"We're talking about the Colt, right? As in the Colt," Dean clarified, stripping out of his jacket and closing the curtains as he got settled into the hotel room while simultaneously speaking into his phone. "We are," Cas confirmed on the other end. "Well, that doesn't make any sense. I mean, why would the demons keep a gun around that, uh, kills demons?" There was a sound on Cas's end like a car was going by in the middle of what Dean was saying. "What?" Cas asked him. "What? Did- I didn't- I didn't get that." Dean chuckled, flopping onto his back on one of the beds with his legs dangling off the edge.

"You know, it's kinda funny. Talking to a messenger of God on a cellphone. It's, you know, like watching a Hell's Angel ride a moped," he joked with a smile on his face. After turning down Castiel's offer to stay with him following the encounter with Raphael yesterday, Dean had taken a minute to call Bobby and talk to Mack on the phone for a little while. Cas had called him following a very long car ride claiming to have big news. "This isn't funny, Dean," Cas practically whined. "The voice says I'm almost out of minutes."

"Okay, alright," Dean sighed, sitting up. "I'm- I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted the gun down by now."

"Well I hear differently," Cas insisted. "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 swallowed, grimacing slightly. "Okay. Where do we start?" he asked. "Where are you now?" He stretched across the bed to grab his room key, "Kansas City. Century Hotel, room 113."

"I'll be there immediately."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on man," Dean protested, heart leaping out of his chest. "I just drove, like, sixteen hours straight, okay? I'm human. And there's stuff I gotta do." This was not the direction he thought this conversation would go when Cas called. "What stuff?" Cas asked, not understanding. "Eat, for example. In this case, sleep. I just need my four hours once in a while, okay?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so you can pop in tomorrow morning."

"Yes, I'll just-" Dean hung up on him, throwing his phone and the room key back on the nightstand. He settled in with a smile on his face, thoughts of the dorky angel in a trench coat filling his head. What felt like seconds later, but what a glance at the clock proved to be just over half an hour, his phone started buzzing once more, waking him back up. "Damn it, Cas, I need to sleep!" he huffed grumpily. "Dean, it's me," Sam answered. He was suddenly a lot more alert. He hadn't talked to Sam since they split up- a mutual, unspoken agreement- so he knew something was up.

"Sam? It's a quarter past four," he pointed out, turning the lamp on. "This is important," Sam said, confirming his theory that something was wrong. Sam proceeded to fill him in as he got out of bed and grabbed a beer. "So, you're his vessel, huh?" Dean mused, taking a pull from his beer. "Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?" He should have seen it coming; he was Michael's vessel, was supposed to fight the devil, and Sam also had a part to play. "That's what he said."

"Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh, Sammy?" he hummed. "So, that's it? That's your response?" Sam scoffed. "What are you looking for?" He took another pull from his beer. "I don't know. A- a little panic maybe?" his brother suggested. That made him laugh, a single, humorless breath through his nose. "I guess I'm a little numb to all the Earth-shattering revelations at this point," he admitted, shrugging. "What are we gonna do about it?"

"What do you wanna do about it?" Dean countered. "I want back in for starters," Sam replied readily. "Sam-" he sighed. "I mean it," Sam insisted. "I am sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches. I'm gonna hunt him down, Dean." That made the elder Winchester groan. "Oh, so, we're back to revenge, then, are we? Yeah, 'cause that worked so well last time."

"Not revenge. Redemption," Sam corrected. "So, what, you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again? I'm not dragging Mack into that mess, man. There's no way." He would rather kill himself than get his daughter involved in all this apocalypse crap. Just knowing she was safe at Bobby's was immensely comforting, even though he missed seeing her. But that was parenthood; he had to make the choices that would keep Mack out of harm's way, even if that meant staying away from her. "Look, Dean. I can do this," Sam insisted. "We could even involve Cas, I don't care..." That made Dean pause. "What?"

"W-when you answered the phone... You thought I was Cas," Sam reminded him. "Oh... yeah..." he swallowed, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. "N-no, um... Look- it doesn't matter- whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the, uh, the fire and 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 doesn't have to be like this. We can fight it."

"Yeah, you're right," he nodded, standing up and heading back toward the bed. "We can. But not together. We're not stronger 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. Yeah, 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."

"Bye, Sam," he hung up, switching the lamp back off and falling back asleep.

The room was totally trashed the next morning, which was weird, because it had been fine when he went to sleep last night. The nightstand clock was smashed, his mattress had completely vanished, leaving him on the springs of the hotel bed, and the rest of the room was in complete disarray. When he crossed over to the window and opened the curtains, the rest of the city was in a similar state of desecration. "What the hell?" he muttered. He left the hotel, taking a closer look around the area. Everything was either broken or graffitied on. There was a sound like glass smashing nearby, and so he headed in that direction.

A young girl about Mack's age was in the alley holding a dirty old teddy bear. He immediately slipped into Dad Mode, approaching slowly so as to not scare her. "Hey, sweetheart. It's okay. Are you hurt?" he asked her gently. She didn't respond, just staring at him with big, crazed eyes. "I can help you, but you have to talk to me," he pressed. Blood dripped from the girl's mouth and she shrieked, attacking him with a shard of glass. He flattened her, trying not to let the fact that she was young affect him, and then spotted a particularly large piece of graffiti nearby: CROATOAN.

"Oh, crap," he groaned. Several people, all most likely infected with the virus like the little girl, came around the corner. Spinning on his heel, Dean took off running, the group chasing after him. They reached a street blocked off by a chain-link fence and Dean dove for cover behind a stack of crates. While he hid, he glanced back at the group of people. Several tanks had arrived on the scene and started shooting them. He stayed low, making it into the safety of an alley and breaking through the fence. He paused to read a sign attached to the fence:

CROATOAN VIRUS
HOT ZONE: NO ENTRY
BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND
August 1, 2014
KANSAS CITY

"August first, 2014," he muttered. He looked around, spotting a conveniently located and equally conveniently gassed up car. After hot wiring it, he took off, gunning it toward Bobby's house. The radio was only playing static and he couldn't get a signal on his phone as he drove. "That's never a good sign," he muttered. "'Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia'," Zachariah read from a newspaper, appearing shotgun, and startling Dean. "I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap," he snarled. "'President Palin defends bombing in Houston'," Zachariah continued reading, ignoring him. "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. Zachariah glanced over, "Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources as of late- human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out." Dean scowled, "The Bible freak outside the hotel- he, what, dropped a dime on me?"

"Onward, Christian soldiers."

"Okay, well, good, great. You've had your jollies. Now, send me back, you son of a bitch." Zachariah smirked. "Oh, you'll get back- all in good time. We want you to marinate a bit." Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel and he clenched his jaw. "Marinate?" he hissed through his teeth. "Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you." He still spoke through his teeth angrily. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that your choices have consequences. This is what happens to the world if you continue to say 'no' to Michael. Have a little look-see." The angel vanished from the car without another word. Fuming, Dean pressed down harder on the gas pedal, speeding toward Bobby's house. He arrived the next morning, the place in shambles just like everywhere else. "Oh, no," he breathed, looking around inside. Dust covered nearly every surface, and there were cobwebs in several corners. Obviously, no one had been around in a while. Bobby's wheelchair was on its side.

Dean turned it upright, seeing bullet holes and dried blood on the back of the seat. "Where is everybody, Bobby?" he muttered. He was particularly worried about what the hell happened to Mack. Heading over to Bobby's desk, he opened a hidden compartment and took out Bobby's journal. Inside, he found a picture of Bobby with Cas and three other unidentified men in front of a sign. They all held shotguns and Cas's hair had grown out long, his face covered in a beard. "Camp Chitaqua," he read. After some more investigating, he headed to the location of the camp, hoping to find more answers.

When he arrived, several men with guns patrolled just inside the fence on the other side of the sign from the photo. He carefully stayed out of sight, then got distracted as he caught sight of the Impala, smashed up and rusted to hell. "Oh, baby, no," he breathed, making his way over to her. He circled her, inspecting the damage and peering inside the driver's side door. "Oh, no, baby, what did they do to you?" he lamented. There was a sound behind him, and he barely started to turn when his world went black.

Dean groaned as he came to handcuffed to a ladder. Across the room was... himself. The clone- which must have been the 2014 version of him- wore a green military-grade jacket and sat cleaning a gun. "What the hell?" he muttered. His future self looked over, glaring. "I should be asking you that question, don't you think? In fact, why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?"

"Because you'd only be hurting yourself."

"Very funny," 2014-Dean scoffed. "Look, man- I'm no shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?" he insisted. "Yeah, I know. 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, do you want to explain that? Oh, and the, uh, resemblance, while you're at it?" Dean swallowed. "Zachariah," he said. "Come again?"

"I'm you from the tail end of two thousand and nine. Zach plucked me from my bed and threw me five years into the future," he explained. "Where is he?" 2014-Dean asked. "I want to talk to him." That surprised him, but he just shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't know." His future self glared, "Oh, you don't know."

"No, I don't know," he insisted. "Look, I just want to get back to my own friggin' year, okay?" And the first thing he would be doing when he got back was get Mack from Bobby's, because there was no way he was going another second without seeing her after this."Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know," future him challenged. Dean bit his lip, looking down in thought, then smirked. "Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kind of liked it." 2014-Dean also smirked at the memory, chuckling a little. "Touché. So, what, Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?"

"I guess," Dean shrugged. "Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame." The other Dean 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."

"Where's Mack?" he asked, unable to push his curiosity aside any longer. "She's... she's here," 2014-Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "Spends most of her time with her dad." Dean furrowed his brow in confusion, then noticed the silver band on 2014-Dean's left ring finger. "We... We're married? To who?" he asked. 2014-Dean sighed, "Cas." Dean's brain short-circuited as he froze up. "W-we... uh... That... Cas?"

"Yeah," 2014-Dean nodded. "It, uh, was kind of a heat-of-the-moment thing. Happened right before the world tanked." Filing that piece of information away for later, Dean forced himself to move on. "What about Sam?" It was his future self's turn to freeze up. "Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it."

"You weren't with him?" Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No. No, me and Sam, we haven't talked in- hell, five years." That phone call... the one that was just hours ago for him, five years in the past for the version of him across the room... that was the last thing he said to Sam. Just another item on his to-do list whenever he got back to his own year; call Sam back. "We never tried to find him?" he asked, pressing for more information. "We had other people to worry about," 2014-Dean shrugged. Mack, Cas, Bobby... His future self stood up, making his way toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I got to run an errand," future-Dean replied. "Whoa. You're just gonna leave me here?" Future-Dean turned back, fixing him with a stern look. "Yes. 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 em style="box-sizing: The Parent Trap. So, yeah, you stay locked down."

"Okay. Alright. Fine. But you don't have to cuff me, man," he complained, earning another sharp glare. "Oh, come on. You don't trust yourself?!" It was a stupid question. He wouldn't trust himself if the situation was reversed... or... whatever. "No. Absolutely not," 2014-Dean echoed his thoughts, then exited the cabin without another word. "Dick," Dean muttered. Keeping an eye on the door, he reached over, prying a nail out of the floorboards and using it to get himself uncuffed.

He exited the cabin, glancing around the camp, wondering which cabin contained his daughter and... Cas. His brain shied away from the word 'husband'. That thought was just too weird to get used to yet. "Hey, Dean. You got a second?" a familiar voice asked. He turned to find Chuck standing behind him holding a clipboard. "No- yes. Uh, I- I guess. Hi, Chuck." Chuck eyed him warily. "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. People are not gonna be happy about this. So, what do you think we should do?"

This was not his area of expertise. Chuck had obviously confused him with his 2014 counterpart, which, fine, that made sense. "I- I don't know," he stammered. "Maybe, uh, share? You know, like at a kibbutz." Chuck looked skeptical, but nodded. "Wait a minute. Aren't you supposed to be out on a mission right now?"

"Absolutely. And I will be." Chuck's eyes widened as he spotted something behind Dean. "Uh oh." Dean turned just in time to duck and avoid a punch thrown by some mystery woman. "Whoa! Jeez! Easy, lady!" he cried, ducking behind Chuck and using him as a shield. "Risa," Chuck supplied the woman's name. "Risa?" he echoed. "You spent the night in Jane's cabin last night, didn't you?" Risa accused, glaring at him. Dean's brain short-circuited, trying to make sense of what was happening. Wasn't he married to Cas in this year? "Uh, what? I- I don't- did I?" He looked at Chuck for help, who nodded the affirmative.

"I thought we had a 'connection'," Risa spat, using air quotes. "Well, I'm sure that we do," Dean swallowed, still unsure what was going on. "Yeah?" she glared. "Hi, Risa," Chuck greeted her quietly. "Screw you," she spat in his face, storming off. "Oh, jeez. I'm getting busted for stuff I haven't even done yet," Dean muttered, coming out from behind Chuck. "What?" Chuck asked in confusion. "Uh, never mind," he shook his head. "Hey, Chuck, are... are Cas and Mack around?"

"Yeah," Chuck laughed, gesturing to one of the cabins. "I don't think they're going anywhere." He walked off and Dean headed in the direction of the cabin Chuck had indicated. When he got inside, his jaw dropped. Cas sat on the floor wearing a tunic top and yoga pants, his hair and beard grown out like in the picture at Bobby's house. Next to him, Mack also sat wearing shorts and a tank top. Cas was drinking from a flask and they were passing a joint back and forth. "The hell do you think you're doing?" Dean demanded. They both looked at him in surprise.

"Oh. Hi, Daddy," Mack said casually, taking a pull from the joint. "Give me that," Dean growled, snatching the cigarette butt from her and proceeding to smash it under his shoe. "You're too young to be putting that crap in your body. Cas, what the hell, man?" He glared over at the angel in disbelief. "Dean, we've been over this," Cas said. "We-" he paused, tilting his head as he stared at Dean. "Whoa. Strange." Dean blinked. "What?"

"You... are not you," Cas stated. "Not now you, anyway." Mack looked over at Cas in confusion. "What does that mean?" she asked even as Dean nodded. "No! Yeah. Yes, exactly," he confirmed, temporarily forgetting about the situation he'd walked in on. "What year are you from?" Cas asked him. "2009."

"Wait, what?" Mack gaped, the question coming out calmer than she probably meant it due to the fact that she and Cas were stoned. "Seriously?" She was ignored by both him and Cas. "Who did this to you? Is it Zachariah?" Dean nodded, "Yes." Cas frowned. "Interesting." Dean was getting frustrated again, "Oh, yeah, it's friggin' fascinating. Now. Why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?" He just wanted to get out of this hellhole where the world was overtaken by a killer virus, Sam was dead, and his daughter was apparently getting high with an angel.

Mack and Cas exchanged a look. "What?" Dean growled. "I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry," Cas apologized. "No dice." Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, staring between the pair in disbelief. "The hell happened to you two?"

"Life," Mack answered.

2014-Dean and the crew of soldiers pulled back into the camp in a car and a jeep. Dean watched as his future self grabbed two beers, tossing one to a soldier. They both opened the beers, drinking, and then 2014-him drew his gun, pointing it at the soldier. "Hey. Hey! Watch out!" Dean cried, running forward. 2014-him pulled the trigger, killing the soldier. Everyone was staring between the two Deans. Mack and Cas had come out of the cabin after Dean to see what was going on.

"Damn it," 2014-Dean muttered, then addressed the other soldiers loudly. "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 have work to do." He walked over, grabbing Dean by the arm and manhandling him back into the main cabin where he'd handcuffed him earlier. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"What the hell was that?" Dean countered, staring at future-Dean with a shocked expression. "You just shot a guy in cold blood." Future-Dean glared. "We were in an open quarantine zone. Got ambushed by some Croats on the way out," he explained. When Dean just stared at him blankly, he went on. "Croats. Croatoans. One of them infected Yeager."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause after a few years of this, I know. I started seeing symptoms about half an hour ago. Wasn't gonna be long before he flipped. I didn't see any point troubling a good man with bad news." Dean gaped. "'Troubling a good man'? You just blew him away in front of your people. Don't you think that freaked them out a bit?" 2014-Dean shook his head. "It's 2014. Plugging some Croat, it's called commonplace. Trading words with my friggin' clone- that might have freaked them out a little."

"Alright, look-" Dean began. "No, you look," his future self cut him off. "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." Dean swallowed, nodding his head in understanding. "Alright, man. I'm sorry. Look, I- I'm not trying to mess you- me- us up here." 2014-Dean chuckled. "I know." He turned his back, pouring two glasses of alcohol and handing him one. "This has been a really wacky weekend," Dean muttered.

"Tell me about it," future-Dean agreed. They both drank. "What's the deal with Cas and Mack?" Dean asked. "You're just letting them get stoned together? She's ten years old."

"It's the end of the world. I stopped fighting them over that a while ago. Mckinley prefers to spend time with him, and that's fine by me." Dean's brain worked to process the implications behind the statement. "Are you saying we don't... we don't talk to her anymore?" He couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. That was his little bug. His whole world. No way was he going to get to a point where he didn't even interact with her anymore. 2014-Dean was silent, just staring at the alcohol in his glass as he swirled it around. "N-no... We can't... We wouldn't... No way."

It was too much. His brain was tired from the barrage of information that had been thrown at him in such a short span of time. "W-what..." he swallowed hard, "what was the mission?" 2014-Dean pulled out a gun, setting it on the table in front of him. "The Colt?" Dean recognized the weapon. "The Colt," 2014-him nodded. "Where was it?"

"Everywhere. They've been moving it around. Took me five years, but... I finally got it. And tonight- tonight, I'm gonna kill the devil."