DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. I do, however, own this story and all original characters.
Hey guys. Sorry for the late update. Stay-in summer camps with no laptop or Wi-Fi really, REALLY suck. Well, anyway, back to the topic at hand. Thank you all so much for reading & reviewing my first chapter; it really means a lot to me. Now that we're all done with the sentimental, chick-flick crap, (lol) here is the second chapter of 1 A.D.
Somewhere I Belong
The man clamped his hand onto Dean's arm and held fast. Dean was amazed at the feeble-looking man's incredible strength. He tried to help the stranger stand up but the man fell down, unconscious. Dean placed his fingers on the man's neck and was reassured by the strong, gentle thrum of his pulse.
Dean carried the strange man up to the guest room and laid him down on the bed. He walked out of the room, closed the door, and walked down to the living room. "What do you think?" Lisa asked from her spot on the couch.
"I don't know. He's not a demon, or he wouldn't have even been able to set foot into the house," Dean said, referring to the numerous Devil's Traps and demon warding sigils he had drawn, etched, scraped, and carved in and around the house. "And I can't figure out how or why angels would find me."
"But... they're angels! How can they not find you?" Lisa asked.
"Well, Cas, the angel I told you about, carved sigils into my ribs which made me invisible to angels." Dean explained. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down next to Lisa. He pulled out his cell phone and showed her a picture of what she assumed to be their guest's eyes. Before she could ask why he would take a picture of someone's eyes, Dean said, "Look. No retinal flare; means he's not a shapeshifter. Skin doesn't have the right texture, anyways." He shrugged, "Better safe than sorry," he said simply.
"Maybe he's just a normal, non-supernatural, homeless man," Lisa suggested hopefully.
"Maybe," Dean said; he didn't sound convinced.
"Well, you just keep worrying about that," Lisa jabbed at her boyfriend, "while I feed our guest, alright?"
"Yeah, sure, you do that, " Dean replied absentmindedly.
Lisa rolled her eyes at the now-serious former hunter and walked into the kitchen to pick up the tray of food she made for the man now residing in her guest room. When she walked back into the living room, she heard Dean muttering something about Leshies and werewolves and other things she didn't even want to know about. She walked up the stairs and knocked on the door to the guest room; when she didn't hear a response she assumed that the man was sleeping and opened the door to find that her hunch was right. She sat the tray of food down on the bedside table and turned to walk away, but before she could, she felt two fingers on her forehead, and then she passed out.
Dean heard Lisa go up the stairs, but didn't think anything of it; she was just bringing the guy some food. 'Speaking of which,' Dean thought as his stomach growled. He got off of the couch and walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and found exactly what he was looking for; Lisa's homemade apple pie. Dean grabbed the plate it was sitting on and a fork from the drawer and dug in. As he shoveled forkfuls of pie into his mouth, Dean's thoughts returned to the strange guest. 'Maybe he's a siren. They feed off of love; it makes sense.' Dean nodded and resolved to look at the man's face in a mirror next chance he got. 'Which will be right after I finish the rest of this pie,' he thought.
Before he could put any more pie in his mouth, Dean heard footsteps on the staircase. "Lisa? How's our new friend doin'?" he called out. When there was no answer Dean asked, "Ben, that you?" He knew something was wrong when he heard the front door open but never shut. He ran into the living room and found no one there. In a panic, he rushed upstairs to the guest room and threw the door open to find Lisa on the bed, unconscious. He rushed over to her and checked for every vital sign he knew of. Dean looked out the window and was amazed to see the stranger out on the street in HIS clothes.
Before he could recover from his shock, Ben walked into the room. "What's wrong with Mom?" Ben yelled out as he ran over to the bed and sat down next to Dean.
"She's fine, don't worry," Dean said, attempting to calm the boy down. "I'll be gone for a bit, but don't worry, I'll be back, okay? Stay with your mom." Seeing no other quicker alternative, Dean walked over to the window, opened it, and, taking a deep breath, jumped.
He landed on his feet. Hard. He rolled to avoid most of the damage, but it still hurt. Dean stood up and attempted to regain his senses; the man who had shown up on his doorstep was nowhere to be found. Dean walked out onto the street and saw his coat walking away from the house. He began to run after the retreating figure, but the faster he ran, the faster the man ran. The man began to run into more and more crowded areas. He almost swam through the crowds, barely touching anyone; Dean wasn't so graceful. He shoved anyone who got in his way. He pushed through as many people as he could without falling over himself. People stared after him, but he couldn't care less; all he wanted to do was beat the crap out of the man who hurt the woman he loved.
Suddenly, the crowds thinned out and then disappeared completely. It took Dean a second to realize that they were in a park. Dean looked ahead and noticed that he wasn't the only person chasing someone. The man he was chasing was also chasing another man. There was something about the second man's build and clothes that gave Dean a strange sense of Deja Vu, but he decided to worry about it after he had broken every bone in his target's body.
The man that he was chasing suddenly broke into a sprint and tackled the second man. They began to wrestle, each one attempting to gain dominance over the other. By the time Dean was within earshot, they had both gotten up off the ground and were throwing punches at each other. When he reached them, his guest had beaten the second man to the ground and was strangling him.
Dean grabbed the man by his shoulders and tossed him off of the man he was strangling. He turned to help the man up; he grabbed the man's forearm and pulled him up. "You oka-?" Dean stopped in mid-sentence as he took in the new man.
He was tall, taller than Dean. He had broad shoulders, long brown hair that was brushed out of his eyes and brown eyes to match. "Sam?" Dean asked, unbelieving.
"Hey, bro," Sam said. "How you been?" he asked, a sad smile on his face.
Dean reared back and punched his brother right in the jaw.
"I guess I deserved that," Sam said as he wiped blood off his lips.
"You guess! You gue-! Dammit, Sammy I thought you were dead! I thought... I didn't know what to think!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs. "How long have you been out of the Cage?" he asked dangerously.
Sam hesitated before answering. "Just under a year," he said quietly.
Before Dean could go off into another screaming rant, he was interrupted by a new voice, "Excuse me, but do you two know each other?" Dean and Sam looked around to find the owner of the voice, but the only person around was the strange man who had tackled Sam and knocked out Lisa. The brothers shrugged and went back to their argument, but were once again interrupted. "I'm sorry," the stranger reached out, grabbed Dean's shoulder, and spun him around with absolutely no effort, "but I asked you a question."
All Dean could do was stare in amazement at the man; just a few hours before he could barely walk or speak, and now he could run at least for as long as Dean could, and he had suddenly found his voice. Not only was his voice back, it was smooth, fluid, suave, even. Dean heard a slight accent, but he couldn't place it. It wasn't anything American or European, that was for sure. It wasn't just his voice that had changed either. He had somehow regained weight, it seemed; his bones no longer stuck out from under his skin like skyscrapers and there was a fair bit of muscle covering the man's lanky build. He was nearly as tall as Dean was, only about an inch shorter. He was still pale, but there was an underlying color to his skin. Even his hair was shorter, cleaner, and, overall, better cared for.
"Well?" the man asked impatiently.
"He's my brother. What's it to you?" Dean said with an air of annoyance.
"Wait. No, it can't be," he said in an awed voice. "If you're Sam," he pointed at Sam as he said this, "then you must be Dean," he said, again pointing to the brother mentioned. "The Winchester Brothers?" he asked breathlessly.
"Yeah, that's us," Sam answered cautiously. "Who are you? Do you know him?" he directed the second question at his brother.
"Kinda. He showed up at my door earlier today..." Dean told his brother, "and knocked out Lisa!" he added as an afterthought.
"Wait. He did what?" Sam yelled, almost as furious as Dean. They both rounded on the man, ready to fight, but he wasn't paying attention to either of them; he was spaced out, staring into the distance. "What's up with him?"
"I don't know. Hey you in there?" Dean asked, snapping his fingers in front of the man's face.
The strange man abruptly snapped out of his trance. "We need to get back to your house. Now!" the man yelled urgently at the brothers. Before either of them could reply, he began to run as fast as he could in the direction he had just fled from.
The man took a more direct route to Lisa's house than he had when he led Dean on the chase which led him to his brother. 'Which reminds me,' Dean thought, 'Why was he chasing Sam in the first place?' Before he could ask his question out loud, Lisa's house came into view; the man stopped, and the brothers nearly plowed into him.
"Get down!" the man hissed as he dove into some bushes. Dean looked at his brother with a confused look on his face that asked, What the hell? Sam's only response was to shrug his shoulders and give his brother a similar expression. "What the hell is the matter with you?" the man asked gruffly. "I said get..." the man reached out, grabbed the brothers by the arms, and flung them into the bushes like rag dolls, "DOWN!"
Dean was about to pummel the man into submission when he noticed a strange group of people standing outside his home. "Who are they?" he asked no one in particular.
"I don't know, but there are thirteen of 'em," Sam; gathering as much info about the enemy, as usual. Dean couldn't help but smile at how easily some people fell into their old routines.
"What about you, Snake Eyes? You're awfully quiet. You got any ideas?" Dean asked his quiet acquaintance.
"...Yeah. I know who they are," the man answered in a restrained whisper.
Sam looked at him surprised. "Really? Who are they?"
The man looked over at the brothers; the emotions etched onto his face were exactly the same as those Dean saw in his eyes earlier that day. Resilience, pain, strength of will, and, perhaps most important of all, hate. "They were my jailers," he said calmly despite the overwhelming hatred evident in his eyes.
"Jailers?" Sam asked confused. "Wait, you were in prison?"
"Not exactly," the man said surreptitiously.
"Then what the hell are you talking about?"
The man looked at Dean and Sam with an expression that was both proud and sad. Dean saw a familiar look pass over the man's face. It was remembrance combined with the pain of remembering; it was the same expression Dean saw in the mirror every time he thought about what happened to him just over two years ago before Castiel was able to "raise him from perdition".
The man looked at the brothers and said in a falsely smug voice, "You two aren't the only ones who managed to escape from Hell."
A/N: Ooooh, cliffhanger. I would just like to thank all of you, again, for reading and I hope that you guys can understand my tardiness in updating. Now that I am out of summer camp, I hope that I will be able to update more regularly and more frequently. While we're still on the subject of Supernatural I would like to invite anyone and everyone to vote in my poll found on my profile page. The question is "Who is your favorite angel from Supernatural?" I'll probably keep it up until this story is completed, so get your votes in now. Remember, constructive criticism is always appreciated (hint, hint, wink, wink) and thank you once more.