"What do we do? You can't run into yourself," Owen said, his voice hushed and urgent. He peered out the window again, though it was unnecessary, because all three men knew already that there was nothing they could do. The footsteps slowed and came to a halt as the stable doors moaned and a slip of light split the hay-laden ground at Dean's feet as the wide doors parted from each other.
Without a second's thought, Dean sprinted behind one of the doors, slipping into the cover of the shadows. Owen followed suit, stepping back until he was enveloped in the dark. Castiel however remained planted in the center of the room, a bewildered expression planted on his face. He seemed to have no idea what was going on.
"I don't understand," he said. "What is happening?"
Dean moaned. "Classic Cas," he muttered, as the doors came to a halt with an indignant screech.
A foot stepped in, and Dean instantly recognized the shoe it wore. Then, his jaw dropped as he watched the rest of him appear from behind the door. Himself from the past didn't see him, though, but instead stared dubiously at Cas.
"Cas, what the hell? What are you doing here?" he said.
Before Cas could open his mouth and supply a reply for the puzzled Winchester-from-the-past, Dean jumped from his hiding spot, drawing his fist back almost theatrically. With the graceful movement of one rehearsed in the act of punching, he locked his fist hard into his past self's jaw. There was nothing graceful, though, about the way the other Dean's body swayed, then fell to the ground with a harrowing thump! As he watched his own unconscious body lie on the hay, Dean cringed.
"Sorry, man," he apologized to himself, sincerity in his voice.
"Was that necessary?" Cas asked.
"This is great, just perfect," Owen exclaimed, emerging from his spot in the shadows. "Now, he's seen your face. And I guarantee you that when he-" Owen pointed a finger at the unconscious man "-wakes up, he's not going to dismiss the fact that he saw himself punching himself."
"Settle down, alright, I got this under control," Dean said, though it sounded as though he was trying to convince himself. "I know how he thinks, right? I can figure something out."
"Yeah, but in case you haven't figured it out yet, he knows how you think, too!"
Dean ignored the agitatedly hysterical agent, and turned to the angel. "Cas," he said, "do you think you could help out? Erase his memory or something?" He gestured to his unconscious self.
Cas's eyes dropped to the ground. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm afraid my powers are extremely weak, especially after I came here in response to your prayer," he replied in a gruff, apologetic voice.
The hunter groaned. "Great. Wrong Cas, no angel mojo. We're in for a ride."
"There's rope over here," Owen pointed out, trying to sound helpful. He picked it up, having found it laying unfurled behind a bale of hay.
Dean brightened a little. "That's the best thing I've heard all day. Let's tie him up."
Owen kneeled next to his past self and bound his arms and legs securely with the rope. "Done," he announced after a minute, stepping back. "It's tight, but with your being a demon, I'm not sure it'll hold."
"I wasn't super-charged with hell juice yet." Dean gestured toward his past self with a nod. "This guy'll be stuck, trust me, I know the dude pretty well. Too well, actually."
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"Last time I spoke to him was over the phone while he was in the car with another Torchwood agent. He was supposed to be a lookout, but my guess is that one of you friends came searching for you and Dean followed to make sure nothing bad happened," Sam explained while the two meandered down the street, weaving through a throng of people. "Something must have happened after that to cause Dean to freak out like he did."
Cars beeped irritatedly, their headlights flashing by, blinding in the dull light showering down from the overhanging street lamps. The stinging scent of alcohol lingered in the air as Sam and Ianto pressed through the crowded street and past multiple bars.
"It's busier than usual," Ianto commented. He accidentally bumped into someone, muttering an apology as he rushed to catch up to Sam again, who strode forward ceaselessly on long legs. "I wonder where all these people came from?"
"I'll take your word," Sam replied. "I'm not really familiar with late night activity in Cardiff."
They pushed further through the crowd and crossed a street, where water streamed down the sides of the road and into the drain like a bowling ball that fell into out of the lane and into the gutter. Lights flashed from down a flight of stairs next to one of the buildings, the only indication that there was a nightclub in the building's basement. Sam peaked down curiously, but continued to walk briskly. However, as soon as he noticed that Ianto was huffing and struggling to keep up, he slowed.
"You okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern. His eyes landed on Ianto's knife wounds, which still seeped slightly, gradually converting the agent's white collar to a startling crimson.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Ianto puffed.
"Here," Sam said in a low whisper, suddenly stepping closer to the man and grabbing his elbow with an iron grip. Ianto flinched at the sudden contact, but relaxed when he found the Winchester was leading him off of the buzzing streets and into the lobby of a rundown motel, which advertised with an outdated sign that the crumbling building doubled as a breakfast cafe in the mornings. Sam glanced around uneasily, scanning the lobby for what Ianto assumed to be any suspicious individuals. The only other person in the room, though, was a boy who looked to be about seventeen. The boy paid them no heed, his eyes glued to the screen of his cell phone. "We can stop in the room where Dean and I are staying and fix you up. But this needs to be quick; I have a feeling we're being followed, and after your close call with those demons, I don't think we should stay in one place for too long."
Ianto nodded in agreement and understanding. He knew all too well from his line of work that Sam was not being paranoid, but incredibly logical. While an outsider - like the boy at the desk or a drunken wanderer on the street - might not have understood the importance of the hunter's precautions, Ianto certainly did.
And Ianto was glad, for out of everyone who could have showed up out of the blue to deal with whatever new trouble the rift was brewing, he was glad it was Sam, and, (though he had trouble admitting it), Dean. Sam had explained to him how him and his brother usually kept to cases within national borders, but had come to Cardiff after noticing a violent peak in the amount of demon activity. So much trouble was occurring in such an isolated, concentrated area that many alarms had gone off in the brothers' heads. They had known that they would need to pay a visit to Europe and assess the situation, killing as many demons as possible in the meantime. From the way Sam spoke, Ianto knew that the younger of the two Winchester brothers was well-informed on the arising issue, and that there were few (if any) people who were better qualified to take control of dealing with the demon problem that the two men had agreed most likely had something to do with the rift and its volatile behavior.
Once they'd climbed the rickety old steps and Sam had finally located the room key after rummaging through his pockets for awhile, the two men entered the motel room. Instantly the smell of must and clean linen rushed up to their noses, the cramped room strangely comforting in comparison to the rushing of the wide, open streets. Ianto took a seat after Sam hurriedly cleared some of Dean's dirty plaid shirts and jeans off of one of the beds, and glanced around the room at the brothers' mess with a child's curiosity as Sam sifted through one of the bags that laid haphazardly on the floor.
More disorganized than the Hub, Ianto noted silently. Impressive.
"Alright," Sam said, shoving a small bottle into the agent's hands as he propped himself down next to the man on the edge of the bed. "This will help."
Ianto squinted at the bottle, then frowned. "Whiskey?"
"Yeah." Ianto jumped, yelping as the stitching needle unexpectedly hooked into his flesh. Sam winced, a small, wry smile on his lips. "It's for the pain. Drink up. We need to hurry."
As if to emphasize Sam's point, there came the abrupt shrill noise of a scream from downstairs. Both Ianto and Sam's heads swiveled to the door, a suffocating silence falling over the two men. The scream had been cut short, followed by an almost inaudible bubbling and choking noise before all sound ceased.
The seventeen-year-old boy. He probably hadn't even seen what was going on before being murdered. He probably hadn't looked up until it was much too late.
Soon, there were crashing noises that floated up through the thin floors, as though someone or something was trying to find an item. Or someone.
The hunter and the agent knew at that moment that they hadn't moved fast enough, and that they'd been found and trapped like prey. The only exit was through the lobby, which was undoubtedly swarming with them. The second the two men would step off of the stairwell, they were sure to be spotted. The sound that came to them from the lower level, the massive ruckus, indicated that they weren't just dealing with one foe. They were dealing with demons...
...and lots of them, too.