to say. "We should get going," he said instead.
She tilted her head to look at him. "You should sleep," she countered. "You've just driven all night. What did you tell Cas? Four hours?"
"I'll sleep when I find out what the hell is going on," he retorted. She shook her head.
"And crash on the way? Dean, go have a nap or something."
He watched her shaking, though, and knew that the one thing he could do for her was get her out of this nightmare as fast as possible. They had another two days before Zachariah had deemed their time would be up. Staying here wouldn't help her, and it wouldn't get them the answers they need.
He stood up. "Fine," he replied. "You drive, I'll grab some shut eye in the back, then we'll swap."
She stared at him, absolutely floored. "You're letting me drive?" she asked and he nodded.
"Sure, why not?" he replied. "Everything else is turned on its head. Maybe you're a good driver here."
She stood up. "I'm a fine driver," she protested. "You just don't like anyone else driving your precious 'baby'. Even Sam has a hard time getting behind the wheel. It's just a car, Dean."
He pointed at her. "She is a masterpiece," he corrected firmly and angrily. "And you're not driving her, understand?"
"Yes, Podge," she replied with a sigh. "I wouldn't dream of it."
As they headed towards the front door, she paused as she glanced into the living room. They had righted the fallen wheelchair, but it still didn't seem right to leave it just sat in the middle of the floor. His desk had also fallen over, so she walked over and, with some difficulty, pushed it upright. She then wheeled it behind, like he had just been sat there and had gotten up for a walk. If he could walk.
She ran her hand over the handle, then forced herself to remember that this wasn't her Uncle Bobby. She was going to stop this. He wasn't going to die on her.
Still, Dean wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they left, letting her head to the driver's side as he climbed in the back. All of this felt too damn surreal to be true, but the anguish they both felt was deep and it needed to end.
~0~0~0~
They'd had to ditch the car along the way, and pick up another, when the fuel had run out. Then that car didn't make it quite up to the lake and they'd had to hike through some woods to make it to the outside. The nine-hour journey had ended up being closer to 12, and by the time they made it out of the woods and to the sign that had been on the photo, it was pitch black and they both were exhausted.
Behind the fence were armed guards patrolling, obviously trying to keep out any intruders. The area seemed to be made up of huts and sheds, much like a normal summer camp that had been taking over by people trying to survive the end of the world. There was no other sign of life, though, other than the two patrolling men so the next port of call was to get in and find someone they knew.
Amelia's eyes moved over the area and caught sight of another rusted out car. It seemed strange that they'd have such a waste of space on what seemed to be a militarised camp. It was in pretty bad shape, as well, with only some of the shiny black paintwork reflecting the…
"Oh shit," she whispered, catching Dean's attention. Oh, this was going to break his heart.
"What is…" he saw what she was looking at and he could only stare in horror. "Oh, Baby, no."
"I'm sorry, Dean," she replied as he looked for a way to get in that didn't involve the gates. There was a good chance that something was in place to keep anyone else out, so they moved around until he could find a good place to pull the fence apart like he had done in Kansas City.
He made a beeline straight for the Impala and Amelia followed, her eyes darting around to make sure no one had spotted them. Luckily, they seemed to be on their own and she had to admit, seeing the Impala in ruins did hurt more than she would have expected it to. It was Dean's baby, the only real thing that he and Sam had that had stayed constant and safe. She went for the trunk as he leaned inside where the driver side door should have been.
"Oh, no, Baby, what did they do to you?" she heard him ask as she lifted the trunk lid up. Even the devil's trap had deteriorated to a point she knew it wouldn't have worked anymore.
Dean grunted and the sound of him being hit echoed in the silent night. She slammed the trunk down, fists ready to fight. "Dean?!"
She caught sight of the man who had attacked them and she hesitated, freezing before she hit them. Dean Winchester stood in front of her, staring at her with angry eyes and a set expression, glaring at her darkly. It wasn't her, Dean, though. This had to be his counterpart. Dean in the Future.
"Dean?" she asked in shock, her arms lowering. He took another step towards her.
"Amy?" he asked in reply and she nodded. He was quick. He punched her once, knocking her our expertly, but unlike the other Dean he caught her before she hit the car. He stared down at her, then back at the Dean who was flat out across the front seat. What the hell was going on?
