Regarding Dean Part 1

Eureka Springs, Arkansas

Dean chased after Gideon in the dark forest. He saw that Gideon stopped by a tree and fired a shot at him, causing Gideon to run off again, leaving behind a smear of blood on the tree. Dean followed after him and heard a rustling sound. He carefully headed toward the sound with his gun drawn. He approached Gideon, who was on one knee facing another tree.

"You people," Dean started degradingly. "You never learn, do you? Always trying to run."

Gideon turned around, revealing that he had carved a sigil onto the tree. The sigil began to glow with a bright purple light.

"Dearmad!" Gideon exclaimed.

There was a flash of purple light and Dean was knocked onto the ground unconscious.

~/~\~

That morning, Dean was still lying on the ground and he woke up groggily. "Oh…" he groaned as he started to sit up, brushing leaves out of his face. "Ugh," he looked down and saw a rabbit sitting beside him. "Hey, buddy," he moved the rabbit behind him and stood up. "Mm. Ah. Wow."

Dean looked around, unsure of his surroundings. He pulled out his phone to make a call, only to see that the screen was shattered and his phone didn't work.

"Oh, come on." He groaned.

Dean turned around and saw a walking path not far from where he was standing.

"And I was like, 'Andy, the dog's vegan,'" a woman with a stroller walked by.

"Hey, hey." Dean tried to stop her.

"How could you give him—

"Excuse me," Dean pleaded. "Do you mind if I—

The woman gasped and recoiled from Dean immediately. She reached into her purse and handed Dean some money.

Dean frowned in confusion. "Wh—

"Just don't buy a drink." She interrupted before walking away.

"Huh," Dean muttered as he looked around and walked up to a man who was jogging by. "Hey. Hey, hey, hey. Excuse me," he said to the man, who stopped jogging. "Look, uh, uh, I'm a not a—not a bum, okay?" he stressed. "Just somebody who really needs to use a phone. Do you mind?"

The man hesitated for a moment before handing Dean his phone.

"Great. Thank you." Dean said sincerely before walking a short distance to make the phone call. "Okay," he muttered.

"Hello?" Sam's voice rang through after a few rings.

"Sam?" Dean asked.

"Dude, where the hell have you been?" Sam demanded.

Dean looked around the park in confusion. "I'm not really sure about that."

"You—Well, where are you now?"

Dean looked around again. "I'm not really sure about that either. I, um…" he trailed off as he noticed a 'Waldo's Waffles' sign. "Oh. Ha-ha. I'm starvin'. How you feel about waffles?"

"What?" Sam asked in confusion.

"Dumb question. Right." Dean scoffed. "What psycho doesn't love waffles? I mean, they're fluffy. You got the little pockets full of syrup. You just cover 'em in whipped cream. Am I right? Anyway, meet me at Waldo's okay?"

Dean hung up and handed the phone back to the jogger, nodding in thanks.

~/~\~

Dean sat at a booth in the restaurant and the waitress handed him a plate of waffles as Sam, Angela, and Grace walked toward the booth.

"Unca Dean!" Grace ran over and sat next to her uncle.

"Hey, Princess," Dean greeted. "You want some waffles?"

"Yes, please." She smiled.

Dean nodded and cut up some pieces. He looked up as Sam and Angela sat down. "Oh. Hey, did you bring any, um…" he grimaced and motioned to his head.

Sam held up and shook a pill bottle, a smirk on his face.

"Yes." Dean grabbed the pill bottle.

"Sounded like you could use it," Sam muttered.

Dean nodded as he opened the pill bottle. "Oh, man."

"Rough night?" Angela quirked a brow.

"Rough morning." Dean corrected as he took a few pills with his coffee.

"Wh-What happened?" Sam stammered. "I mean, you just went out to get some food."

"I don't know." Dean shrugged.

"What does that mean?" Angela scoffed.

"I-I guess I blacked out. And judging from this hangover, it was epic."

"Well, we tried to call you."

"Um…" Dean pulled out his destroyed phone and held it up.

"Oh," Sam muttered.

Dean tossed the broken phone on the counter. "Not sure how that happened.

"Great," Sam pulled out his own phone. "All right, well, I'll text Mom and Robert, make sure they know to get a hold of me or Angie in case of emergency. And Cas, in case he tracks down Kelly."

Dean's face screwed up in confusion at the mention of Kelly's name. Sam and Angela just looked at him incredulously.

"The mother of Lucifer's love child?" Angela reminded.

"Right. Right." Dean nodded. "Yes, the Devil baby mama drama." He grinned, looking quite amused with himself. "Say that five times fast. Devil baby mama drama."

"All right, Dean, you know, uh, you had a good run," Sam started. "But maybe let's pump the breaks a little bit. I mean, you're not 20 anymore."

Dean just stared at Sam for a moment. "Okay, one, the Rat Pack parties till the day they died. And B, I can still kick your ass."

Dean took another large bite of his waffles and Sam scoffed at him. Dean, with his mouth still full, called for more waffles. As he did so, a group of young women entered. One of them looked at Dean, apparently recognizing him before joining the rest of her group.

"Mm. Got a few people who need some waffles down here!" Dean called out, pointing at Sam and Angela.

"Oh, no." Sam shook his head. "I'm—I'm fine. I'm…"

"You can just take these if you want." Dean pushed a plate toward Sam.

"No, Dean," Angela scoffed lightly. "Look, the morgue opens in, like, 10 minutes."

Dean took a sip of his coffee and again, looked confused. "The morgue?"

"The autopsy results," Sam reminded. "Are you still drunk?"

"I don't think so," Dean muttered.

Sam leaned over and sniffed Dean, who looked slightly offended.

"All right, our—our case?" Sam asked.

"Mm," Dean grunted.

"The dead guy, throat stuffed full of money. Any of this ring a bell?" Angela questioned.

"Right, yes." Dean nodded. "Right. Um… the accountant. Barry Gilman."

"Right," Sam replied.

"Right." Dean turned toward Sam. "Uh, and you think he got his ticket punched by a demon."

"Maybe." Angela shrugged.

"Okay, but when we went over to his place yesterday, we got a whole bunch of jack and a little bit of squat," Dean argued. "There were no hex bags, no EMF, no sulfur, which means no case."

Sam sighed deeply. "Yeah, but if it's not a case, then what is it?"

"I don't know," Dean muttered. "Death by money? You know, maybe the guy got whacked by, uh, some mob dude with an ironic sense of humor."

"All right." Sam chuckled. "Well, Angie and I are gonna go scope out the body. If you wanna spend some more alone time with, uh, your waffles… all right. Have fun."

Sam and Angela got up, and Angela picked up Grace.

Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin and got up. "Fine, hold up."

"Did you pay?" Angela's brows furrowed.

Dean stopped and reached for his wallet. "Oops, no. Right."

"You got it?" Angela asked.

Dean tossed some cash on the counter. "I got it."

"Hi," one of the women from the group approached with a small smile.

Dean turned around with a bewildered look on his face. He looked at Sam and Angela and raised his eyebrows quickly after seeing the girl, and turned back toward her with a smile on his face.

"Hi. And who are you?"

The woman frowned in disbelief, which quickly turned into anger. She smacked Dean across the face and stormed back to her friends.

"Hitting's mean," Grace commented.

"Yes, it is," Angela agreed.

"Yep." Dean nodded. "Epic night." He walked past Sam and out of the restaurant.

~/~\~

Sam and Dean, in their FBI apparel, were standing beside the autopsy table where the body of an older man was. Angela was outside with Grace, due to the fact that her morning sickness was acting up. One of the morgue staff walked into the room and handed a box of evidence to Sam.

"Hey."

"Uh, thank you." Sam nodded at the woman as he took the box.

"Great," Dean smiled tightly. "We'll let you know if we need anything else. Thanks."

The staff member nodded before leaving, closing the door behind her. Dean looked slightly uncomfortable and Sam placed the box on a stand beside the body.

"All right," Sam began looking through the autopsy report. "So, cause of death was suffocation. Officially."

"Okay. We already knew that." Dean shrugged.

"See evidence bag B 1-4," Sam muttered. "All right," he put the report down and opened the box, looking through its contents.

Dean cringed as he looked at the blood-covered objects. "Ugh. Mm."

Sam pulled out a bag full of very bloody money and Dean looked like he was about to vomit.

"Huh." Sam turned and showed the bag to Dean. "Says they pulled all this from his stomach."

Dean was trying to avoid looking at the back while trying not to throw up. "Mm-hmm—Mm. Big breakfast." He looked briefly at the bag and covered his mouth. "Okay."

Sam's brows furrowed slightly and he turned to put the money back in the box. "All right."

Dean continued to make gagging sounds while Sam looked through the box. He found a small bag with a small pink hex bag inside.

"Mm. Ugh." Dea groaned.

"Well, well," Sam took the bag with the hex bag inside out and showed it to Dean. "You were saying about an ironic mobster?"

Dean sighed heavily. "All right, so… a witch force-feeds old Barry here a hex bag and then casts a spell."

"Yeah, a spell that pumps him so full of cash, he dies choking on it." Sam turned and put the bag back in the box.

"Ugh, witches." Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, I guess it's true what they say. Mo' money, mo' problems. Right?"

Dean smiled and chuckled to himself before walking out of the room, and Sam just rolled his eyes.

"I hope you're still drunk."

~/~\~

Sam, Dean, and Angela left the building and walked toward the Impala. Angela held Grace on her hip and put her in the car seat as they got to the car.

"So, why would somebody want Barry dead?" Dean questioned. "I mean, what, did he screw up a tax return?"

"He's actually more of a money manager." Angela corrected.

"Well, whatever he was, looks like he, uh, certainly made one hell of a… uh…" Dean frowned in thought.

Sam and Angela just looked at Dean, eyebrows raised.

"Enemy?" Sam suggested.

"Enemy." Dean nodded. "Yeah. Those guys."

"Maybe he blew the wrong person's savings." Angela shrugged.

"All right, well, let's check out his clients." Dean fumbled around with his keys as they got into the car.

"Which one?" Sam scoffed. "Barry worked for the richest families in town."

Dean looked through his keys, brows furrowed in confusion. Sam and Angela just watched in disbelief.

"Wow," Sam muttered. "Man, you were serious about epic. It's the square one."

"Yeah. I know." Dean muttered.

"Y—

Dean started the car and looked over his shoulder, ready to back out. He pressed on the gas pedal and ended up driving forward, crashing into two newspaper boxes, where a woman stood looking at a paper. Sam looked up startled and Angela turned to make sure Grace was okay.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"Come on!" the woman exclaimed.

"What the…" Sam muttered.

"Gracie, you okay sweetie?" Angela asked.

"Yeah Mommy," Grace replied, kicking her feet.

"Really?!" the woman yelled angrily.

"Sorry!" Sam replied. "Our fault. I…" he turned and looked at Dean in shock. "R for 'reverse,' Dean."

Dean just sat there confused, occasionally looking up at Sam and Angela.

"Listen, man," Sam started. "I-I know we haven't had it easy lately. This thing with the Devil's kid and getting tossed into West Guantanamo makes me wanna crawl into a bottle, too, sometimes, but… dude, you're wrecked." He stressed. "And we got a case to work so get it together, all right?"

"Dean?" Angela frowned when he didn't respond. "Dean?"

Dean looked up and his brows furrowed in confusion. "Who's Dean?"

~/~\~

Sam, Dean, Angela, and Grace walked into the motel room.

"I told you, I'm fine," Dean assured, a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Dean, you forgot your own name," Angela argued.

"For a second," Dean shrugged. "Okay, yeah, that was weird." He walked over to one of the beds and took his jacket off.

Sam closed the door and walked toward Dean. "All right, look, we know we're dealing with a witch, right? Maybe you got hexed."

Dean took off his jacket off and tossed it and his gun on the bed. He turned to Sam and Angela in slight amusement.

"Dude… If a witch got a clear shot at me, I would be dead, okay?" Dean scoffed. "I wouldn't be freakin', uh… Dory."

Sam and Angela looked at each other in confusion.

"Dory?" Sam raised his brows.

"Gracie and I watched Finding Nemo." Dean shrugged. "I'm not gonna apologize for loving that fish. Not to you, not to anyone."

"Right. Okay. All right." Sam pursed his lips. "If you're doing so well, name all the members of Bon Jovi."

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Okay. Uh, we talkin' circa 1983?"

"Sure." Sam nodded.

"Done. We got Bon Jovi," Dean paused, unable to remember the rest of the band members. "Whatever. This is stupid. I'm fine. Okay?" he turned and walked back toward the bed. "I feel great. Look, uh…" he turned and picked up the gun. "This is a gun," he dropped the gun and pointed to his coat. "This is a coat." He shrugged before walking over to the lamp. "This is a… a… a… light stick."

Angela frowned. "A light st—

"Tha's a lamp, Unca Dean." Grace giggled.

Sam turned to the desk and pulled out a sticky note pad and scrawled something on it. "All right. We're gonna get you some help."

"Look, we can figure this out, okay? Don't go callin' Mom or Cas with this." Dean sighed heavily.

Sam pulled off the sticky note and walked over to the lamp, putting the sticky note on it. "Fie, but until you get better…"

Dean read the note and snapped his fingers. "Lamp. Right. So close."

~/~\~

Angela sat on one of the motel beds and held her phone up to her ear as it rang.

"I'm a wee bit occupied at the moment," Rowena's voice rang through.

"Yeah, well, we need your help, Rowena," Angela replied.

"Oh, really?" Rowena asked.

"Come on, Angie." Dean groaned. "Rowena? I mean…" he trailed off as he inspected the mini-fridge.

"Daddy, I don't wanna take a nap!" Grace stomped her foot.

"Grace," Sam sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You have to take a nap."

Angela ran a hand over her face. "Yes. Really."

"Hey?" Dean called out and Angela turned her head to look at him. "Tiny vodkas. Score."

"Am I saved to your contacts now?" Rowena asked cheerfully. "Tell me. Have I got my own ringtone, dearie?"

Angela rolled her eyes dramatically. "This is serious. Look, we think Dean's been hexed, okay? He—he's been forgetting things."

"Daddy I'm not tired!" Grace pouted.

"Maybe he's just drunk," Rowena suggested.

"He's not drunk." Angela huffed.

Dean picked up the ice bucket and pointed inside it. "We need ice."

Dean continued pointing at the bucket and Sam was trying to calm Grace down. Angela just shook her head and sighed deeply.

"We could do a memory spell," Rowena suggested. "But did his hair fall out? His body too?"

Angela's brows furrowed. "What?"

"From the neck down, is he smooth like a Ken doll?" Rowena questioned.

Angela wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't know. Uh, and I'm not checking either."

"Rules out a mnemonic curse," Rowena replied. "The obliviate spell wipes the memory clean over time, but it's intricate magic. I…"

"How do we break it?" Angela cut her off.

"Theoretically? Kill the witch."

"Got it," Angela replied before hanging up the phone.

Angela turned to talk to Dean and frowned when she saw that he was gone. "Sammy… where's Dean?"

Sam looked up from where he was trying to calm Grace down. "Crap. Dean? Dean!"

Sam picked Grace up before he and Angela ran out of the motel room to look for Dean.

"Dean!" Angela yelled as they ran up to the second level. "Dean?"

They walked around a corner and found Dean trying to get into another room with the ice bucket tucked under his arm.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Sam asked in exasperation.

Dean turned to look at Sam and Angela. "Getting ice. What are you doing?"

"That's not our room," Angela replied.

Dean looked around confused and then shrugged as he walked away. "All these dumps look the same." He muttered as they started walking back down to their room. "So, this spell, I'm stuck in some sort of 'Memento' crap?"

"Right." Angela nodded. "The fix sounds fairly simple. You just find the witch who did it and kill it."

"Oh, Halle-freakin'-lujah." Dean muttered.

"We think you got hexed last night," Sam commented.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We need to retrace your steps." Sam suggested as they stopped just outside their room. "All right, think. What's the last thing you remember you did?"

Dean thought for a moment and then tapped the ice bucket. "Uh… I got some ice."

~/~\~

Sam and Dean were looking around Barry Gilman's office while Angela stayed back at the motel with Grace after finally getting her to take a nap.

"Okay," Dean started. "From yesterday, the last thing I kinda sorta remember is us being here in um…" he snapped his fingers to try and remember as he wandered over to the desk. "…guy's office. Uh…"

Sam was looking through the shelves in front of the desk. "Barry Gilman."

"Yes." Dean nodded. "And… we were here and we were, uh, we were looking for leads." He opened a red lacquered box on the desk and took out one of the cigars. "Yeah," Dean chuckled as he pocketed the cigar. "Douche tax."

Sam looked over and pursed his lips. "Yeah, you did that yesterday, too. All right, come here."

Sam walked over to a wall with pictures hung on it and Dean joined him.

"Check these out. Do these shake anything lose, these pictures?" Sam quirked a brow.

Dean looked at the pictures, pausing at one of them before shaking his head. "No. None of them."

"Okay, think hard. What happened next?" Sam asked. "Angie and I went to hit the lore. You went out for a burger. So…" he looked hopefully at Dean.

"So…" Dean huffed in frustration. "What do you want me to say? I-I ate 'em?"

"Okay, okay. You know what? It's not a big town." Sam shrugged. "How many burger joints can there be? Come on."

~/~\~

Sam and Dean walked into the pub and looked around.

"All right, anything?"

Dean shook his head in frustration. "No. I mean, this is the third place we've been to. I-I… No. It's…" he turned to walk out again, but stopped when he saw the woman from the waffle place. "Wait. It's—It's her from, uh, from the waffles."

Sam grabbed Dean's arm and they walked toward the woman. "All right, come on."

The woman looked up and scoffed, seemingly unimpressed to see them. She was currently busy getting drinks from the bar.

"Excuse me," Sam started.

"Hey." Dean smiled.

"Hi."

"If you're gonna apologize, you better make it quick." The woman told Dean.

"Me apologize?" he asked indignantly. "Uh, you smacked me."

"You were being a dick," she shrugged. "We're even."

"Even for what?" Sam questioned.

"That's none of your—who are you?" she scoffed before walking away with the drinks.

Sam and Dean followed after her quickly.

"Okay, look, whatever happened with us, um, I'm sorry." Dean apologized. "Okay? See, here's the deal. We're, um, we're…"

"We're FBI." Sam took out his badge. "Uh, Agents Moon and Entwistle."

The woman turned to look at them, brows raised skeptically. "FBI?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded.

The woman looked right at Dean, who wasn't looking at her. "Last night, you told me your name was Springsteen." She turned and started walking away. "Like the boss."

"Uh, yeah, see, sometimes, we have to lie in order to, uh, to… protect our cover." Dean stammered as they followed after her.

"No way." She rolled her eyes as she served another table their drinks.

"Okay, listen, this is actually sensitive," Sam stressed. "We—we think my partner may have been roofied."

The woman stopped and turned around. "Seriously."

"Seriously?" Dean muttered as the woman kept walking.

"If you can tell us anything about what happened that night, it would be a big help," Sam told the woman sincerely.

"Sure. I…" she walked over to a table by the mechanical bull and set her tray down.

"Great." Sam sighed in relief.

"He ordered burgers to go," she recalled. "It was gonna be a minute. We were slammed. Then you knocked back… four shots of tequila?" she looked at Dean. "Put some 'sick jams' on the juke, and then you hit the bull."

Sam's brows shot up in surprise. "He what?"

"I what?" Dean parroted.

The woman turned to look at the mechanical bull and the boys followed her gaze.

"Oh, yeah, you had the hots for Larry as soon as you walked in here."

"He…" Sam looked at his brother. "You rode Larry?"

Dean paused for a moment and looked at the woman. "Was I good?"

"You were…" she looked him over, a smirk forming on her lips. "Amazing."

Dean smirked, obviously pleased with himself. "Hmm."

Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Anyway," the woman cleared her throat. "We got to talking, and… you know. We blew off some steam."

Dean looked confused for a moment, but grinned once he realized what she meant. "Ah."

"Did you see him talk with anyone else?" Sam questioned.

"My bartender said she saw him run out of here like his pants caught fire." The woman answered. "We were supposed to meet up after close-up, but you never showed…" she trailed off as her face contorted in concern. "Oh. Poor thing. You were all roofied up. I didn't… I am so sorry if I took advantage of you."

Dean stifled a grin as Sam looked around the bar.

"It's okay," Dean lightly touched her arm.

"Does this place have security cameras?" Sam inquired.

"Yeah." The woman nodded.

A few moments later, the boys were set up at a table with a laptop so that they could look through the footage and the waitress got back to work. Dean looked at her as she walked by and turned back around.

"First action in I don't know how long, and it's like it never even happened," Dean grumbled. "Figures."

"Ha. See, now that's comedy." Sam smirked.

"Okay, whoa," Dean pointed at the screen. "There I am."

"Yeah."

Dean leaned closer to the screen. "Wait, wait, wait."

Sam's brows creased in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to read my lips," Dean replied. "Now salsa you mittens."

"You can't read lips." Sam realized.

Dean leaned back and shook his head. "I can't read lips."

The man in the video suddenly used magic to throw Dean back against the building.

"You see that?" Dean's eyes widened.

"Yeah, of course. I think we got our witch." Sam muttered. "What, you don't remember any of this?"

"It's like watching myself on Netflix," Dean replied in awe.

Sam paused the video to get a better look at the man Dean was following. "That guy look familiar to you? That jacket?" he asked, earning a shrug from Dean. "Never mind. Stupid question. I think Barry had a picture of him in his office. It might be how you recognized him last night."

They continued watching the footage and saw Dean fire a shot at the man. Dean's eyes widened in surprise.

"And I take a shot! I know how to shoot a gun?"

~/~\~

The brothers walked out of the bar's back door to the area where Dean had been on the security tape. Sam walked around with a flashlight.

"All right," Sam started. "So… you crashed there. Uh… you ran that way. Uh, shot, uh… here." He bent down and picked up a bullet casing. "Yep. Witch-killing bullet."

Dean blinked a few times as his vision blurred and he walked closer to Sam. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. There are witches?"

While Dean seemed quite excited by the prospect, Sam became even more concerned and put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Dean… witches are real." Sam replied. "Vampires, werewolves, witches, they're all real. And we kill them."

Dean took a moment to process the information before a grin spread across his face. "Awesome. That's awesome."

Sam nodded in satisfaction. "Right. Right. Come on."

Sam headed into the woods following the path Dean took before. Dean looked in his jacket pocket and was happily surprised to find a flashlight.

"Ah."

Dean turned on the flashlight and followed Sam into the woods, asking questions along the way.

"Okay, so, wait. So—so djinns don't grant wishes, and sirens aren't all hot chicks?" Dean asked in shock.

"Yeah. Sorry to break it to you."

"Huh," Dean muttered.

They wandered through the woods and Sam scoffed at the way the conversation was going.

"This is crazy," he shook his head.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Me giving you 'the talk.'" Sam replied. "You know how many times we've had to tell some civilian that monsters are real?"

"Yeah, but monsters are real. And we're the guys that kill 'em, man." Dean gushed. "I mean, come on. Best job ever."

"Yeah," Sam replied sarcastically. "If you like greasy diner food, crappy motel rooms, and more than one Apocalypse."

"I don't know." Dean shrugged. "We kinda sound like heroes to me."

As they walked, they came upon a tree that had a bloody handprint and a bullet hole in it.

"Hey." Sam pointed to the tree.

Dean touched the bullet hold and gasped lightly. "Whoa."

Suddenly, he turned around and smacked Sam on the shoulder.

"And our best friend's an angel!" Dean exclaimed. "What?!"

Sam turned around in concern. "We just gotta get you cured."

"Yeah. Okay." Dean followed Sam.

The brothers came up to another tree with strange markings on it and they stopped to get a closer look.

"Hey."

"Whoa," Dean muttered. "Okay, now, these? Freaky."

Dean laughed, but Sam was distracted by the markings.

"No, they're just, uh, glyphs. Witches use them in spells, but I've actually never seen anything like this before." Sam replied as he snapped a picture. "Maybe Rowena will recognize 'em."

"Maybe." Dean agreed. "Who's Rowena? That's a weird name," he muttered as he wandered a bit. "S-S-Sam! Sam!"

Sam immediately came over to where Dean was standing.

"What?"

Dean looked up at Sam and pointed down at the ground. "Is that a dead guy?"

"Yeah. I think that's our witch." Sam frowned.

"Cool." Dean breathed out, slightly scared and excited about seeing a dead body.

"No, Dean. Killing the witch was supposed to be the cure." Sam reminded. "So, if he's already dead, then why aren't you… you?"

Dean frowned in realization. "Not cool. Okay, what now?"

"Now we get out of here," Sam answered. "Let's go. Come on."

"Okay." Dean nodded, following Sam out of the woods.

A/N: Hey y'all, I hope you liked this chapter! I know it's been a while, but with being quarantined, I have a lot more free time. I hope you're all staying safe! Love y'all, xoxo :)

~Emily