"I had them check the FBI's Missing Persons Data Bank. Nothing. I even ran his plates for traffic violations."
"What? Whose plates?" Dean asked absent-mindedly. He had finally found something in the newspaper that rang a bell and now he was scrutinizing the article trying to remember more details.
"Dad's."
Shit. Dean kept forgetting they were supposed to be looking for Dad. In the last five years, he had got used to the fact that he was dead, so it was weird to realize that the man was alive – unavailable, somewhere far away, but alive. Dean was glad he wasn't going to show up any time soon – it was already hard enough having to watch every word and try to act normal when Sam was around, which meant all the time. He didn't know how to face Dad – how to face the man who once used to be an infallible authority on everything. But it had been six years. Dean had been through Hell and Heaven, faced more shit than Dad could ever imagine, he knew things Dad didn't, and, to be honest, was a better hunter. The thought of meeting him made Dean uncomfortable.
"Sam, let's face it. We have zero chance of finding Dad unless he wants us to. And it looks like he doesn't," he shrugged but made a point not to sound annoyed. He remembered how much Sam's frustration over Dad's decisions had irritated him in the past. But now that he knew what was going on and didn't have to worry about Dad, he might as well be more supportive of his brother.
"So what? Are we going to hunt and do salt and burns waiting for him to turn up on our doorstep? Or you think we'll just somehow stumble upon the thing that killed Mom and Jess? He left you that message and vanished. I don't understand what's going on, man."
"Trust me, I have questions and I want answers, too." It was true. He'd never had the chance to ask what Dad knew about Sam – did this "save or kill" bullshit have to do with Sam being Lucifer's vessel or demon blood? Had he known about Azazel's plans? Did he remember anything about Mom's deal?
Sam sighed. "Have you found anything?"
"Yeah. The guy's eyeballs kinda exploded. The official version claims it was a stroke. Have you ever heard of people losing eyes because of a heart attack?"
"Never."
"Exactly. Looks like our kind of gig." Especially because Dean clearly remembered bleeding from his eyes and smashing mirrors.
They did the usual routine – visited the morgue and talked to the family because Dean couldn't just take Sam to that antique shop, summon Mary and smash the mirror without explaining how he knew about all that. And he had no clue about the connection between Mary and that exact mirror or why Mary had killed the guy if he hadn't been the one who had summoned her. But well, they'd somehow figured out everything in the past, so nothing to worry about, right?
"I really hope no one else will try to test the legend while we're wading through public records," muttered Sam at the sight of computers that were out of order.
Dean cursed under his breath. "I bet they will," he answered, thinking hard. Now he remembered. There had been another victim. A blonde, if his memory didn't fail him.
"Do you think we can somehow warn them not to say Bl- you know what?"
"Without looking like freaks?" Sam shook his head. "If we warn them, they'll be even more likely to say it, just for fun."
"Shit. There must be a way."
"C'me on. The kids are scared out of their minds and adults hopefully have more important things to do."
But Dean wasn't listening. They hadn't been fast enough in the past, but they would have to be now. They didn't have much time and they clearly wouldn't make it in time without cheating. But damn it, he was here to save people. He couldn't afford to fail his first hunt. He concentrated hard, trying to get something more specific out of his memory, but nothing useful came out. That didn't leave him with many options. He could watch over – hook up with – the girl to make sure she wouldn't do anything stupid. But this plan had a flaw – there were two blonde girls and Dean honestly didn't remember which of them had been killed. He thought of smashing all mirrors in the houses but quickly dismissed the idea – all reflective surfaces counted, and Sam would definitely get suspicious as soon as he found out.
So, the only way was to get rid of Mary, which meant he had to act on his own.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"You look like shit. Did you sleep at all?" asked Sam the next morning, holding two coffees as he entered the motel room.
"Morning. 'm fine."
"Dude, seriously. Your eyes are-"
"Sam, I'm fine. My eyes are fine too," grunted Dean, getting up.
Well, as fine as one's eyes could be after a pissed off ghost had tried to scratch them out. Yesterday he had waited until his brother fell asleep, praying that his sleep would last for the two hours he needed to drive to the antique store and do away with Mary.
Hunting alone was never a good idea. Even if it was just a run-of-the-mill ghost. Even if you knew exactly what to expect. Mary had turned out to be a stubborn bitch and wouldn't appear in the right mirror, and he could hardly see her because his eyes had been bleeding. His head had hurt like hell and Dean had been seriously afraid that he would lose his eyesight when he had finally caught a glimpse of her in the fancy rectangle mirror.
He had destroyed all the evidence – cleaned the shards of glass from the car, hidden bloodstained shirt, tiptoed to the bathroom to wash his face. There was nothing he could do about the scratches on his palms, but hunters never had baby-smooth skin, so, hopefully, Sam wouldn't pay attention.
Mary was no longer a threat and that was what mattered. They could investigate the case further, establish the link between her and the mirror, and well, so what if they discover that the mirror had been smashed already?
They spent the day in the library. Sam was clearly frustrated over their slow progress; Dean pretended to be committed to the case, though the only thing he was doing was trying to dig up memories about their next hunt. That was incredibly annoying – even when he managed to recall something that had happened long ago (meaning before Lucifer was freed), he couldn't place it on the timescale. He was sure that some things – like that hunt in the hotel with Jo or lazer-eyes-shapeshifter – had happened before he went to Hell because there was no sign of Cas and other angels. But "before Hell" lasted four years, so he had to be more specific or he would screw up. Damn it. He ended up adding several new phrases to his notes on the phone – "psychiatric clinic", "prison" "werewolf girl" "the abused kid, telekinesis". He probably needed his own journal, because typing on the phone with such a small screen was annoying, but the last time he bought notebooks was when he was in high school. Sam would definitely notice.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Yes, we did have this mirror, but two days ago some bastards broke in and smashed everything."
What a 'surprise'.
"What?" Sam gasped.
"I'm telling you, I came here in the morning to find all the mirrors shattered. But I think you'll find something similar, that mirror wasn't too special."
"Yeah, sure, thanks for help," Dean headed to the exit, but Sam didn't move. He was staring thoughtfully at the corner where the mirrors had been. That was bad. "Sam, let's go."
"Hold on," he waved him off. "Sir, do you think it was a burglary? Did they take anything?" Sam slipped into "talking to witnesses" mode, which meant he definitely suspected something. Shit.
"No, I don't think so. There was some blood on glass shatters, so I hope to convince the police to run DNA-tests, but they're a bunch of lazy idiots and-"
"Did the alarm go off? Are there any street cameras?" Oh shit. Shit. Anything but that. Please, say there are no cameras.
But of course, there were. And the alarm was 'expertly deactivated', which made matters worse. Damn it. Was it so hard to believe it was just a burglary?
"So, looks like whoever broke into did our job," Dean concluded cheerfully, still hoping Sam would just let it go.
Sam frowned. "Do you really think that's what happened?"
"What else, Sam? You don't think somebody went there to kill Bloody Mary, do you?
"Don't say her name! And we can't be sure smashing the mirror is enough. You should probably summon her, just to make sure. And since the mirror is destroyed, she could be anywhere, Dean, anywhere! Damn it," Sam ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.
"Sam, relax. We can try to summon her. If we call her and she doesn't appear, our job here is done."
"And if she appears, Dean? You will smash all reflective surfaces around you before we figure out how to destroy her now that she isn't anchored to her mirror any longer?"
Sam was reasonable. Under normal circumstances, Dean would completely agree with him. But Sam didn't know that Dean he was now talking with was from the future and had taken certain steps to improve this universe.
"Look, I think I'm going to get the police to see if I can get the tapes" Sam offered finally.
"What? No!" Dean's mind was racing as he tried to come up with something to calm down his brother.
"Why? We need to know what happened."
"Some burglars broke into and smashed mirrors, that's what happened, Sam," Dean snapped. The thought of Sam finding out what really had happened threw him into a mild panic. He wasn't ready for the conversation that would inevitably ensue. He just wasn't.
"They didn't take anything."
"So? Maybe they were just drunk," offered Dean.
"Sober enough to deactivate the alarm system. I'll go talk to the police. You keep an eye on the family."
Crap. He was screwed.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dean was on edge. If Sam got the tapes, there was no way he could explain himself without telling the truth. And he wasn't ready. His memory was a mess. He didn't even know where to start. Look, Sam, you lost your soul after the Apocalypse, so I went six years back in time to prevent all this shit? Sam would just drive him to the nearest mental hospital.
The door burst open and Sam entered. Dean looked up, trying to read his brother's face. He looked very pissed.
"Electricity in the building was cut off," he explained.
"Awesome," Dean exclaimed, trying not to sound relieved. Looked like luck was on his side. Or Death, more likely.
"I'm going tomorrow morning again," Sam continued. Damn it, Sam, just let it go already.
"Man, c'me on. Just let me summon the bitch and-
"-and there'll be another heart attack with exploding eyeballs. And we established that she comes only for the ones who had secrets where people died. So you can't summon her." Dean had enough dark secrets for dozens of Mary's visits, but Sam didn't need to know about that yet.
"Okay, who can then?"
Not that he didn't know the answer. He knew Sam blamed himself for Jess's death – Dean wasn't even sure that his brother had forgiven himself six years after that, in the universe he'd come from. He should probably do something about that though Dean preferred other ways to deal with problems rather than talking, and most of them included killing – quite literally – whatever caused the problem.
"Me. But I'm not doing it until I get the tapes."
Terrific. Dean seriously considered stealing the tapes, but if Sam found out about that, they would be stuck in Toledo forever.
"Why don't we just drop it and hit the road?" he groaned.
Sam made a bitchface. "Do we have another hunt?"
"Not yet." And Dean was actually worried because he couldn't even remember what their next hunt was supposed to be.
Where the hell was Death with his promise to keep the sequence of events?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sam wasn't the only one who had nightmares now. Dean was still haunted by Hell and he doubted these memories would ever fade away. When he awoke in the middle of the night, disoriented, and saw Sam sitting on the edge of the bed watching TV with the sound off, Dean felt a surge of panic. He almost thought that the whole time travel thing was a weird dream and he was stuck again with his soulless brother who didn't need to sleep. Then he remembered that Sam had nightmares about Jess.
"Sammy?" Dean called, his voice hoarse from sleep.
"Oh shit," Sam hastily turned off the TV, "Sorry, didn't mean to wake-"
"You didn't. You're not the only one entitled to have nightmares."
"You said the job didn't get to you."
"It wasn't about hunting."
"What was it about, then?"
Dean wanted to laugh it off or say it was nothing, but Sam wouldn't open up then. So, the truth it was. After all, out of context, it could pass for just a weird dream.
"Hell," admitted Dean. "At least, my subconscious is sure it's Hell," added he, realizing that he sounded too certain given they didn't know Hell existed.
"Like nine circles of Hell with Satan?" Dean chuckled. Old good times when their knowledge about Hell was so delightfully inaccurate. He decided not to enlighten Sam about Lucifer's exact whereabouts, dreaming about Hell was already weird enough.
"Nah. More like a huge boiling hot torture chamber with a rack and demons." And with Alistair as a tormentor and a coach. Nightmares about the latter were less painful physically, but there were no words to describe how racked he was by guilt afterward.
"And the demons… They torture you?"
"Yeah," he hesitated before adding, "and sometimes I become a demon and torture others". It was dark, so he couldn't see Sam's reaction. He wasn't sure he wanted to see. Sam thought they were talking about a nightmare, but Dean knew they were talking about reality.
"You mean, demons possess you?" Dean wished he had this excuse.
"No, it's not like that. And anyway, we can't be possessed, we have-" Dean checked his chest. Even in the dark, he could see clear skin with no sign of ink. Shit. They hadn't got anti-possession tattoos yet.
"Never mind. It was not a possession. It was kinda me going to the dark side." He should have done better than that. Dad had lasted for more than a century. He had given up after only three decades. Pathetic.
Sam stared at him, unsure what to say. "Weird, man. Why would you dream of Hell at all?"
"Dunno. My subconscious is being a bitch."
They sat in silence for some time.
"I still have nightmares about Jess," sighed Sam, barely audible.
"Does she try to kill you to get revenge or something?" Dean decided to go for the most absurd question to make Sam talk.
"No. She asks 'why, Sam?'. And then she's burning."
"What do you tell her?"
"Nothing. I usually wake up," Sam paused, staring into space. "I shouldn't have got close to her."
"Yeah and how could you know about that? Jess was the only person outside our social circle you got close to." Dean suddenly realized that was true. The only normal person his brother had got to know had been killed by a monster. No wonder Sam was so depressed. "Sam, you couldn't have known."
"Yeah. I know. It's just… Never mind," he shook his head. But Dean already knew what bothered his brother so much.
"Sam, even if you somehow knew in advance, Aza- that thing wanted her dead. And it was powerful. You couldn't do anything."
"Yeah. Maybe you're right," Sam answered in a hollow voice.
Dean tried to go back to sleep, but without the tattoo, he felt exposed. Vulnerable. Naked.
He and Sam were easy targets for any demon.
But demons were rare now.
Even one single demon could cause enough trouble or even kill them.
But they didn't come across any demons in his universe until Meg showed up.
Yeah, and where was the guarantee everything would be the same this time?
But Death promised-
Who said Death was trustworthy?
He couldn't make his inner paranoid voice shut up, not after having a nightmare, and had to give in.
"I'll be right back," he muttered, going into the freezing night heading to the parking lot. It wasn't healthy to let paranoia dictate his actions, but wearing an anti-possession charm wouldn't hurt, right?
"Here. Put this on," he tossed to Sam a small pendant on a leather string.
"Is it an anti-possession charm?" Sam gave him a quizzical look.
"Yeah. Just in case," Dean shrugged, trying not to make a big deal of it. So what if he decided to grab anti-possession charms from the car in the middle of the night?
"Does it have to do with your nightmare?" his brother frowned.
"Better safe than sorry."
"Dean, Hell isn't real."
Dean snorted. Sam had a lot to learn.
"And the last demonic possession we heard of happened years ago."
"Do you want to be possessed next time it happens?" he snapped and winced – it wasn't Sam's fault he didn't know what was coming. "Sam, it's 3 a.m. I'm tired, man. Just put the damn thing on and let's get some sleep."
Dean lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He felt as if he hadn't quite managed to get his point about Jess across. He really wished he was better at the touchy-feely stuff. He didn't know what to say when rational arguments weren't enough. He tried to put himself in Sam's place. What would he want to hear? Nothing. He used to shut up Sam every time he tried to mention Ellen and Jo. And Pam had been killed because of their stupid idea – he felt slightly better after seeing her in Heaven, though.
Heaven.
Of course.
"Sam. You're asleep?"
His brother muttered something intelligible.
"You know what's Heaven like?" started Dean, hoping he wouldn't scare Sam with these weird conversations in the middle of the night. "It's where you relive the best moments of your life. Or the moments that matter most to you. You just enjoy the afterlife, there're no more problems or fears or worries. You're surrounded by things you like. It's almost like you're in a hallucination created by a Djinn, except for it's real."
He paused, but Sam was silent.
"I'm sure Jessica is in Heaven now. And she relives whatever moments she had with you because you were an awesome boyfriend. I bet you really made her happy."
Silence stretched. Sam didn't say anything and Dean started to think that mentioning Heaven had been a stupid idea and he'd just made everything worse. He and his clumsy attempts to comfort people.
"She made me happy, too," his brother finally said in a choked voice.
Dean paused, thinking of what to say to that. "I'm sorry she's gone. I met her only once, but she seemed good for you. Sam, trust me, she's happy now. She'll always be."
There must have been something earnest about how Dean said these words that made Sam believe him.
"How do you know that?" asked Sam hoarsely.
Dean chuckled softly. "I'm older. I know things."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Luckily, Sam didn't have a chance to go to the police again.
"Dean, I got a message from a friend from Stanford," Sam showed him his phone screen. "I think it might be our case. Her brother killed his girlfriend, but I met the guy, he can't have done that."
Holy shit. Shapeshifter. That case he remembered – seeing his own dead body with a hole in the head was weird. He read the message from Sam's phone again and noticed something he hadn't noticed before.
He started laughing. "Sammy, did you seriously sign in as 'lawboy'? Really? Lawboy?"
"What's wrong with that?" Sam got defensive, apparently embarrassed. "You think saltandburn would be better? Or monstersarereal?"
"Dunno, how about "badasshunter"?" Dean smirked. "Why didn't you use your name like all normal people?"
"Normal people," Sam snorted. "Old habits die hard. I couldn't get used to using my real name at first. Just felt wrong."
Dean could relate – he had had a year of normal life with Lisa and Ben. Everything was so strange at the beginning – he'd stayed in one place, used his real name, met with the same people, had legal credit cards and even a salary and thousands of other details, like buying kitchen soap or washing powder. It had taken him some time to adjust.
"Huh. Did you keep salt under your bed?" Dean wondered because that was exactly what he had done while living with Lisa.
Sam laughed. "Yeah. My roommates thought I was mental."
"Could be worse if you painted devil's traps at the entrance," Dean remembered the stunned expression on Lisa's face when she had seen him painting her floor. But she was an amazing woman and after a moment of silence all she had said was "whatever makes you feel comfortable". Ben had been assured it was just a fashionable design solution.
"Devil's traps?" Sam sounded surprised.
Oh shit. They weren't supposed to know about them yet.
"Yeah. I'll show you someday. Let's hit the road."
Dean was thinking. The shapeshifter had taken his form and "downloaded" his memory. He had even fooled Sam, though his brother had noticed something fishy about his behavior. The shapeshifter would find out whatever plan he would devise now the second he took his body. Yet it was important for him to "die", because innocent people shouldn't end up in jail and because that would throw the FBI off the trail. Sam had almost shot him last time – and if anyone would notice a fake, it would be Sam. So, he just needed something that would give Sam absolute certainty.
"Sam, if the guy didn't kill his girlfriend, we might be dealing with his evil twin. A shapeshifter, probably." Probably, yeah.
"Yeah. I just thought the same thing."
"Shapeshifters are tricky sons of bitches. They can take our form if we're not careful enough. If you suspect something, if I act weird – shoot to kill. Right in the heart. You got me?" Dean shot Sam a look to see his reaction.
For soulless Sam something like that would go without saying – he would be surprised Dean decided to voice this at all. His 22-years-old brother, however, clearly didn't like the idea.
"And if I'm mistaken?"
"You won't be."
"Dean, if there's so much as one percent probability that I shoot you-" protested Sam, shaking his head.
"You won't. I trust you on that. You know me better than anybody. If anybody can notice something is wrong with me, it's you. Shoot to kill, Sammy."
Sam hesitated. "Will you shoot fake me?"
Dean wanted to lie, but he couldn't. He didn't want Sam to think that he was able to murder his twin. Of course, he wouldn't. He hadn't hurt Sam's body when it had been occupied by Lucifer or when he had been soulless. He just couldn't make himself. It went against all his instincts.
"Okay, fine. Don't promise me anything," groaned Dean. "But if you see fake me, you know what to do." He gave his brother a meaningful look.
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
They came to the conclusion that the shapeshifter hid in the sewers (as if they could have arrived at any other conclusion) and went searching. As soon as they split up, Dean took off his amulet and put it in his sock. There was a chance the shapeshifter wouldn't notice it was missing – Dean had become so used to walking without the amulet for the last year that at first its weight on his chest and the leather string around his neck felt unfamiliar. Sometimes he almost forgot to put it back on after taking a shower.
Right now he could only wait and hope that Sam's skills of observation wouldn't fail him and he would have the guts to shoot at what looked just like his big brother.
After several hours of sitting tied up in the sewers, Dean started to worry.
At first, the idea had seemed genius. Now he realized it was absurdly risky. There was no guarantee that the shapeshifter would come back to Sam. And if the shapeshifter knew the future, he also knew about Sam being Lucifer's vessel. And while having all Dean's memories, it didn't have his feelings, his soul so it could probably decide to kill his brother for the greater good. Fuck.
"Dean? Dean! Thank god you're alive!" Relief washed over him when he heard Sam's voice and hurried footsteps. His brother beat that son of a bitch. On his own. Dean smiled proudly.
"I thought I killed you," rambled Sam, cutting the ropes. "And then I thought I'd never find you because he could drag you god knows where. You okay?"
"Peachy," Dean put on the amulet. "Did you notice?" he asked, pointing at the pendant.
"Yeah. I mean, I didn't shoot just because you returned without it – you could've lost it. But you would've noticed if you had lost it and you'd be pissed."
Dean looked away in shame. He would never tell Sam that he had thrown his present in a motel trash can. Never.
"And you acted weird," added Sam, helping him to get up.
His heart missed a beat. No doubt somebody with memories of the future could act weird. "How weird?"
"Dunno, you just stared at me like I had grown a second head or something," shrugged Sam.
Okay. Looked like the shapeshifter hadn't had much chance to talk.
"You didn't get rid of its body, did you?"
"No, why?"
"Good. I'm writing a suicide note. Dean Winchester killed – what was that girl's name? - and then decided to take his life away. So your friend's brother will be released soon."
"Your luck I shot point-blank. If the cops are dumb enough, they'll buy it."
The cops, of course, bought it. Death kept his promise. Dean hoped he wasn't too tired of covering up for him.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It took one look at the Reverend's daughter's silver cross and the memories came flooding back. Dean relaxed for the first time in weeks. The hunt was going to be easy, just a simple salt-an-burn. He made sure it was Sam who dug up the grave and burnt the remains, while he burnt all the silver, including the cross he'd stolen from the unsuspecting girl.
What he hadn't expected though was that they would run into Lori at the gas station the next morning. And of course, it didn't escape Sam's attention that she looked upset.
"Oh, it's nothing. It's just– I lost the cross Dad had given to me. It's not expensive, but it's old and was made of church silver, so it just means a lot to me."
Sam paled as the realization dawned on him. Dean cursed in his head.
"Dean, we have to go back."
Shit.
"Sam, c'mon, it's just a small cross. How much does it weigh compared to the hook that can slash people's throats?"
"You know perfectly well that ghosts don't care. As long as there's something at all left, they'll continue to haunt people."
So, they spent three more days looking for the cross. Sam checked all local pawn shops and ran out of ideas, but refused to leave the town. The fact that Dean couldn't find another hunt wasn't helping at all.
"It reminds me of what happened to the mirrors in Toledo," muttered Sam.
Dean was incredulous. "Dude, don't tell me you plan to return there to get the damn tapes."
"No. I've been keeping an eye on the area, there were no similar murders, so I guess it's okay."
Had Sam ever forgotten anything?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"You go to Missouri, I'm sure you two psychics will get along just fine," Dean waved Sam off, determined to stay within a safe distance from the woman who could literally read people's thoughts. He wished he had asked Death to make a wall in his head to protect his knowledge.
When Sam saw the vision of some supernatural shit happening in their old house Dean was both relieved and worried. On the one hand, the sequence of events seemed to remain the same, that was reassuring. On the other hand, Sam's visions reminded him about his addiction to demon blood, the Apocalypse, and Dean felt like he was running out of time, even though he had roughly four years before the start of the Apocalypse. He desperately wanted to come out to Sam and finally discuss everything with him. Keeping everything and not being able to share was becoming harder every day. His knowledge turned into a mounting burden. But he still had no idea how to start a conversation about this with Sam. He dreaded the prospect of answering Sam's questions – and knowing his brother, there would be plenty, he would ask exactly about things Dean would rather never talk and he wouldn't back down until he got all the answers.
He stayed away from Missouri, talked briefly to Dad's colleagues, and pretended to be very busy till evening when he knew they were going to put hex bags inside the walls. He used this time to rack his brain to try and remember more about the upcoming events – he had a feeling that soon they would hear from Dad. He also tried to recall how exactly they had got the Colt because he would definitely need it, and the more bullets there were the better. But all he managed to remember was that they found the Colt after its owner had been killed by vampires. That was very unfortunate – several precious bullets were wasted on creatures you could kill just by ripping their heads off.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
When Dad sent them coordinates, Sam exploded with anger.
"Let's get it straight. We haven't heard from him for half a year. We didn't even know if he was alive. And the first message in six months we get are the coordinates. Fucking coordinates, Dean. For a fucking hunt."
Dean used to hate these conversations before. He had always felt the urge to defend Dad, but at the same time, he was afraid that defending Dad too much would push Sam away. He hated taking sides. He hated being torn between two people who meant everything to him. So, he either avoided talking about Dad at all or tried to finish the conversation as soon as it started. Now that he knew the future, he became less emotional about that.
"Sam, I get it, you have the right to be pissed. You dropped everything to find Dad and hunt down the yello- the thing that killed Jess, and we're not making any progress."
No reaction. Sam was fuming, glaring at the phone in Dean's hands as if he wanted to throw it against the wall.
"Look, don't think of it as Dad's order. Maybe he thinks we need some practice before we can help him with whatever he's up to now. Or he thinks we're just bored," he attempted to joke.
"Oh yeah, I'm dying of boredom. Killing shapeshifters and wendigos is such a mundane job that even tax accountants have more fun," seethed Sam. "I wonder what he's doing now anyway."
Dean shrugged. He'd never had the chance to ask. "Tracking down that thing, I guess. Maybe he stumbled on some lead, so he left us the message, thinking that we'd be safer together and away from him."
When he came to think of it, it sounded reasonable. Maybe Dad had captured a demon who'd let something slip about Azazel's plan. And Dad was probably working on other cases of demonic possessions, trying to get more information. "We all are in danger" – that was something he wouldn't say without having enough evidence.
"He didn't tell you to fetch me," noticed Sam.
Dean rolled his eyes. "He didn't need to. Damn it, Sam, in a situation like this I would've come even if he'd forbidden me to."
Sam started packing the duffel reluctantly. "Maybe if we drop this case he'll be pissed off enough to show up in person to chew us out for disobedience?"
Dean forced a laugh. He knew what almost certainly would draw Dad to them – the news about Sam's visions. But Sam hadn't started seeing them, and Dean wasn't going to tell Dad anyway. The fact that Dad had seriously suggested that he should kill his brother still bugged him. How could Dad seriously think he would be able to murder his little brother after years of taking care of him? After watching out for Sammy had become what defined him? If he failed to save his brother he would be more likely to kill himself.
"Sam, c'me on. It's not about obeying his orders. It's-"
"Yeah, yeah, saving people, the family business," Sam rolled his eyes.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dad's call caught him off guard. And it definitely was too much for Sam, who apparently was determined to hitchhike to California. He stopped the car on the empty road, it was dark and they were surrounded by forest. What kind of brother had he been to have allowed Sam to leave in the past?
"Sam, we're not having this conversation in the middle of fucking nowhere at night. Let's find a gas station at least," he said, trying to win some time and pull his thoughts together.
"There was one twenty miles back," Sam suggested, probably thinking that Dean wouldn't agree to drive back.
"Awesome."
They drove in silence. Sam was boiling with anger. Dean was thinking hard. Maybe it was time to tell Sam the truth. Keeping his story in secret was becoming more difficult and more dangerous. Sam deserved answers – the answers that dad wouldn't give. And well, keeping secrets from each other had caused enough problems back in the universe he'd come from. He might as well learn from mistakes.
"So. You wanted to talk," Sam reminded him, killing the ignition.
Well, the gas station wasn't exactly a perfect place to start the whole "I'm-from-the-future" conversation. But right now he needed to talk Sam out of going to California. "I'm-from-the-future" thing could wait till tomorrow when they found a motel.
"Sam, California is a two-day drive from here," Dean started nervously. "By the time we get there, Dad could be anywhere."
Sam gave him a bitchface. "I know, Dean."
"So, you realize that even if we go there, we won't find him?" He emphasized the word "we", hoping that Sam would understand that Dean was on his side and soften.
"At least we'll be looking for him."
"Sam, going to California will be a waste of time."
"It's not about being rational. It's about doing what I think is right. I dropped everything to find dad. I'm done waiting, Dean." Sam had the same determined look about him that reminded Dean of the times his brother had argued with Dad about Stanford.
Damn it. This conversation wasn't getting them anywhere. Dean saw there was no way he could convince his brother to stay if he'd already decided everything for himself. The kid was stubborn – had always been. Dean hesitated.
"Sam, do you remember those mirrors in Toledo? And that I warned you about the shapeshifter? And the cross the girl had lost?"
Sam frowned, confused. "Yeah, and what does it have to do-"
Dean felt like he was about to jump into ice-cold water. He braced himself.
"I'm from the future," he blurted out.
He suppressed the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. Real smooth, Dean. Said aloud, the words sounded even crazier than he'd imagined.
To his surprise, Sam just burst into laughter.
"Very funny, Dean. Look, I'm going to California, you do whatever – hunt, hook up with someone-"
"You won't find Dad. But I'm here. And believe me, I know more than Dad does. A lot more." Dean's mind was racing. If Sam didn't believe him, he was screwed.
Sam gave him a scrutinizing look. "Dean, if it's some kind of ruse to distract me-"
"I'm from November 2010," interrupted Dean, hoping that details would make the whole thing appear more plausible. Sam, however, looked worried.
"Still not funny, man."
"I know what killed Mom and Jess," continued Dean, his voice shaking. "And I know how to kill it."
Sam stared at him in horror. Dean's heart was in his mouth. He did it. He told the truth. There was no going back.
"Wait. You really think you're from the future," Sam's voice dropped to whisper.
"Damn it, Sam. I don't think, I really am." For the last weeks, Dean had been freaking out that Sam would somehow figure out that he was from the future that he'd never considered the possibility that his brother wouldn't believe him at all. He was so sure that Sam would believe him – because seriously, who in their right mind would lie about time-traveling? – that he wasn't prepared to prove that he was telling the truth.
"You don't believe me, do you?" he asked weakly.
"Maybe you had visions about these things – the mirrors and the shapeshifter? Like the visions I had about Lawrence," suggested Sam, obviously hoping that he was right.
"No. I'm from the future. I went six years back in time and now I'm here," Dean gestured vaguely around himself.
Sam examined him warily, his eyes darted to the backseat where they kept some weaponry. Dean rolled his eyes. "Go ahead, check me with a silver knife, holy water, or whatever. I'll pass every test."
To his surprise, Sam just started the car, pulled out, and sped along the road.
"Why don't you grab some sleep while I drive us to Indiana?" his brother suggested nonchalantly.
That wasn't quite the reaction Dean had expected. "I thought you were going to California."
"I'm not leaving you in such a state," Sam sounded seriously alarmed.
"Shit, Sam, I'm not a psycho, I-"
"You just need some rest," Sam cut him off. "We've been hunting too much lately."
Terrific.
So. Dean and Sam are going to have a looong conversation in the next chapter. (Spoiler: no, Dean won't tell Sam everything at once). And I'm going to cover the episode "Faith", too
Please let me know what you think. Is anyone out of character? Do you like the plot so far?
Stay safe and take care :)