Apparently, the world had turned batshit crazy while Sam was in hell. Currently, Dean was ringing Bobby to see if dragons were real like a 3 year old after a bedtime story. Remind him, when did his life get so weird? Ah yes, from the moment he was born. Dean tossed his phone onto the bed and sighed deeply.
"Bobby say anything?" Sam asked, picking up John's journal and rifling through the worn pages.
"He thinks we're morons but he'll check it up for us." He noticed what Sam was doing. "Dude, I'm pretty sure Dad never wrote anything in there. I'd remember reading Beowulf." Sam hummed but paused on a particular page, running his fingers over one entry. 'Pack of three skinwalkers' it said, with no elaboration; John was a man of simple communication. Vague, hazy memories of a German Shepard swam in Sam's vision and, seconds later, the image of an unfamiliar man.
"Hey, did we hunt a skinwalker lately?" He asked. Dean regarded him with befuddlement.
"Doesn't ring a bell, why?" Sam struggled to call any further memories to mind, they simply lingered in the back of his consciousness, mocking him for his frustration.
"I don't know, déjà vu or something. Are you sure?" Dean shook his head.
"Positive. You have to remember, you're eggs a little scrambled right now. Give it time." His memories of hell seemed so clear and vivid, always coming through whether he wanted them or not. This dog, however, hung in his mind like a drunken memory after a rancid hangover.
"Yeah, but these memories seem different." He began. "No, sorry never mind."
"You alright?" Dean asked and Sam nodded in assent. "So how do we kill a dragon?"
"Challenge it to a game of riddles?" Sam suggested lightly.
"I feel like I just caught the nerd coming off you right now." Dean replied in disgust.
"Says the guy who references Star Trek on a regular basis." Sam muttered. Looking up sharply, Dean opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by the obnoxious tune of his phone demanding attention. With a glance at the display, Dean answered.
"Hold on Bobby, I'm putting you on speaker."
"Has it occurred to either of you idjits that this might be that angel yanking our chain?"
"It's not him." Sam answered decisively, earning him a suspicious stare from his brother.
"What makes you the expert?" Ideas fluttered, half formed, through Sam's mind as he rapidly back-pedalled under the scrutiny. How can you explain to your brother and surrogate father that you somehow trust an ex-bloodthirsty monster? Especially when even you don't fully understand why. He eventually caught one.
"He doesn't have the power for that." He explained earnestly.
"He dropped us in TV land and put you in Groundhog Day." Dean countered slowly, as though Sam had trouble understanding.
"That was before he fought Lucifer. Haven't you guys noticed how…off he is? He almost collapsed giving me hair for god's sake."
"Don't know, don't particularly care. Still, I guess we can rule him out. You got any other theories?"
"One, Dr Visyak, Medieval studies S.F.U."
"Alright, I'll go to San Francisco, figure out how to kill these things. Thanks Bobby." There was no reply. "Well guess he's gone. You see if you can figure out where these things camp out." Dean grabbed his bag and left the room. The rumble of the Impala's engine emanated through the windows a moment later, slowly growing more distant before it completely disappeared, lost in the urban symphony. Sam sat alone, astounded. This was the first time he'd been left unattended since he got back and he was a little unsure on what to do with himself. For the first time, Dean was treating him like they were just on a normal hunt, well 'normal' was the wrong word, and not like he was going to fall apart at the slightest push. Like a child being left alone without a babysitter, he was thrilled but, deep down, a little freaked out. What if, this time, the cage didn't go away when he woke? The thoughts were beginning to manifest, just little objects out of place here and there, a scalpel were a pen should be, blood dripping from mould in the corner, but Sam was handling it. That's what he told himself, gripping his head firmly and holding it between his knees.
"It's not real." He whispered aloud. "You know this, you know." Silence fell across the room; there were no more car horns or the shrill voices of parents or the laughter of children, just Sam alone in the deafening silence, muttering his mantra over and over just waiting for it to sink in. He wasn't broken, he wasn't, he was capable of being alone in a room for two minutes. Research, dragons, research and dragons. The two chased each other around his mind in an endless loop, driving him to take his laptop with trembling fingers.
"You're not there anymore. Right now, you need to research the case." Words mingled together into illegible characters, dancing outside of his understanding and whizzing upwards as he scrolled desperately down the page. "Please, not now." He pleaded with his own fractured mind, bargaining with his consciousness for a moment's relief, but the room became smaller with every laboured breath he took. Taking refuge between the bed and the wall, Sam curled his arms around his knees and fell into hell's waiting embrace.
"I can't believe you let our only heavy hitter swan off to do whatever it is you cloud hoppers do."
Crowley's complaint was punctuated by the harsh snap of bone as he rooted through the chest of an alpha skinwalker. It had proved useless in interrogation so far, merely snarling as Crowley tore it apart. Now however, yelps and screams reverberated off the tiled walls as he snapped the creature's rips with brutal precision.
"I can't force him to fight for us." Crowley huffed in amusement, tasting the blood on his finger with a grimace.
"Disgusting. Bring your flighty brother to me; I'm sure I can make a deal with him." Castiel turned to the demon sharply, ignoring the howls of pain coming from their subject.
"Don't you dare." He threatened, keeping his voice low and dangerous. Crowley sheathed his knife inside the creature's leg.
"Oh, is he off limits too? I don't think Raphael will see it the same way. You're weakened by your sentiment and I'm not in the game of leaving my delicate assets in the hands of failures. The moment your precious hunters or big brother become more trouble than they're worth, my boys and I take them off the board." Castiel seized his lapels and hurled him against the wall, glaring deep into his soulless eyes.
"You will never touch them, abomination." He ordered, letting him fall to the ground. Crowley spluttered, brushing the dust off his jacket and he climbed back to his feet.
"You have got to stop doing that, it's just not professional." Castiel ignored him, turning back to the gagged skinwalker. Before he could say anything, Sam's voice rang through his head.
"Cas? You there? I'm back so…if you've got a minute?"
"I have to go." Castiel said, striding away from the exasperated demon.
"But we're just getting to the juicy bits!" Crowley called after him. Another scream followed by a frustrated curse of "bloody angels" followed Castiel as he vanished.
Sam started as Castiel appeared in front of him, sweaty and dishevelled hair falling in front of his face. The last time Castiel had laid eyes on the elder Winchester, his look had been cold and calculating, more like a hawk than any human he'd ever seen or, indeed, angel. The sheer strength and determination that had dictated his features were something to be feared, not trifled with. Without a soul, Sam was everything he could have been if the creatures moulding his path had been successful, what Azazel and Lucifer and the angels could have created, and why Castiel fought so hard against the script that others had dictated. He couldn't see the hope and life stripped away from such good and honest men and replaced with emptiness and hatred. The Sam stood before him was very different from their last encounter. His eyes darted warily around Castiel, never seeming to land on him for very long. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, collecting a sticky mass of hair across his forehead. Streaks of blood were slowly drying on his jaw but Castiel detected no facial injury. He slowly surveyed Sam for any physical harm, concern growing, and eventually came to notice a steady drip of blood falling from his clenched fist. Castiel stepped forwards and felt the crunch of broken glass from beneath his feet, evidently from the shattered lamp lying two feet away. To any outsider, this would indicate a recent fight but the only conflict in this room was the internal war that Sam was so desperately fighting and so clearly losing. Sam's erratic eyes finally came to rest on Castiel, his feeble features straining to hold a weary half-smile.
"It's good to see you alive, buddy." He said, voice breaking as he stumbled forwards to pull Castiel into a hug, his whole body warm and shaking. Castiel tentatively placed his hands on Sam's back and send ribbons of grace through his fingertips, seeking out the gash across Sam's palm and knitting the skin. The tremors slowly subsided. Sam pulled away, relief etched upon his haggard face.
"It's good to see you whole again." Castiel replied, scrunching his nose a little in confusion. Sam had seen him plenty of times during his resurrection; this was hardly the reaction he expected. "Do you not remember before?" Sam paled and shuddered.
"Yeah, I remember killing you, Cas. Wait, what do you mean whole?" Castiel cocked his head in bewilderment.
"With your soul of course."
"Oh…of course. Because I was wandering around without a soul." Cas nodded, pleased at the realisation. "But I'm a bit fuzzy on the details; could you maybe explain them to me?"
Dean whistled as he pulled into the charming motel's parking lot, taking the small cloth parcel from the passenger seat. He probably owed Dr Visyak a large case of very fancy wine of whatever it was that rich people with dragon-killing swords in their basements drank.
"Hey Sam, I got a weapon that can slay a dragon." He called through the door, rapping on it with his knuckles. A passing couple gave him very strange looks but he smiled widely at them and continued to knock. Finally, Sam opened the door, coffee in hand and wincing at Dean's yelling.
"Did you have a little party while I was gone?" Dean asked, striding through the doorway and throwing his bag onto the bed.
"Nope, I'm just a little tired. Let's see Excalibur then." Dean pulled the stunted sword out of its parcel with a flourish, waving the melted tip in front of Sam's face.
"You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."
"Not at all, Sammy. I left with one quarter of a priceless artefact and a promise to never ever contact Dr Visyak again as long as I live."
"That seems fair. But what are we supposed to do with this, sharpen its toenails?" Sam eyed the offending weapon with distaste. Dean gave the sword a few experimental jabs into thin air.
"It'll do, we just have to get closer. You found out where they're holed up?" Sam gestured to a map on the desk.
"Sewer systems I think, I mean there are no caves around, right? So they've gotta be somewhere else cold and dark. Two of the disappearances happened within a mile of here-" he pointed out an asterisk on the map. "So I say we start there and work our way around."
"Super. Let us begin our valiant quest, young squire." Dean mocked in a terrible English accent, brandishing the sword proudly.
Questing, as it turned out, was not as fun as it seemed. Rather than wandering through lush forests or scaling treacherous mountains to slay the dragons, they were traipsing through miles of narrow, dank sewers. Their flashlights helped with the darkness but nothing could stop the putrid smell from assaulting Dean's nostrils as he avoided shining the light at anything for two long. Down here, ignorance truly was bliss.
"Jeez, every time I get used to a smell, it gets a new flavour. Why can't dragons live in nice mansions on the beach?" Sam ignored his complaints and carried on down the tunnel, shining his light around the walls as it suddenly opened up into a small, square chamber which branched off into two further tunnels. A faint shine caught Dean's eye.
"What is that?" Dean took a closer look at the source of the glimmer. "Holy mother of-" He began, couching to assess the glittering pile. A true dragon hoard of gold lay unattended on the floor, sparkling under Dean's light as he rummaged through the masses of precious objects, from jewellery to watches to what looked like pure nuggets of the stuff.
"X marks the spot. Maybe there are dragons here." He concluded, stuffing handfuls of wealth into his pockets because, hey, hustling and credit card scams weren't the most reliable forms of income in the world.
"Really Dean? Not now, come look at this." Sam was examining a leather-bound tome on a very black magic-looking alter. The yellowed pages crisped as Sam turned them, sporting a whole load of indecipherable symbols.
"Seems a bit witchy for giant lizards." Dean observed. Distant screams echoed from somewhere beyond the two tunnels, almost making Sam drop the book as they both started.
"You go left I'll take the right?" Dean asked. Sam nodded and readied his shotgun, peering into the left tunnel. Before he could walk off, Dean pulled him back. "Wait, who gets the sword?"
"You keep it. If I find dragons, I'll yell." And with that, Sam continued on down the tunnel, leaving Dean in the chamber.
"Smartass." Dean muttered under his breath as he proceeded down the right tunnel. The sewers had fallen quiet; only the distant trickle of something that probably wasn't water and Dean's muffled footsteps as he cautiously made his way towards the source of the scream. The passage eventually opened up into a large cavern, a metal walkway stretching to the opposite side. Dean shone the light around the cavern for any signs of dragons before climbing onto the bridge, grasping the unsteady rail. Something closed around his calf. Dean yelped and leaped forwards, unsheathing the sword in panic. Spinning around wildly, he caught sight of 3 terrified young girls scrabbling at a metal grate just beneath the walkway. He sighed deeply with relief, tucking the sword away and crouching.
"It's alright, I'm here to help. You have to stay quiet, I know it sounds crazy but you've been kidnapped by dragons."
"Yeah, no shit." One of the girls replied angrily, her arms around another. The other girl sobbed desperately, cradling her right arm. "They're huge fucking lizard things with wings." Dean blinked for a moment, thoroughly taken aback. He examined the grate, looking for any form of latch but it was welded shut.
"I'll get this open soon, don't worry." He promised.
"He'll be coming back soon!" The third girl whispered frantically, just as a roar hurtled down the tunnel.
"Sam!"
Sam fell back against the hard, slippery wall, his eye burning from the punch. The suited man, or more like the oddest dragon he'd ever seen, advanced on him, fist raised for another strike. Sam rose to his feet, grabbing his dropped weapon, and fired a shotgun round right through the creature's chest. He glanced at the wound and snarled, baring his teeth which rapidly lengthened until they surpassed the length of Sam's fingers. His face twisted and contorted, mouth growing to a snout filled with lethally sharpened canines, dripping saliva and menace. Human eyes disappeared and, in their place, left huge burnt orange eyes as his pupils narrowed to reptilian slits. The sickening sound of skin and clothes splitting echoed through the tunnel as pointed umber scales grew through his skin and tore through his clothes. He reared up, growing until he towered over Sam like a tidal wave of claws and fangs. Huge black wings unfurled from his back, scraping the confining tunnel walls and ripping the remaining fabric from the creature's form. Sam stood, motionless with horror, as the behemoth surged forwards to land back on its front legs, fangs inches from his face. Its breath reeked of smoke and death, the heat covering Sam's face with moisture. He couldn't help but wonder how, when he had imagined his death, he'd never dreamed that he'd die on the wrong end of an honest to god dragon. Growls rumbling through his bones, Sam closed his eyes and reflexively inched backwards, though he knew there was truly no way to escape.
"HEY YOU! THAT'S RIGHT, I'M TALKING TO THE OVERGROWN LIZARD!" Dean's voice was like a breath of oxygen to starved lungs. Well, more like the appearance of a weaker gazelle to a zebra running from a lion. "I'VE SEEN FRAT BOYS LIGHTING THEIR FARTS PRODUCE BETTER FLAMES THAN YOU!" The heat suddenly disappeared from Sam's face as the dragon snapped its ugly head around, presumably to face Dean, guttural snarls intensifying as it advanced. Sam tried to spot Dean behind the mass of scales but failed. "COME AT ME! I'LL KICK YOUR UGLY ASS RIGHT BACK TO MORDOR YOU SON OF A BITCH!" The dragon turned fully, its tail lashing out and catching Sam full in the chest, slamming him against the tunnel wall and knocking the wind out of his chest. He blinked spots out of his vision and struggled to prop himself upright. A colossal roar nearly burst his eardrums and all he could make out were Dean's incomprehensible yells and rushed footsteps before the tunnel burned with searing heat and the creature took off after his brother. Leaning heavily against the wall for support, he hoisted himself back to standing. Pain ripped through his right shoulder and he cradled it tentatively, feeling the joint which was much lower in his arm than it should be. Roars grew more distant by the second; Sam swallowed his nausea and, with one last worried look after his brother, he turned and ran back down the tunnel.
"Crap, crap, crap." Dean yelled as he sprinted through the narrow maze of sewers, heat searing his back as the infernal creature breathed fire at him. Suddenly, they were back in the dragon's lair. Shrill screams from the trapped women mingled with the roars as Dean stumbled backwards, keeping his eyes on the advancing monster. He whipped out the broken sword, cringing with how small it seemed when faced with a real life dragon. The creature paused, eyes fixed on the tiny weapon. Then, it threw back its colossal head and laughed, harsh, choking coughs bouncing around the chamber. Dean glared and lunged forwards but the dragon swept him aside with a swipe of its claws. He slammed onto the metal grates, blood soaking through the right arm of his jacket. Pure adrenaline pumped through his veins, he clambered upwards, searching for the sword. His heart fell through the bottom of his stomach as he spied it, lying in the cage. Flames seared above him and he curled into a ball, letting them wash over his back. The moment the sound of fire dissipated, Dean ripped his burning jacket from his back, wincing as coagulated blood tore free from his wounds. Even with the jacket gone, his skin continued to burn. He touched his back, wincing in pain as he felt blisters beneath his shirt. Dragons, he concluded, fucking sucked.
"Dean!" Oh God no, Sammy was Dean's immediate thought as he heard Sam's voice calling him. The dragon turned away from Dean. Rage and protective instinct and maybe a little bit of sheer stupidity coursing through him, Dean plunged his hand through the grate, clamouring for the sword. The grate was suddenly flung open and, before Dean could comprehend what was happening, one of the girls climbed out, screaming as she lept onto the walkway, and plunged the sword into the creature's side. It shrieked and twisted as it fell, bringing the bridge down onto the cages below. Sam, Dean and the 3 women stood motionless as the dust settled, their heavy breaths loud in the quiet air.
Police sirens whirred in the night, filling the dark sky with flashes of red and blue. Sam and Dean watched from a nearby as the police wrapped the victims in blankets and carted the body of the dragon, thankfully shrunk back into a human, away. The papers would report the safe return of kidnap victims and the death of the disgusting man responsible and then would never reference the incident again. The girls would have to live with this shit forever, lying about what happened so they weren't carted away and slapped on three different prescriptions.
"How are we going to tell the doctor that we lost her priceless sword to the cops?" Sam asked him, a tired grin stretching across his battered face. Sam's eye was swollen and the skin was tinged black, grazes peppering his cheeks from the rough scales. His shoulder was back in place and, thankfully, there were no signs of a fracture. Dean's back still felt like fire was trapped under his skin but at least his arm was finally scabbing over. The pain was intense but he was dealing the Winchester way: with a full bottle of whisky. His eyes followed one of the girls as she waved the cops away from her, still holding determinedly onto the remains of the sword, as if relinquishing it would mean the end of the world. As if feeling his gaze, her head turned towards him and she smiled. Dean smiled back, warmth that had nothing to do with dragonfire flooding through him. This was always the best part of a hunt. They may be bruised and beaten, but at least they could see the people they'd saved, shaken and upset but alive.
"It's not something you see every day." Dean commented. Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. "One of the victims stabbing the monster you're hunting. Especially a freakin' dragon." Sam chuckled.
"Her name was Sarah." Sam reminded him.
"Yeah. She should consider becoming a hunter. Hell of a first monster kill." Nodding in agreement, Sam turned away.
"Hey, Dean?" He asked quietly.
"Yeah?"
"'I've seen frat boys lighting their farts produce better flames than you?'" Dean choked on his whiskey.
"Well, you need to insult their pride, right? Like the riddles." He explained Sam simply stared at him, incredulously.
"I told you I caught the nerd."
"Stop moving! It'll only make this more difficult!"
"And it's not alrea-OUCH!" Dean squirmed as Sam rubbed burn paste onto his ruined back, spewing a variety of colourful curses whenever Sam touched a particularly sore area.
"I'm nearly done." Sam reassured him, scooping out a large handful of the paste and slathering it all over the blistered skin, heat radiating from Dean like a sauna. His hands trembled slightly as the levee in his mind broke, flooding images of his own burned and ruined skin through his vision. He breathed slowly, attempting to the blink the images away.
"Never speak of this again." Dean warned, bringing Sam back into the room. His reply was cut off by the familiar beating of wings. They both froze, Dean's muscles stiffening beneath his hands. There were a few moments of silence, everyone waiting for someone to speak first.
"Hello Dean." Whatever Sam had been expecting, it wasn't for the squeakiest, most high pitched voice he'd ever heard in his life to break through the tension like chipmunks on helium. He spun around to see a dumbfounded Cas clutching his throat, in complete disbelief of the sound that had escaped him. A choked sound of surprise escaped Sam despite his best efforts to hold it back as the absurdity of the situation settled over him.
"What's happening?" Cas asked in clear distress, his voice still high and shrill. And that was the last straw. Sam doubled over, laughing so hard that his ribs physical ached. One more look at Cas's expression set him off again, tears streaming from his eyes as laughter sprung uncontained from his very soul. There was a loud thump as Dean fell off the bed, creasing up with laughter. Every word Cas said to make sense of the situation only increased the volume of their laughter.
"I need some air." Sam finally declared when he had calmed enough to speak. Rushing outside, an even more disturbing sight greeted him. He instantly ran back inside the motel, too flustered to articulate properly, simply gesturing wildly to the parking lot as another wave of laughter took hold. Wordlessly, Cas moved his glowing palm over Dean's exposed back, leaving smooth skin where he touched. Dean pulled his shirt back on and, after squeezing Cas's shoulder in thanks, rushed outside to see what Sam was fussing over.
"Baby no…" Dean whispered, walking over to his beloved car. Where the Impala had been parked, now sat a tiny bright pink smart car. It had eyelashes.Dean fell to his knees, touching the curved bonnet with utter disgust.
"Hey, dude! Nice ride!" Some sniggering jackass called as he walked by.
"That's not his car." Cas squeaked at him, still sounding as though he were responsible from a worldwide helium shortage. The man stared at them, completely aghast, before turning slowly and briskly walking away. Another ripple of laughter forced its way up from his stomach and Sam simply laughed until he could no longer stand, collapsing in the doorway on their room. Passers-by would probably be very weirded out by the sight of a tough-looking guy in a leather jacket crying next to a car, a tax accountant speaking to himself in a cartoon baby voice and a fully grown man lying on the floor crying with laughter but Sam simply didn't care.
"Yoohoo! Daddy's home!" A familiar voice called from within the room. Dean jumped up and stepped over Sam to storm into the room.
"Gabriel you son of a bitch! Fix it. Now." Sam climbed to his feet and quickly rushed in to prevent Dean from ripping Gabriel apart.
"Fix what?" Gabriel asked innocently, fluttering his eyelashes. "Your car or your boyfriend?"
"Both." Dean growled threateningly.
"You got it, chief." Gabriel snapped his fingers and the pink atrocity disappeared, replaced by Dean's beloved Impala.
"I hope no one saw that." Sam commented but, to his relief, there appeared to be no-one around. Dean ran to embrace his baby, laying over the bonnet and tenderly stroking the curves of the headlights.
"Do those two need time alone? You know I could turn that car human, if that's what he wants?
"God no." Sam said, shuddering. "This has got to stop, Gabriel. We can't hunt if we're looking over our shoulders all the time expecting some form of prank." Gabriel pouted.
"Urgh FINE! But I have conditions, sasquatch and you're probably not gonna like 'em." Sam grimaced.
"What are the conditions?" He asked, dreading the answer. Gabriel smiled wickedly.
"I will stop bothering you IF you come on a day out with me. Oh and I'm just gonna go prank some other suckers, you do realise that?"
"Dude, I'm not going on a date with you." Sam replied with revulsion.
"No one said anything about a date. A fun day out at a carnival or something. You need to have FUN, bottling up your feelings ain't gonna help your melon." Sam sighed deeply but after a long moment of consideration, he decided he had no other choice.
"Fine." He agreed reluctantly. "But you can't kill anyone. Prank assholes all you want but non-lethally." Gabriel stuck his tongue out like a petulant five-year-old.
"You're no fun, but alright. Get sleep, I'm not having you all tired and boring tomorrow." With a wink, Gabriel vanished. Dean walked back in, his face the perfect picture of contentment.
"Baby's alright and Cas has gone. Turns out I addressed a couple of my curses to god and he heard me. Not sure if that's creepy or helpful. Anyway, what did that car-abusing dick want?" Sam turned towards him slowly, not sure how to break the news.
"He wanted me to go on a day trip with him."