Chapter Nine
Autopilot had taken over again, so it had been about two hours before Dean even realized where he was driving.
Maybe his autopilot brain was getting smarter. Going to his dad's house did seem like the most logical thing to do at a time like this. That guy gave so damn good advice. But thinking about it more, he wasn't sure how his dad would react to this particular situation.
It could go any number of ways. He could be angry, send him out of the house, even. Dean knew that he had a temper. But he was also an amazing father. Maybe he wouldn't mind. Maybe he would accept it. Maybe he wouldn't even care.
He just hoped he wouldn't pull a Dean and pretend it wasn't happening. That would be the worst, even after blind rage.
He was already halfway there; he might as well find out.
When he did pull into the quaint little neighborhood that his dad lived in, with the white-picket fences and everything, he was surprised to find no childhood memories rushing back. I mean, some things had happened that he had ever right to want to block out, but why were none coming?
That was weird thing number one, and they only got worse.
Dean pulled into the driveway of his old home and got out of the car. He looked up at the white walls and charming hedges. He wondered whether his dad maintained the garden himself, but he knew the answer. His father kept the garden beautiful because that is what Dean's mother would have done, had she been alive.
Dean knocked on the door and waited, getting more and more nervous for the reaction of his father to this new, and probably shocking, news.
What he did not expect was a woman to answer the door.
"You're selling something? Whatever it is, we ain't buying."
"No, I'm not selling anything. I'm Dean Winchester," Dean clarified, wondering what this woman was doing at his house. Maybe she was an old friend. He tried to peer behind her, to see if his dad was home, but she was blocking his view.
"I don't know any Winchesters. I think you got the wrong place."
"No, this is my father's house. My house. Who are you?"
Dean was beginning to get frustrated. Was this sort of sick joke? Who was this woman and who did she think she was? You cannot just barge in and take a house for your own. People lived here. People died here. Where the hell is dad?
"Young man, this is not your home. You don't seem in your right mind, and I'd appreciate it if you left my property."
Dean was too shocked to argue. He got back in his car and backed out of what he had thought was his driveway. Something was wrong here. Or maybe he was just more screwed up than he thought.
Being in library was not something Dean Winchester was used to. One doesn't just go in a library when they can be getting drunk or sleeping with chicks. Preferably both.
It had a musky scent that Dean had been opposed to when he first walked in, but by now he had grown to enjoy it. The amount of books overwhelmed Dean. He doubted he had read more than fifty out of all of them.
Sitting at the computer, he began his hunt. He wasn't very good at finding information, so he made many attempts at searching the database.
Winchester: guns, guns, and more guns
John Winchester: besides one charity, nothing
Mary Winchester: except for one random Catholic school, zip
Dean Winchester: absolutely nothing
But how could that be? How could his family's names not show up in any searches? Even his own! There had been articles written about him, his high school sports, his new job. Someone had even filmed him as part of a short documentary once. It's impossible that there is no record of him at all.
He started to question his entire life. He pinched himself and didn't wake up. He pinched harder. Nothing. He slapped himself. All he got were odd glances and judging stares.
Beginning to feel very nervous, he ran to his car. He had to get back to Sioux Falls. He needed to talk to someone who knew him. He wasn't thinking of Jo or Ellen or Victor. He needed to talk to Cas. Something was more than wrong right now. If he could get Cas to listen, maybe they could figure it out.
On his way home, Dean probably broke every traffic rule that had ever been conceived. He thanked any god that was listening that no cops pulled him over.
He parked in front of the rundown, skeevy motel, and ran in.
"What room is Castiel Novak staying in?" asked Dean, trying to keep his voice calm. He failed miserably and ended up almost yelling it at the manager.
"Sir, we can't just give that information out."
Dean looked around and raised an eyebrow. Running this kind of shithole, how much moral could a guy have?
He slapped a hundred dollars down on the desk, "Room number. Castiel Novak."
The man counted the twenties and nodded. He smiled in a way that was intended as compassionate, but turned out looking sadistic.
"463," he pronounced, saying it slowly, relishing the anxious look on Dean's face. "Have a good day," he tried to say, but Dean was already in the stairwell sprinting to floor four.
He arrived at said room number and pounded on it like a madman. He prayed that Cas would answer and not be too mad at him.
The door opened and a very perplexed set of blue eyes looked up at him through a head of frazzled hair. Although he was preoccupied with other things at the moment, Dean couldn't help but notice how cute Cas looked in his worn ACDC t-shirt and sagging pajama pants.
"Dean? What on earth are you doing here so late?"
Not even bothering to answer, Dean walked right into the hotel room. He paced around nervously for a couple seconds, and then decided that the bed looked like the best place to sit. Only after sitting down and staring at a more than bamboozled Cas for a good thirty seconds did Dean begin to talk nervously.
"Something weird is happening, Cas."
"I'll say! What the hell are you doing here at three in the morning?"
"My life isn't happening! I'm not even real! Maybe you aren't real. Something is wrong with me. I'm going crazy. I have no family, everything is made up. It's like some nightmare that I can't wake up from. Cas, I need your help."
Castiel could see that Dean wasn't yanking his chain. He was legitimately scared for his life. Although he had no idea why Dean was freaking out, exactly, Cas tried to comfort him.
"Dean, it's alright. Why don't you explain what you're talking about?"
And Dean did. Everything. Maybe even too much. He told Cas about all that happened from after work that day to right at that moment. He expected him to be mad. Disappointed or sad, maybe. He did not think that Castiel would nod and say, "Okay."
Castiel could see that Dean's current problem trumped any anger he reserved for the man. He let it slip away, and became kind and caring. He told Dean he would see what the deal was with his own family. Maybe something was happening to the both of them.
He couldn't get a hold of his father, but that was nothing new. His brother wasn't answering either, though, which did not usually happen. He rarely ever ignored calls, for he was a surgeon and who knew what strange thing could be happening that needed his immediate attention. He never even bothered to look at the caller ID.
This worried Cas, so he began to search the web. Dean was fast asleep. Cas had demanded he go to bed once he heard that Dean had been up almost thirty six hours straight, but now he wished that he was awake. Castiel wasn't finding any information on his family or himself, and he was beginning to plunge into a deep state of concern
He tried to resist the urge to wake Dean up, but proved unable to and proceeded to shake him to consciousness.
"Dean! There's no record of my family anywhere!"
"What? It's happening to both of us?"
They shared a fretful look, which was broken when Castiel had a thought. It was a weird thought, he knew. But everything about this was weird. He looked at the ground and thought about how he could say this without sounding like a complete psychopath.
He realized that there was really no way to do such a thing, so he dove right in, "Dean, what if this isn't our life?
"What? I don't think your spidey-senses are tingling correctly, man."
"Obviously something is wrong. Everything is slightly off. What if this isn't our lives. I don't know how, but I this can't be them."
It didn't make any sense. No sense at all. And yet, a little part of Dean believed it. That little part grew rapidly until it became a full-fledged faith.
"No…It can't be our lives…"
Neither of them noticed the man with the amused smile on his face standing in the corner of the room until he spoke.
"I'm so glad you crazy kids figured it out. It took you long enough, really. Ready to go home?"
And with that the strange man walked towards them both arms outstretched, two fingers on each hand held up towards their foreheads.