"Hi, good evening, brother. Is your soul rapture-ready? Thank you, sir. God bless."
Dean stepped out of the Impala and slammed the door.
"Good evening, folks, is your soul rapture-ready?" a Jehovah's Witness stopped random people on the street, waving a flyer and wearing a warm smile. "Because what I'd like to do is just show you exactly what God's love is for you. Okay, God bless."
As Dean hopped onto the sidewalk, the young man held out a hand as if to block him, but remained standing off to the side.
"Excuse me, friend, but have you taken time out to think about God's plan for you?" he questioned, clutching his flyer.
Dean wheeled around and stared at him. "Too friggin' much, pal." He swung open the motel door and went inside.
"We're talking about the Colt, right?" Dean asked Castiel over the phone, once he had gotten settled. "I mean, as in the Colt?"
"We are," Cas confirmed.
"Well, that don't make any sense. I mean, why would the demons keep a gun around that, uh, kills demons?"
"What? What? Did-" A large truck roared over the phone, drowning out Cas' words. "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. The voice says I'm almost out of minutes."
"Okay, alright. I-I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted down the gun by now."
"Well, I hear differently. 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 sat down on the couch. "Okay. Where do we start?"
"Where are you now?"
"Kansas City," Dean replied. He leaned over and grabbed his room keys. "Century Hotel, room 113."
"I'll be there immediately," Cas told him.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on man," Dean complained. "I just drove like six hours straight, okay? I'm human. And there's stuff I gotta do."
"What stuff?"
"Eat, for example," Dean replied. "In this case, sleep. I just need like four hours once in a while, okay?"
"Yes."
"You can pop in tomorrow morning."
"Yes. I'll just-" Dean hung up. Standing alone on a deserted street, Cas frowned at his phone. "-wait here, then."
Not too long into his sleep, Dean's phone buzzed. Exhausted, he fumbled for his phone and flipped it open without bothering to check the caller I.D. "Dammit, Cas, I need to sleep!"
"Dean, it's me."
Dean's eyes flew open. "Sam? It's a quarter past 4:00."
"This is important," Sam said.
Sighing, Dean rolled out of bed and grabbed a beer from the fridge. "So, you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?"
"That's what he said."
"Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh Sammy?" Dean popped open his drink.
"So that's it? That's your response?" Sam questioned.
"What are you looking for?"
"I don't know. A-A little panic, maybe?"
"I guess I'm a little bit numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point," Dean replied, in all honesty.
"What are we gonna do about it?"
"What do you want to do about it?" Dean countered.
A pause. "I want back in, for starters."
"Sam-"
"I mean it. I am sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches. I'm gonna hunt him down, Dean."
"Oh, so we're back to revenge then, are we? Cause that worked out so well last time."
"Not revenge," Sam corrected quietly. "Redemption."
"So what, you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again?" Dean pulled out a chair and sat down, scowling.
"Look, Dean, I can do this. I can. I'm gonna prove it to you."
Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, Sam. It doesn't matter, whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the uh, the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere... stay away from each other for good."
"Dean, it does not have to be like this. We can fight it."
"Yeah, you're right. We can," Dean agreed. "But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us- love, family, whatever it is -they are always gonna use it against us. And you know that." Dean paused for a long moment, leaning back in his chair. "We're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways."
"Dean, don't do this," Sam pleaded.
"Bye, Sam." Dean hung up.
Dean woke up in only the frame of a bed. He sat up in confusion, staring around the now-ruined motel room. The walls were crumbling and covered in chipping paint, the clock on the moth-eaten nightstand was cracked, and the bed was stripped of any sheets or blankets. He got to his feet. Faint sunlight trickled through the shattered windows, bleak and grey.
Confused and disoriented, Dean walked over to the window and pushed aside the blinds.
Kansas City was a wasteland.
The sky was a flat, deep grey color, shadowing the city ruins. Every building down the street and in the distance was decayed and broken down, scattered debris clogging up the street with crumpled cars and shattered traffic lights. Several buildings were burned to the ground, and many more were scorched. A street light was bent awkwardly beneath the fallen roof of a house, and a limp American flag dangled from a post. A nearby cinema sign proclaimed, NOW PLAYING: ROUTE 666.
Dean stared out at the destruction in mute horror.
Down at ground level, it wasn't much better. The air held the acrid scent of sulfur and decay, and glass crunched beneath his feet as he stepped out of the motel. He walked into the middle of the street, where he had a great view of the devastation. It was quiet; too quiet. There should be birds, rats, insects, but instead, there was only a terrible, suffocating silence.
As he headed off down the street, he scanned his surroundings for any sign of danger. The ruins around him seemed devoid of life, but he couldn't afford to take any chances. He leaned over the side of a crashed car. Glass shattered in the distance.
He looked up in its direction. He followed the origin of the sound, turning into an alleyway coated with graffiti in various states of freshness. A spray-painted cross formed a background for the word 'peace'.
Kneeling in the center of the damp alley, dressed in filthy rags and head bowed over a grimy teddy bear, was a young girl.
"Little girl?" Dean called, uncertain. She didn't react. "Little girl?" He moved forward cautiously, not wanting to startle her. "Are you hurt?" He waved his arms a bit as anxiety began to gnaw at him. He lowered himself into a crouch. "You know the not-talking thing is kind of creepy, right?"
Blood dripped from her lips.
She whipped her head up, snarled at him, and lunged, a shard of broken glass clenched in her tiny fist. She shrieked at the top of her lungs, slicing him with the glass. He jumped back with a shout of surprise, and on reflex, punched her across the face. Spinning around, she collapsed onto a mattress, unconscious.
Dean panted, unnerved by the sudden attack. He grimaced as he touched the wound she inflicted on him.
As he twisted his head to look at the damage, he saw the bloody words painted on the far wall.
CROATOAN
"Oh, crap," he muttered.
People swarmed from around the corner, their eyes crazed and filled with bloodlust, each one of them just as filthy as the girl. There must have been more than fifteen of them, crowding the entrance of the alley and glaring at him.
He stepped back apprehensively.
They charged.
Dean took off running, as fast as he could to escape the murderous horde. Bolting out of the alley, he kicked over a trash can, hoping to deter them, but their attention was wholly on him. They flooded out onto the street, fanning out behind him as he dodged rusted vehicles and trash. His feet pounded on the asphalt, the sounds of feet slapping the wet pavement urging him to hurry, hurry, hurry hurry hurry-
More of them emerged from closed shops and buildings, joining the massive hunt for Dean Winchester. He seriously regretted being born without the key feature of Sam's long legs.
He skidded to a halt. A huge chain-link fence barred him from escaping, blocking off the whole street. They slowed to a rapid stride behind him, probably wanting to terrify their prey before they ate him alive.
Gunfire engulfed the street.
Men in military uniforms drove up to the fence, wielding assault rifles and shooting holes into the infected people. Dean threw himself to the ground, covering his ears and head. Someone inside the car turned on the radio, and a rock song began to blast through the speakers, confusing and startling the people to make them easier targets.
"Do you love me~"
Soldiers charged from behind the fence, gunning down any people who tried to approach. Their uniforms were ripped and dirty but still recognizable as the military.
On his hands and knees, Dean crawled away from the infected and soldiers alike, tumbling into an alley and flattening himself against a wall. The battle raged on.
When night fell and both sides retreated, Dean pried open a small section of the fence and crawled under, escaping to the other side. He stood up and saw a sign pinned to the chain.
NO ENTRY
BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND
AUGUST 1ST 2014
KANSAS CITY
Ord. 848243/43QE
It was the date that caught his attention. Five years in the future? He read it aloud to confirm it was real. There was nothing familiar here, nothing that made any sense whatsoever, but there was one person he could always count on to be there for him.
He hotwired a car and took off down the road.
His cell had no service. What a surprise. He sighed and tried the radio; only static there.
"That's never a good sign," he muttered.
"'Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia'," Zachariah read aloud from a newspaper.
Dean flinched and jerked back, nearly sending them spinning off the road. He gripped the wheel tightly in his irritation. "I thought I smelled your stink on this 'Back to the Future' crap."
"'President Palin defends bombing of Houston," the angel continued, flipping to the next page. "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 me?" Dean demanded.
"Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late," Zachariah explained, "human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image and told to keep an eye out."
"The Bible freak outside the motel," Dean realized. "He, what, dropped a dime on me?"
"Onward, Christian soldiers."
Dean groaned. "Okay, well, good, great. You have had your jollies. Now send me back, you son of a bitch."
"Oh, you'll get back - all in good time," Zachariah assured him. "We want you to marinate a bit."
"Marinate?"
"Three days, Dean." Zachariah looked over at him, expression shifting into something grim. "Three days to see where this course of action takes you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.
"It means that your choices have consequences." The angel snapped open the newspaper and brandished it for Dean to see. "This is what happens to the world if you continue to say 'no' to Michael." He lowered the newspaper. With his chin, he gestured out at the road. "Have a little look-see." Then he was gone.
Dean smacked the steering wheel.
~ Singer's Salvage Yard, SD ~
"Bobby?" Dean called. He eased the front door open. "Bobby, I'm coming in!"
The house was dark and eerily quiet. Dean left the door open to allow in some light. He stepped into the kitchen, and his stomach dropped.
Bobby's wheelchair, laying on its side, its owner absent.
"Oh no," Dean whispered. He picked up the folded contraption and set it upright. Several bullet holes punctured the fabric, surrounded with dark stains that Dean tried not to think about. He looked around the kitchen, at everything that was the same and different simultaneously. "Where is everybody, Bobby?"
Dusting off the wood, Dean pulled a shelf from the wall and removed the leather-bound journal inside. Bobby's hunting notebook.
Near the end, a black and white photograph was pressed into the brittle pages. It depicted three unfamiliar men, Bobby in his wheelchair, and Castiel, each one gripping a gun. Cas wore regular human clothes, rather than his trench coat, which Dean found odd. Beside them was a wooden plaque with words carved into it.
welcome to
CAMP CHITAQUA
"Camp Chitaqua," Dean murmured. He'd found his next destination.
Camp Chitaqua was surrounded with thick chain-link fencing, blocking off all entrances from the outside. Dean crouched by the gate, peering inside. He held still as a pair of guards strolled by, barely trusting himself to breath until they passed. As he watched them, something else caught his eye.
A car, half buried in the bushes, grime and dirt caked over what was once gleaming black paint. One window was shattered, and dents peppered the metal.
"Oh, baby, no," Dean whispered. When he found a loose section of fence, he slipped inside and ran to the Impala. Seeing his car in such a state of disarray shocked him to the core. "Oh no, baby, what did they do to you?"
Someone's fist collided with his face, and everything went dark.
Dean groaned. His eyes fluttered open, latching onto his wrist, where metal cuffs restrained him to a pole. He yanked at it, bruising his wrist, then finally looked up.
Sitting at a table, loading a gun with practiced ease, was...
Himself.
Future Dean Winchester's stare snapped to him. His expression was cold and calculating. Assessing.
"What the hell?" Dean whispered.
"I should be asking that question, don't you think?" the other replied. "In fact, why don't you give me one good reason-" He cocked the gun and aimed it at Dean, "-why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?"
Dean blinked a few times. "Because you'd only be hurting yourself...?"
"Very funny." Future Dean- who past Dean mentally nicknamed 'FD' -leaned back and set the gun down.
"Look, man," Dean tried, jingling his handcuff. "I'm no shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?"
"Yeah, I know," FD replied. "I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water - nothing. But you know what was funny? Was that you had every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now, you wanna explain that? Oh and, the, uh, resemblance, while you're at it?"
Dean hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "Zachariah."
FD rose to his feet, expression hardening. "Come again?"
"I'm you, from the tail end of 2009," Dean told him. "Zach plucked me from my bed and threw me five years into the future."
"Where is he?" FD demanded. "I wanna talk to him."
"I don't know," Dean said.
"Oh, you don't know?" FD mocked, scowling.
"No, I don't know. Look, I just wanna get back to my own friggin' year, okay?"
FD nodded slightly, then bent down to look him in the eyes. "Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know."
Dean scoffed. He sifted through his memories, trying to pick one that stuck out. He nearly laughed aloud when he found it. "Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh... nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what?" Dean waved a finger at his doppelganger. "We kind of liked it."
FD gazed at him, eyes softening a bit. "Touché." He stood. "So what - Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?"
"I guess." Dean looked up at him as FD cocked a pistol. "Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?"
FD nodded. "It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that."
"What about Sam?"
The question made him pause. FD stared at the weapons in his hands, eyes cast downward and lips pressed together. He never took his gaze off the gun. His voice was apathetic, as if he had long since moved on. "Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it."
Dean exhaled. "You weren't with him?"
"No. No, me and Sam, we hadn't talked in…" FD chuckled humorlessly. "Hell, five years."
"We never tried to find him?" Dean asked, growing more and more disbelieving as FD talked.
"I got other people to worry about," FD replied flippantly. He zipped up a backpack.
"Where are you going?"
"I gotta run an errand."
"Whoa, you're just gonna leave me here?" Dean asked, tugging at his handcuff.
"Yes." FD's voice took on an authoritative, sharp quality. "I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an Apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of 'The Parent Trap'. So yeah, you stay locked down."
"Okay, alright, fine. But you don't have to cuff me, man," Dean complained. "Oh come on, you don't trust yourself?"
FD paused at the door and glanced back at his younger self. "No. Absolutely not." And then he was gone.
"Dick."
After painstakingly chipping away at the floorboards for a while, Dean managed to wiggle a nail from the wood. He smiled and freed himself. The sun was up when he stepped outside. The air was fresher here, surrounded by woodlands and nature. He walked down the stairs, taking in his peaceful surroundings, and was instantly confronted by someone.
"Hey, Dean, you got a second?"
None other than Chuck Shurley jogged up to him, his hair cut and his sparkling eyes filled with dreadful knowledge only prophets possess.
"No. Yes. Uh, I-I guess," Dean stammered. "Hi, Chuck."
"Hi. So, uh, listen, we're pretty good on canned goods for now but we're down to next to nothing on perishables and- and hygiene supplies." Chuck looked up at him expectantly. "People are not gonna be happy about this. So, what do you think we should do?"
It was clear that Future Dean was in a position of authority and leadership that Past Dean wasn't used to. He didn't like that hopeful expression that Chuck wore; the one that he wouldn't want to let down.
Dean gulped. "I-I don't know. Maybe, uh, share? You know, like at a kibbutz."
Chuck stared at him. His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. "Wait a minute, aren't you supposed to be out on a mission right now?"
"Absolutely," Dean agreed. "And I will be-"
"Uh-oh," Chuck mumbled, catching sight of someone behind him.
Dean turned around just in time to dodge a punch that went flying at his face. An Asian woman swung at him again, and he darted behind Chuck to protect himself.
"Easy, lady!" Dean cried.
"Risa," Chuck corrected nervously.
"Risa!" Dean said.
"You spent the night in Jane's cabin last night, didn't you?" Risa demanded, eyes narrowed in anger.
"Uh, what? I-I don't-" Dean turned to Chuck helplessly. "Did I?"
Chuck, looking scared out of his mind, nodded with his eyes shut tight.
"I thought we had a 'connection'," Risa snapped.
"Well, I'm sure that we do," Dean placated.
"Yeah? Screw you." She stormed past them, Chuck muttering a quiet 'hi, Risa' as she went.
"Oh jeez, I'm getting busted for stuff I haven't even done yet," Dean remarked, chuckling.
"What?" Chuck questioned.
"Uh, never mind. Hey, Chuck, is... Cas, still here?"
Chuck laughed a bit. "Yeah. I don't think Cas is going anywhere."
Dean headed up the steps to Castiel's cabin. Instead of a door, there was a covering of beads on strings, forming a design. He pushed the beads aside and peeked at the interior.
"So, in this way," Future Cas was saying to a group of women, "we're each a fragment of total perception. Just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind." He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, dressed in an unbuttoned polo and billowy green pants. He had grown a beard, and his hair curled over his forehead. "Now, the key to this total, shared perception, it's, um... it's surprisingly physical."
Then he saw Dean. His expression shifted marginally, from serene zen to disappointment, maybe even apprehension. In an instant, it was gone, replaced with calm and kindness. "Excuse me, ladies," he told them. "I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy?"
Dean blinked.
The women rose to their feet and filed out in a shambling, ridiculously slow line.
"You're all so beautiful," Cas murmured as they headed off.
Once they were all gone, Cas got to his feet and stretched.
"What are you, a hippie?" Dean asked, frowning.
"I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me," Cas replied. He sighed and turned to face Dean.
"Cas, we gotta talk," Dean said.
Cas' eyes widened for comical effect. His tone was sarcastic and mocking, something that Past-Castiel hadn't mastered yet. "Whoa. Strange."
"What?"
"You... are not you - not 'now' you, anyway," Cas observed.
"No! Yeah. Yes, exactly."
"What year are you from?" Cas wondered. His eyes slid over Dean. The blue orbs had lost their sheen, their spark of hope. They were now dulled and faded. Lifeless.
"2009."
Cas exhaled. "Who did this to you? Is it Zachariah?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
"Oh yeah, it's friggin' fascinating," Dean snapped. He clapped his hands. "Now, why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?"
Cas grinned humorlessly, turning away from Dean. He chuckled and sniffed, but the sound was pained. "I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry - no dice."
Dean scowled. "What are you, stoned?"
"Uh... generally, yeah."
Seeing Cas' careless expression, his sluggish movements, it was all so uncharacteristic. "What happened to you?"
"Life," Cas replied, offering a lazy grin.
Future Dean and his posse returned not much later. Dean stepped out of Cas' cabin and watched the cars pull up. Cas peeked out behind him.
The group sprayed something on the windshield and hood. Dean headed down the steps, only to see FD whip out a gun and aim it at his friend.
"Hey! Watch out!" Dean shouted.
FD shot him in the head. The man collapsed.
Dean stared at his future self in shock. The others mirrored his expression, but not for the dead man; for him.
FD glared at him and Cas. "Dammit," he muttered. He turned to his remaining companions. "I'm not gonna lie to you. Me and him? It's a pretty messed up situation we got going. But believe me, when you need to know something, you will know it. Until then, we all have work to do."
A few moments later, FD shoved Dean roughly back inside his cabin and slammed the door.
"What the hell was that?" he snarled.
"What the hell was that?" Dean countered. "You just shot a guy in cold blood."
"We were in an open quarantine zone - got ambushed by some crotes on the way out."
Dean raised an eyebrow.
"Crotes, croatoans. One of them infected Yager."
"How do you know?"
"Cause after a few years of this, I know," FD said shortly. "I started seeing symptoms about a half an hour ago. Wasn't gonna be long before he flipped. I didn't see the point in troubling a good man with bad news."
"'Troubling a good man'?" Dean questioned. "You just blew him away in front of your own people. Don't you think that freaked 'em out a little bit?"
"It's 2014," FD growled. "Plugging some crote - it's called commonplace. Trading words with my friggin' clone? That might have freaked them out a little."
"Alright, look-"
"No, you look," FD interrupted. "This isn't your time. It's mine. You don't make the decisions. I do. So when I say 'stay in', you stay in." He stormed over to the window and turned away from him.
"Alright, man, I'm sorry," Dean said after a moment. "Look, I-I'm not trying to mess you - or me, us up here."
"I know." FD popped open a bottle and began to pour two drinks.
"It's just been a really wacky weekend," Dean sighed.
"Tell me about it." FD set the drinks in front of them, then tipped back one. Dean did the same.
"What was the mission, anyway?" Dean asked, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries.
FD remained silent. He set down his drink and reached into his bag. In his hands rested a shiny black gun that Dean recognized.
"The Colt?" Dean whispered.
"The Colt," FD confirmed.
"Where was it?"
"Everywhere. They've been moving it around." FD rubbed the handle admiringly. "Took me five years, but... I finally got it." He set the Colt down on the table with a clatter. "And tonight…" He picked up his drink and raised it to his lips. "... tonight, I'm gonna kill the Devil."
Future Dean soon gathered Risa and Castiel to go over the plan with him and Past Dean. They all stood in various places around the room: Dean, sitting in the windowsill; FD, at the head of the table; Risa, standing with her arms crossed; and Cas, leaned back in his chair with his legs propped up on the table and a drink in his hand.
"So, that's it?" Risa questioned. "That's the Colt?"
"If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it," FD said.
"Great." Risa narrowed her eyes at him. "Have we got anything that can find Lucifer?"
"Are you okay?" FD asked, his tone bordering on patronizing.
"Oh, we were in, uh, Jane's cabin last night," Dean piped up. "And apparently, we and... Risa, have a connection."
Cas grinned to himself. Risa stuck out her chin.
"You want to shut up?" FD said to Dean. He addressed his team next. "We don't have to find Lucifer. We know where he is. The demon that we caught last week - he was one of the big guy's entourage. He knew."
"So, a demon tells you where Satan's gonna be, and you just believe it?" Risa wondered aloud, eyebrows raised in her skepticism.
"Oh, trust me. He wasn't lying."
"And you know this how?"
"Our fearless leader, I'm afraid," Cas spoke up, "is all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth."
Dean blinked. "Torture? Oh, so we're- we're torturing again. No, that's- that's good. Classy."
Cas laughed. At FD's scowl, he said, "What? I like Past You."
Knowing he wouldn't win this one, FD rolled out a map and pressed it to the table. "Lucifer is here. Now, I know the block and I know the building."
Cas leaned over to look, and immediately lost any front of respect or tolerance he may put up for FD. "Oh, good - it's right in the middle of a hot zone."
"Crawling with crotes, yeah," FD agreed. "You saying my plan is reckless?"
"Are you saying-" Cas shot back, "-we uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the crotes and we shoot the Devil?"
"Yes."
"Okay," Cas said. His eyes glittered with defiance. "If you don't like, uh, 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant', maybe."
"Are you coming?" FD asked, ignoring the slight.
Cas let out a long, weary sigh. "Of course." Despite his obvious reluctance and qualms about the plan, he seemed used to having his remarks and suggestions shut down. He glanced back at Dean. "But why is he? I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?"
"He's coming," FD dismissed.
"Okay," Cas muttered unhappily. He stood up and headed to the door, Risa following. "Well, uh, I'll get the grunts moving."
"We're loaded and on the road by midnight," FD called after them.
"Alrighty," Cas replied.
Watching the way his future self treated his closest friends and confidants, Dean felt a twinge of disappointment. Would he really become this callous and arrogant? Towards even Cas?
"Why are you taking me?" Dean asked, instead of voicing his internal struggle.
"Relax. You'll be fine." FD opened his bag and stuffed the map inside. "Zach's looking after you, right?"
"No, that's not what I mean," Dean said. "I want to know what's going on."
FD hesitated. He let go of his bag. "Yeah, okay." He walked around the table and met Dean's gaze. "You're coming because I want you to see something. I want you to see our brother."
"Sam? I thought he was dead."
"Sam didn't die in Detroit," FD admitted. He sounded harsh, but Dean knew himself better than anyone; it was a mask. He was hiding the pain beneath a sharp tone and a serious facade. "He said yes."
"'Yes'?" Dean paused at the anguished look in FD's eyes. "Wait. You mean-"
"That's right. The big 'yes'. To the Devil." FD glanced away. "Lucifer's wearing him to the prom."
"Why would he do that?"
"Wish I knew." FD shook his head. "But now we don't have a choice. It's in him, and it's not gettin' out." He held up the Colt. "And we've gotta kill him, Dean. And you need to see it- the whole damn thing, how bad it gets -so you can do it different."
"What do you mean?"
"Zach said he was gonna bring you back, right? To '09?"
"Yeah."
"Well, when you get back home," FD told him, "you say 'yes'. You hear me? You say 'yes' to Michael."
"That's crazy," Dean argued. "If I let him in then Michael fights the Devil. The battle's gonna torch half the planet."
"Look around you, man. Half the planet is better than no planet, which is what we have now. If I could do it over again, I'd say 'yes' in a heartbeat."
"So why don't you?"
"I tried!" FD shouted. His voice broke. "I've shouted 'yes' until I was blue in the face! The angels aren't listening! They just left - gave up! It's too late for me, but for you-"
"Oh, no, there's gotta be another way," Dean insisted.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. I was cocky. Never actually thought I'd lose." FD's tone turned pleading. He was begging now. "But I was wrong. Dean, I was wrong. I'm begging you. Say 'yes'." When FD saw the determined gleam in Dean's eyes, the stubborn reluctance, he knew there was no convincing his past self. His next words were defeated. "But you won't. Cause I didn't. Because that's just not us, is it?"
"So you're really from '09?" Chuck questioned Dean as they walked out to the jeeps.
"Yeah, afraid so."
"Some free advice?" Chuck offered. "You ever get back there, you hoard toilet paper. You understand me? Hoard it. Hoard it like it's made of gold. Cause it is."
"Thank you, Chuck," Dean replied.
"Oh, you'll thank me, alright. Mark my words."
"I'll see you around."
Chuck wrapped his arms around himself, clutching his clipboard close. "Yeah. Okay."
Dean jumped into the passenger seat of Castiel's vehicle, and they drove off.
Cas reached into the dashboard and retrieved a bottle of pills that rattled when he opened it. He popped some into his mouth.
"Let me see those," Dean said.
"You want some?" Cas asked, handing him the bottle.
Dean cleared his throat and read the label. "Amphetamines?"
"It's the perfect antidote to that absinthe," Cas explained. He sniffed and hummed contentedly.
"Don't get me wrong, Cas," Dean said. "I, uh, I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass, but... what's going on? W-With the uh, the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap?"
Cas tipped back his head and laughed. His smile was crooked and wide as he fought to contain his amusement.
"What's so funny?" Dean asked.
"Dean, I'm not an angel anymore," Cas answered, a twinge of pain leaking into his words.
"What?"
"Yeah, I went mortal."
"What do you mean? How?"
"I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving," Cas muttered. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and rubbed his eyes with the other. "But when they bailed, my mojo just kinda…" He made a whirring noise, similar to a computer powering down. "Drained away. And now, you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I'm all but useless. Last year, broke my foot? Laid up for two months."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
"So you're human?" Dean asked, not quite believing Cas' words yet.
Cas nodded.
"Welcome to club," Dean supplied.
"Thanks." Cas fixed his gaze on the road. "Except I used to belong to a much better club. And now I'm powerless. I'm hapless, I'm hopeless. I mean, why the hell not bury myself in women and decadence, right? It's the end, baby! That's what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then-" he chuckled, "-that's just how I roll."
The sun had just begun to emerge when they entered the city. Little afterthoughts of a storm drifted by, illuminated pink and orange by the sunrise. They headed down the deserted street, armed to the teeth and wary of their surroundings. Every tiny sound turned heads. The guards of the group trained their weapons outward.
Future Dean led them to the building he had marked out. It was fenced in by a rusted fence, with a 'NO TRESPASSING' sign pinned to the front. FD raised a pair of binoculars and peered at the building.
"There," he said. "Second-floor window. We go in there."
"You sure about this?" Risa asked.
"They'll never see us coming," FD assured her.
Dean watched him. His stance, his tone, everything screamed 'he's hiding something'. Dean knew it all too well.
"Trust me," FD said, at Risa's reluctant expression. "Now, weapons check. We're on the move in five."
"Hey, uh, me," Dean called. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"
The pair walked over to a quiet patch of woods where the others couldn't hear.
"Tell me what's going on," Dean demanded.
"What?"
"I know you. You're lying to these people, and to me."
FD regarded him, his face unreadable. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. See, I know your lying expressions," Dean told him. "I've seen them in the mirror. Now, there's something you're not telling us."
"I don't know what you're talking about," FD replied.
"Oh, really? Well, I don't seem to be the only member of your posse with some questions, so uh, maybe I'll just take my doubts over to them." Dean went to go prove his point, but FD stopped him.
"Okay, whoa whoa whoa. Wait."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Take a look around you, man," FD urged. "This place should be white-hot with crotes. Where are
Dean frowned in realization. "They cleared a path for us. Which means that this is-"
"A trap, exactly," FD finished.
"Well, then we can't go through the front."
"Oh, we're not," FD said. He gestured at their waiting companions. "They are. They're the decoys. You and me? We're going in through the back."
"You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder?" Dean questioned, shocked at his future self. "Cas, too? You want to use their deaths as a diversion?"
FD looked away.
"Oh, man, something is broken in you," Dean whispered. "You're making decisions I would never make. I wouldn't sacrifice my friends."
"You're right." FD's voice was ice cold. "You wouldn't. It's one of the main reasons we're in this mess, actually."
"These people count on you," Dean pleaded, trying to convince the other that this path wasn't worth it. "They trust you."
"They trust me to kill the Devil and to save the world, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."
"No. Not like this, you're not," Dean decided. "I'm not going to let you."
"Oh really?" FD questioned. He pulled back his fist and punched Dean across the face, knocking him unconscious.
Dean woke to screaming.
As everything came rushing back, he staggered to his feet and ran to the building.
The windows were alight with gunfire and echoing cries of pain. Cas and Risa - they were in there, on a suicide mission that he would eventually arrange. And they were dying. Slaughtered like pigs.
Dean rushed around the back, hoping to intercept the battle before any more of his friends died, but a scene in the courtyard made him skid to a halt.
His future self lay sprawled out in the grass, his gun resting a few feet away. A tall figure, dressed in all white, pressed a foot to his neck, restraining him. In the instant it took for their eyes to lock, FD's neck snapped beneath the person's heel. Thunder crashed above.
The figure, sensing his presence, turned around, and Dean was greeted with the face of Sam Winchester.
"Oh," Sam- not Sam, Dean reminded himself, Sam could never be so merciless -remarked. "Hello, Dean. Aren't you a surprise?"
Lightning arced across the boiling sky, causing Dean to flinch. Lucifer appeared behind him.
"You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?"
Dean hated the curious, faintly amused gleam in Sam's- Lucifer's eyes. "Well, go ahead," he snapped. "Kill me."
Lucifer blinked. "Kill you?" He glanced over at FD's still, lifeless body. "Don't you think that would be a little... redundant?" He sighed. The sympathy in his voice was almost authentic. "I'm sorry. It must be painful, speaking to me in this... shape. But it had to be your brother. It had to be." He reached out to touch Dean's shoulder, as if to comfort him, but when Dean flinched, he stopped right before making contact, choosing to form a fist instead. His hand fell back to his side. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Dean. What do you think I'm going to do?"
"I don't know, maybe deep-fry the planet?" Dean spat.
Lucifer moved past him. Atop a pillar, a budding rose grew. He gently touched the soft petals, avoiding the thorns. Then he released the flower, turning to face Dean. "Why? Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing? Beautiful, in a trillion different ways - the last perfect handiwork of God?"
Dean watched him from a distance, gritting his teeth.
A range of emotions crossed Lucifer's face, until settling on something curious. "You ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?"
"Oh, good God," Dean groaned. "You're not gonna tell me a bedtime story, are you? My stomach's almost out of bile."
"You know why God cast me down?" Lucifer inquired, ignoring his comment. "Because I loved him. More than anything. And then God created... you." His lip curled in disgust, but his voice was anguished. "The little hairless apes. And then he asked all of us to bow down before you - to love you, more than Him. And I said, 'Father, I can't.' I said, 'these human beings are flawed, murderous.' And for that, God had Michael cast me into Hell." He tilted his head, a crumpled copy of a smile curving his lips. "Now tell me - does the punishment fit the crime?"
Dean pressed his lips together.
"Especially when I was right?" Lucifer added, narrowing his eyes. "Look what six billion of you have done to this thing. And how many of you blame me for it?"
"You're not fooling me, you know that?" Dean snarled, "with this sympathy-for-the-devil crap. I know what you are."
"What am I?" Lucifer asked.
"You're the same thing, only bigger." Dean's voice cracked, seeing the calm, kindly inquisitive expression that Lucifer tried to pull off. He couldn't act like Sam, he didn't look like Sam, and Dean knew better than to ever confuse the two. This wasn't his brother. "The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego."
Lucifer smiled at the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. His lips twitched into a cruel, indifferent smirk. "I like you, Dean. I get what the other angels see in you. Goodbye. We'll meet again soon." He turned and began to stroll away.
"You better kill me now!" Dean shouted. His voice trembled as he fought to keep his emotions under control.
"Pardon?"
"You better kill me now," Dean repeated, taking in a shuddering breath. "Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop."
"I know you won't," Lucifer replied evenly. He seemed disappointed, yet resigned. "I know you won't say 'yes' to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up..." He glanced around the courtyard, as if memorizing the scene in his mind. His smile had faded, replaced with only grim truth. "... here."
A tear trickled down Dean's cheek.
"I win," Lucifer said. "So, I win."
"You're wrong," Dean whispered.
Pity carved a fake smile into his features. "See you in five years, Dean." Thunder crashed, and he was gone.
Zachariah touched his forehead.
Dean gasped and stumbled back, hitting the counter in his motel room. Zachariah stood a few feet away, that infuriating, never-ceasing, high-and-mighty smile plastered onto his face.
"Oh, well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you," Dean snapped.
"Enough," Zachariah said. "Dean, enough. You saw it, right? You saw what happens. You're the only person who can prove the Devil wrong. Just say 'yes'."
"How do I know that this whole thing isn't one of your tricks?" Dean demanded. "Huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?"
"The time for tricks is over," Zachariah replied. "Give yourself over to Michael. Say 'yes', and we can strike. Before Lucifer gets to Sam. Before billions die."
Dean looked away. He walked past Zachariah, his eyes pained, assuring the angel he was convinced. Then, he spoke.
"Nah."
"'Nah'?" Zachariah questioned. "You telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"
"Oh, I've learned a lesson alright," Dean said. "Just not the one you wanted to teach."
"Well, I'll just have to teach it again," Zachariah threatened, storming forward. "Because I got you now, boy, and I'm never letting you-"
Dean vanished.
Castiel smiled at him.
They now stood on a deserted street, still engulfed in nighttime. Dean chuckled.
"That's pretty nice timing, Cas."
"We had an appointment."
Dean scanned him up and down, relieved to find him back in his trench coat and no longer so drugged-up he couldn't see straight. "Don't ever change," Dean told him.
Cas smiled at him, then asked, "How did Zachariah find you?"
"Long story," Dean said. "Let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?"
"What are you doing?" Cas asked, watching Dean flip open his cell phone.
"Something I should have done in the first place."
A chilling wind swept past Dean as he leaned on the Impala, parked on a dirt path beside a railroad. The sky was a calm grey, with little pockets of sunlight filtering through. In the distance, the sun peeked over the horizon.
Down the road, a faded yellow car crested the hill, grinding to a halt before Dean. The engine shut off.
Sam stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Dean walked over to him, wanting to speak while he was able.
"Sam," he greeted.
Sam remained silent.
Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out the demon knife. "If you're serious and you want back in…" He flipped it around and brandished the handle for his brother to take. "... you should hang onto this. I'm sure you're rusty."
Sam gazed at the knife for several moments. He reached out and carefully grasped the handle.
"Look, man, I'm sorry," Dean said. "I don't know. I'm... whatever I need to be. But I was, uh... wrong."
"What made you change your mind?" Sam asked softly.
Dean chuckled. "Long story. The point is... maybe we are each other's Achilles' Heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other. I don't know. I just know we're all we've got." He met Sam's gaze, the gentle and forgiving one, the one that was right and held no ulterior motive or cruelty. "More than that. We keep each other human."
"Thank you," Sam whispered. "Really. Thank you. I won't let you down."
"Oh, I know it," Dean assured him. "I mean, you are the second-best hunter on the planet."
Sam cracked a smile. "So what do we do now?"
"We make our own future," Dean told him.
"Guess we have no choice."