-Summary: It's the end of the world and they've got one last card to play. Castiel sends Dean back: back before everything. Now he has time to stop what's coming, but no friggin' clue how to do it. Time travel should really come with a manual. TIMELINE AU
-A/Ns: Super short chapter this time. Had difficulty cutting up five, six, and seven, so this one ended up a little short. Next one is back to full length!
-Chapter Warnings: I...I think Dean may not even be swearing in this. My God, what is the world coming to. Nope, that's it. Skip this chapter, go ahead and just move right on to the next one.
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The Road So Far (this Time Around)
Chapter 6
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In the end, they decided to abandon Bobby's place for some time. The hunter was none too happy to be leaving his home behind, even temporarily, but they all agreed that they didn't want to see what an angry demon would do to a house lacking the Winchesters.
So they filled one of his trucks with relevant books, supplies, and as many weapons as he had (which was no small number). Rumfeld climbed into the passenger seat, and Bobby told the boys he'd follow behind them.
The small caravan pulled out just two and a half hours after the possessed church-goer had come to tattletale on them. Forty five minutes of that had been taken up burying the poor guy who played meatsuit to the scout, and arranging Bobby's clunkers atop the freshly dug grave in case anyone stopped by over the next couple days.
Jess had stubbornly helped out, despite Sam's insistence that she should be inside in the panic room and definitely not out in the open burying a corpse. Dean was beginning to think she didn't like being locked in their little war-room like a princess in a tower, or something.
The two cars headed south. West was out – that was the way they came, and something about heading back didn't sit well with Sam or Jess. East was towards the Great Lakes. Dean didn't want to box themselves in along the Canadian border in case Hell came at them hard. Southeast was the older Winchester's first choice – Kentucky was sounding like good pickings and was central enough to host all the directions as backup options. Except the logical route that shied away from the Lakes also took them way too close to Lawrence, Kansas. There was no way in hell Dean was driving anywhere near there with demons on the lookout for them.
So south they went.
They couldn't lie low with any of their friends. It was clear from the demon showing up at Bobby's that Hell was scouting out their acquaintances. Dean remembered Meg doing something similar, if not a hell of a lot more permanent. He hoped she wasn't on the playing field yet, but reminded himself he had a list to make, and she needed to be near the top of it.
Sam made quick calls to the friends they could get a hold of, telling them to go to ground for a few days or be weary of anyone coming by. None were happy to hear that the Winchesters had freaking demons on their tail and determined ones at that. But they promised to keep their eyes and ears open and stay safe.
Dean turned west once they hit Omaha, cutting onto Interstate 80 before they ended up in the too-close-to-home parts of Kansas. He'd turn south again once they'd cleared Lexington.
He resisted calling Ellen. They hadn't met her yet, so it was likely the demons wouldn't bother her or Jo. Although it still wouldn't hurt to give the Roadhouse a heads-up. Maybe he could convince Bobby to call them, so it wasn't suspicious coming from him. They needed to send some hunters to Jericho, too. The older hunter could probably wrangle someone up for that.
Bobby would need an anti-possession charm, too. They should have gotten him one before they got in separate cars. Really, they were going to have to visit a tattoo place sooner rather than later.
They drove until they were two states over and starving. The diner they stopped at specialized in grease and cold French fries, but it was the only place open, so they didn't complain. Well, Dean did, but the others just shoveled food while they argued about where to go next.
After some back and forth, they settled on Rufus' cabin. Dean had to pretend he didn't know what Bobby was talking about or who Rufus was. He only slipped up twice, but totally covered it like a pro. No suspicions there, whatsoever. (And no, Sammy, I haven't dreamt this already, now drop it!)
The old hunter said the cabin was secluded, heavily protected, and unknown by almost anyone other than him and a handful of hunters. Even if demons did somehow get their claws into those guys, none of them would connect Rufus with the Winchesters. Hell, they'd hardly connect Rufus with Bobby anymore, since the two had a falling out some time ago (which Dean reminded himself he totally didn't know about because he didn't know the man yet.)
Bobby begrudgingly called the grumpy jackass as they headed out to the car. He promised a couple bottles of Johny Walker Blue in exchange for use of the cabin for a few weeks. The caravan turned north and headed for the Canadian border.
-o-o-o-
Jess was just starting to doze off when Sam turned around in the front seat and gently tapped her knee. "Jess, give me your phone."
She mumbled unintelligently as she dug into her pocket and pulled out the small flip device. She handed it over, peering at her boyfriend through exhausted lids. Sam turned the phone over and slid the battery cover and power unit out. She sat up, significantly more awake, as she realized what he was doing.
"They can track it," he answered her unasked question as he pulled out the chip and snapped it in half.
"Oh."
He passed the phone back with an apologetic expression. She took it with numb fingers and he threw the broken sim card out the window. Laying back down, she pressed her forehead to the cold glass. The scenery blurred past with every mile and she thought of nothing in particular.
-o-o-o-
Bobby scoffed when Dean mentioned an anti-possession charm at their next pit stop. He pulled a length of cord from the neckline of his shirt to show a much more complex token then the ones the Winchesters wore. Dean just smirked – should have known.
The older hunter took the, "You're awesome, Bobby," as apology enough.
-o-o-o-
Montana was beautiful. Jess wondered why she'd never visited before. Possibly because golden wheat fields and flat farmlands were seemingly the only thing to see for three quarters of the state. But as they turned further west and dug into the mountains and forests that made up the western edge, Jess regretted not having made time before.
They stopped for dinner in Missoula. They'd been driving through the day and she was stiff and achy and so damn sick of the car. Those precious two hours they spent in an actual restaurant (that served more than burgers and beer, thank God) would be the last of civilization for some time. When she could drag her feet no longer, they got back in the car and headed for Whitefish.
An hour and a half later, the highway rounded a bend to reveal a large expanse of black in the night. It was a massive lake, nestled between looming peaks to the right and rolling hills to the left. The water was eerily calm as the highway stretched out along the shores. Jess could see silver pinpricks of light reflected in the inky depths. The sky was endless here, stretching into eternity and brimming with more stars than she had ever seen before. They clouded the night with their abundance and Jess realized she was looking at the Milky Way.
She wanted to tell the boys to pull over. Three days ago she would have called it romantic and insisted, teasingly, that her boyfriend hold her while they lay on the hood of the classic old car beneath the starry sky. Sam would press his cheek to her hair and whisper he loved her. She'd punch him in the arm and say he'd better. They'd lazily kiss as satellites passed above and the lapping of the lake sung to them.
But that was then, and today was not the same life. So she didn't say anything at all and they drove on.
The town of Whitefish, Montana was an hour past the big lake, nestled at the foot of heavy mountains. Signs pointed towards another lake, apparently the community's namesake and the center of the town, but they sped past without turning. This friend of Bobby's was a bit of a recluse, or so the old hunter had told them. His cabin was another forty-five minutes into the countryside, down dirt roads and dark woods.
'Secluded' was turning out to be an understatement.
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When they finally arrived at the cabin, it was all any of them could do just to get their stuff through the door and collapse on whatever available bedding there was. Rumfeld tried his darnedest to claim one of the beds, but Bobby put an end to that pretty quickly.
Dean volunteered for floor duty, snagging one of the sleeping bags Rufus kept stashed in the minimal storage space available in the cabin. He was so tired he missed Bobby's suspicious glare as he navigated the small lodge like he'd been there before.
Jess could care less where she slept, just as long as it wasn't that damn car. Sam still gave her the bed (insisted) and folded himself up on an ugly, broken down couch.
Bobby shoved Rumfeld off the only other cot available and settled down himself. They weren't a talkative group that night, and most of them were out within minutes.
-o-o-o-
Elsewhere, where the air was heavy with the scent of burning, of acid and sulfur and all the horrors of the earth, a meeting was just beginning. It was an unprecedented gathering; the forces of Hell rarely got together due to the fact that objectives were hard to accomplish when the players wanted to slit each other's throats.
This time it was different. This time the ruling heads of Hell had a common goal that outweighed petty power struggles.
There was a middle-aged man, hair thinning and skin just beginning to loosen and wrinkle in age. He looked like he should be working a farm in his plaid flannel and worn jeans. Possibly with two kids, a faithful but unhappy wife, and a white picket fence that had become more off-white after so many years without care.
There was a young girl, offset and out of place in such a dark and bleeding space. She wasn't even a tweener yet, in a pretty yellow dress with a big white bow in the back. Her presence was all wrong, but if someone had asked about it, they would assume it was the atmosphere of Hell throwing such disdain and wickedness into what should be an innocent countenance.
The last of the three was a dapper fellow. It was an expensive suit he wore in all black. Even the finely pressed dress shirt was black. The only splash of color, if it could be called that, was a tie so dark blue it was nearly black itself. It was perfectly knotted.
He looked positively miserable, swirling a glass of scotch in his hand with a chunk of ice that never melted, despite the awful heat around them.
"The Winchesters have gone off grid," the farmer was saying to the little girl. She had a pretty little frown on her small face. "We're searching for them, but they're hunters. They know how to hide."
"Then flush them out," the child ordered, crossing her arms over her flat chest. "They have friends, don't they?"
The farmer gave a shrug. "Also gone to ground. Looks like the boys warned 'em we were coming."
The man all in black looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, for reasons of sheer boredom as he stared down at his drink with idle interest. The other two talked around him.
"This wouldn't have happened if your boy hadn't given himself away, Azazel."
"And it's the reason he's on the rack, right now." The ever-present screams of Hell could easily be heard in their meeting spot. Those wails could be heard all throughout Hell; they were not escapable. Just another part of home sweet home. "Though, he is rather insistent Dean knew beforehand."
"Impossible," the girl dismissed flippantly.
Azazel shrugged. The dapper fellow swirled his glass miserably before taking a long sip. The ice clinked against the glass.
"Not entirely impossible," he finally spoke, voice lilting with a British accent. "It lines up with what my girl had to say. Dean Winchester called her up like some two-cent whore." He sounded personally insulted. "Sent her packing and didn't even pay. It's bad form."
"Forget bad form, Crowley," the girl snapped, tapping her shiny white dress shoe against the hard, scorched earth that made up the room they stood in. "He shouldn't have any form at all. We spent two decades observing that waste of a meatsuit. He's competent as a hunter, fine, but he's a hothead. Not exactly the brains of the operation."
The little girl rolled her eyes petulantly and concluded, "We know how to deal with him."
"Clearly not." In contradiction to his words, Crowley sounded like he couldn't care one way or another.
The girl, on the edge of a temper tantrum as her pretty face turned red and puffed like an offended peacock, reigned herself in with practiced control. "Forget Dean Winchester. We need to get back on track with Sam. Move up the schedule if we have to."
"I've still got a few tricks when it comes to the Winchesters," the farmer said. His eyes flashed a pale yellow that did horrible things to the face he wore. "My children will get to them one way or another."
The girl nodded, satisfied. "Tell that daughter of yours that I want John Winchester. I don't care how she finds him. We'll use him to get Sam on course if we have to." She scrunched up her nose in distaste. "I'd rather fry his bitch, but daddy will do."
Azazel frowned, concern ill-fitting in his yellow pupils. "We may be passed that, Lilith. Even if we do kill the girl, Sam may not succumb to revenge. With how much Dean has interfered already, we may not be able to get him on that path. Besides, the boy has never been close to his father – that move has even less chance of success."
"No," she insisted, stomping her foot. "That brainless idiot had a fluke moment of intelligence. Your man is the one that screwed up, Azazel. The plan is fine."
"There is another explanation," the British one spoke up again. He was staring down at the circling cube of ice. The others turned to him: the farmer in vague interest, the little girl in clear disdain. "Upstairs may have caught wind of what we're doing."
He paused for a dramatic moment, raising his eyebrows at his companions. "And I mean the attic, boys and girls."
Lilith frowned fiercely. "If that's true, then we're screwed."
"We've been watching the gate," Azazel argued. "There's been no movement. There hasn't been any in centuries."
Crowley shrugged. "I'm only saying it would explain why Dean is suddenly two steps ahead of us."
The little girl's eyes narrowed. "Then we should move. If angels are getting involved, we move up the timetable. We take John Winchester now."
The dapper man raised a cynical eyebrow. "Isn't that showing our hand a bit early, love?"
She shook her head, black hair and yellow ribbons tossing side to side. "No. We break him, we break the first seal."
"If he's the righteous man," the farmer interrupted. "Which we already know he most likely isn't."
"Doesn't matter. We don't lose anything trying, and we have one less fly to swat." The little girl's eyes gleamed with sinister intent. "The halos keep busy searching Hell for their righteous man, while we figure out how to drag Dean's ass down here. And if Daddy turns out to be Mr. Righteous, then we kill the hothead and pump Sam up while the halos are busy protecting the rest of the seals."
Azazel hesitated, calculating their options. He had planned this for far too long to give in to premature fear or rash decisions. "No. I don't want to take John until we're sure about the angels. If they invade Hell to save him and he isn't the righteous man, we'll have half the force of Heaven down here when we do get Dean. We'll need more time than that to break him."
Crowley scowled down at his glass. "And if the angels have gotten involved?"
The toothy smile the farmer gave stretched his face. "Then we go to plan B."