-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

-Chapter Warnings: Meg's topside once more, we've got a Fugly Pagan in an Orchard to deal with, and Sam's starting to put two and two together.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Chapter 13

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sam woke groggily to the sound of ringing. It took him a moment to parse the sound as a cell phone. His brother's cell phone, specifically.

"Dean."

The ringing continued and the haphazardly sprawled lump in the bed next to him didn't move.

"Dean."

With a tired sigh, Sam slung his hand over the nightstand, fumbling around for the device. He didn't bother looking at the ID. There were only, like, ten people total who had Dean's number. And nine of them were Bobby.

"Hello?"

"Sam, is that you?"

The younger Winchester sat upright slowly, eyes open and wide awake. "Dad?" He took a deep breath. When was the last time he'd heard John's voice? But if he was calling… "Are you hurt?"

There was a light huff down the line and he could hear the smile in his dad's voice. "I'm fine."

Something in Sam's stomach twisted. John didn't sound fine, and the audible amusement didn't cancel out the exhaustion and worry in his father's voice. John Winchester didn't worry. John Winchester was a rock.

"We've been trying to get a hold of you." His brother was sitting up now, staring at him. "The thing that killed mom-"

"It's a demon, Sam."

That tripped him up for a moment, and he looked down at the bedding. So their dad had known more about Yellow Eyes than he'd told his boys. Sam was getting pretty sick of Dean being right all the time. "You knew?"

John was silent for a moment, and his son couldn't tell if it was born from guilt or anger. "For a little while."

"Did you know about Jess?"

Dean gestured for the phone, but Sam pulled away. He was having this conversation, whether his brother wanted him to or not. His dad let out a bone-tired sigh down the line.

"No. I swear to you, Sammy. I'd have done anything to spare you that." There was shifting and the sound of metal shaking in an enclosed space. His dad was calling from a phone booth. "I'm just glad you boys stopped it. That's gotta be a hell of a story; you'll have to tell it to me sometime."

"Why not now?" Sam frowned, fingers tightening on the phone. "Where are you?"

"I can't tell you that, son."

"Dad."

"Sam, give me the phone."

"I need you to take down these names, Sam."

"No, Dad, we can help you."

"Sammy, give me the damn phone."

The mobile was pulled from his ear forcefully and he bit his tongue hard, fists clenching as he turned to his brother. Dean was straightening in his seat, eyes darting back and forth as he listened to their father. Sam knew the second he heard John's voice that his brother would fall right back into soldier mode and that would be that. They'd never know where John was.

"Yes, sir."

Sam looked back up at his brother. There was something different in his voice. Something new, like everything else these days. Dean met his gaze, and there was anger there, but also something else. "But you sound like crap. What's going on, Dad?"

It irked him to not be able to hear the other side of the conversation.

"You don't sound fine." Dean rubbed at his forehead but nodded. "Yeah, I'm taking them down."

Sam moved to grab his brother the motel pad of paper and pen, but he just shook his head.

"Yeah, we got it, Dad. Alright. Take care of yourself."

Dean snapped the phone shut, and Sam opened his mouth to…he didn't know. Scream, shout, rant, argue, rebel, ask what the hell happened to the brother he used to know, and how the hell he could let this go just to take orders from a man who would barely talk to them. But whatever he was going to say, Dean beat him to it.

"Dad's in trouble."

-o-o-o-

"Alright, walk me through it again. Because I think I'm missing something." They were in the Impala once more, less than an hour after their dad had called, heading to Indiana of all places. While John was back in California. Sacramento, if Sam knew his area codes (which he did, and he'd double checked on the crappy motel wifi anyway).

Sam was still trying to wrap his head around whatever the hell was going on. Like the way his brother had told him, out of nowhere, that John needed help, but they couldn't go to him.

At least not both of them.

"You're going to go to some backwater town in the middle of nowhere because Dad gave you the names of six missing persons who have no connection to the place at all. And I'm going to hitchhike to California?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he urged the Impala to go faster. There was something close to panic eating at the edges of his gut. John had made that same call once before, and while he couldn't remember the details he knew he would have picked up on his dad sounding like death warmed over.

Which meant he hadn't sounded like he was about to drop last time around.

"The Stepford Couples ofBurkittsville, Indiana are sacrificing people – a boy and girl – to a pagan god once a year to keep their perfect little town perfect." Another time, he'd have had a million good jokes for that one. A thousand different perfect movie references. Maybe even a book or two. But right now, he was worried about John. "Dad figured out the pattern. The couples are going missing in the second week of April."

"This is the second week of April," Sam muttered, catching Dean's drift and not liking it one bit.

"Bingo." The man from the future winced. There were times the déjà vu felt like vertigo it was so spot on. He hated the fact that he was still that predictable ten years later.

"Dean, dad isn't going to hang around Sacramento for a week!"

"I know. That's why you're going to California." Dean pulled the car off the interstate an hour outside Springfield, Illinois. The same bus station Sam had ended up at the first time, which Dean had spent a painstaking hour that morning trying to remember. Well…he was pretty sure it was the same one. Okay, so it ended up being a best guess thing more than actually remembering.

A turn and two streets later, they were parked outside the greyhound depot. "Two people are going to die if we don't do something, Sam. It'll take too long for another hunter to get here. I need a day, tops, to make it to Indiana and burn the tree. Then I'll catch up."

Sam was staring at him like he didn't recognize the man next to him. Which, okay, kind of fair. Dean was probably the last person that would ever suggest his family split ways. But he already knew Sam was going after John and that nothing was going to stop him except his brother being tied up and offered as a sacrifice to a fugly scarecrow god.

Better they just circumvent that entirely this time around.

Plus, unlike last time, John might really need help, even if he couldn't ask for it. If Sam didn't have to go back to save Dean, maybe they'd catch up to him this time. He really hadn't liked the way his dad sounded over the phone.

Something had changed, and they needed to know what.

"I thought you said you didn't have a vision." Sam was staring at him harshly, hand on the door but not quite ready to let this drop.

"I didn't. This was all dad."

"Right," his brother scoffed. "You just happen to know about a pagan god in Indiana, tied to a tree, because Dad gave you six names."

Dean shut his mouth. Shit, he hadn't meant to give that much away. Had he really given that much away? He probably should have kept the pagan bit to himself. And definitely the tree. Damn it, he really had said all that, hadn't he?

It was only further confirmation for Sam.

"You didn't get all this from a vision, did you?"

His older brother physically flinched and refused to look at him. Missouri had been right. Whatever had a hold of his brother had him scared.

"Did 'Cass' tell you?"

That got a reaction out of the older Winchester. His head whipped around to stare at Sammy with wide eyes.

Son of a bitch. Should have known he wouldn't forget.

Sam took his shocked expression as confession. With a look surpassing anger and approaching terrifyingly blank, he spat out, "You talk in your sleep."

His brother paled and he turned his head away, eyes sliding closed. When he chanced a glance back, Sam didn't know what to make of the expression there. Pain, for sure, which fueled his anger.

If Dean was in this much trouble, Sam needed to know, damn it. Why was it his brother couldn't just trust him?

"Wh-" Dean cleared his throat. "What did I say?"

Sam's eyes narrowed as his anger hit a boiling point and his forehead smoothed out in a blank expression. Unbelievable. Caught red-handed, his brother still wasn't going to come clean. He knew how Dean worked – knew the game of letting the person fill in the blanks so you could agree with them, making them think that you were the one filling in the blanks. He was just about done being his brother's con.

"You tell me."

Dean searched his eyes before turning to the windshield. "Cas isn't… He's not a problem, Sam. He's not even on the board."

"But he will be, right?" The younger hunter leaned forward. "He's coming? Dean, what does he want with you? Is he like the Yellow Eyed Demon? Did he have something to do with Mom's death?"

Green eyes locked back on his, once more wide in confusion and surprise. "What? No! I told you, Sammy, he's not a part of this."

Sam laughed, but there was nothing remotely funny about this. The noise was angry and incredulous, and so damn fed up. He opened the passenger door. "I'm so sick of you lying to me, man. Do whatever you want; I'm going to go find Dad."

Sam climbed out of the Impala and Dean, cursing, followed suit. This was way too similar to how it had gone down last time and, damn it, he thought he'd been doing it better. He watched across the hood of the Impala as his brother stalked towards the Bus Depot

"Just keep your phone on you, alright? I'll catch up to you tomorrow."

Sam spun around, backpack slung over his shoulder and arms held out in frustrated resignation. "Right. After you hunt whatever Cass tells you to hunt." The younger man shook his head, looking away as he bit at his tongue to keep from lashing out any further. He finally looked back at his brother with hurting, angry eyes. "I knew that gun was too good to be true. What the hell did you do, Dean? And what happens when you don't do what he says? Does he send demons after Jess? After Dad?"

He turned his back on his older brother and stormed into the building. Dean closed his eyes and slammed his fist down on the hood of the Impala.

-o-o-o-

He beat the steering wheel harder than Baby deserved as he pulled out his phone. Damn it, why couldn't things ever just go right.

"Dad?" Dean swallowed heavily past the lump in his throat. John hadn't answered – he hadn't expected him to – but just hearing the voicemail, hearing his voice that morning, was enough to hurt him somewhere deep where he was still a son whose mom had died tragically and whose dad was everything to him. "It's Dean. I'm- I'm heading to Indiana, but….damn it, I know you're not okay. Call me. Sam's on his way to you and we can help."

He snapped the phone shut and threw it to the other side of the car harder than it deserved, too.

-o-o-o-

Sam stared at the woman behind the glass with an expression bordering on rude. "Five pm. Seriously? There isn't any other bus that leaves earlier?"

"Unless you want to go to Miami, you can sit tight and wait just like everyone else."

His jaw clenched at the bitchiness, but he supposed that would be how this day would go. With an utterly unappreciative smile, Sam grabbed his bag and went off in search of a seat. He apparently had quite the wait in front of him.

The crappy Depot didn't even have wifi. Lucky for him, the bar next door did, and it reached where he was sitting with enough reliability to get some research done. There had to be some record somewhere of what color eyes Cassius Longinus had when he was alive.

-o-o-o-

He didn't stop in town or bother looking around. Dean drove straight through, the sight of the classic muscle car calling attention (and suspicion) from the townsfolk, but he didn't care. He'd be long gone before they even smelled the smoke.

The sooner he could meet up with Sam, the sooner he could tell him that Cas wasn't a demon. He didn't know what he was going to tell him after he got that part out, but he figured he'd start there.

Remembering exactly where the sacred tree was in the orchard was a long shot, but he figured the direction his gut liked best would have to do. He was pretty sure he'd recognize it when he saw it; they had the first time, after all. Grabbing the full gallon of gas they always kept on hand and checking his jacket pocket for his trusty lighter, Dean closed the trunk and stalked off into the trees.

-o-o-o-

It was three hours into his wait when she walked in.

She had short cropped hair and a cute punk look that, when coupled with the backpacking pack, completed the runaway persona. Sam wasn't really paying attention to who came and went in the Depot, and he wasn't the type to stare at a girl either (he left that to Dean), but she made such a ruckus at the front desk that when she plopped down beside him, it was kind of hard to ignore.

"What kind of crap town only has three busses the whole damn day?"

The young hunter glanced over at her only to confirm that she was, in fact, talking to him. She'd slung her bag in the seat next to her, sprawled across the plastic, and perched her leg atop the pack, swinging it back and forth distractedly. He was temporarily at a loss of words, if only because he was mentally waist-deep in the personal writings of a 1st century Greek Philosopher who participated in the assignation of Julius Caesar and was close friends with one, Cassius.

"Uh….the kind of town that's in nowhere, Illinois?"

She chuckle and started tapping her heel against her backpack as she surveyed the bus depot. He gave it a moment more to see if she planned to interrupt him further, before going back to his computer.

"So where are you headed?"

Sam resisted the urge to sigh. She was just being friendly. Or…forward. He wasn't sure which. But he gave her a harried smile and answered nonetheless, "California."

"Oh." She looked off again, and Sam went back to his philosopher. "That's nice. Beaches. Surfing."

He took a deep breath and decided he wasn't getting anywhere anyway. Closing his laptop, he gave his full attention to the woman in the leather jacket. "Yeah. I'm not really going for vacation."

"Yeah? Me neither."

Sam waited half a beat for her to continue. He honestly couldn't tell if she was just an idle talker with no focus, or if she was waiting for him to ask.

"Where are you going?"

The woman turned to him with a raised brow and he immediately got the impression he was on the wrong side of a joke. "I'm not telling you." She smirked slightly, looking up at him through long eyelashes and thick kohl liner. "You could be some sort of freak."

He pulled his head back with a scoff. "You asked me."

"Yeah," she answered with a shrug. "But I'm trustworthy."

The wink she sent his way was doing its best to turn irritation into amusement. "Ah, right," he pursed his lips in a tight smile, "you've definitely got that vibe about you."

She suddenly stood, all in one motion. "You hungry?"

"Uh…" Sam looked around at the empty depot with its solo half-empty vending machine. "For what? Potato chips and Life Savers?"

"I saw a bar on my way in." She picked up her backpack, heaving it up on her shoulders once more. "My bus doesn't leave till five, and I'd rather pass the time with a beer."

Sam glanced at the bus schedule behind the ticket counter. There really were only three busses that day, and only one leaving at five pm.

"You coming?"

She was smirking at him again, fully aware of what he was staring at. He shook his head, putting his laptop into his bag and following after her. "Yeah. Definitely the trustworthy type."

The woman just laughed as she pushed open the door.

-o-o-o-

The tree was burning steady within the hour. Fugly stayed stuck up on his perch, and when Dean passed by it on the way back to the car, there was nothing left but a smoldering cross and a pile of ash.

Dean made it all the way to the next town before he stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.

-o-o-o-

"I'm Meg, by the way." They had a good sprawl of beers and nachos and chips and salsa. Not Sam's usual fair, but Meg spared no expense when she was craving bar food. And come on, everybody loved nachos.

"Sam." He took a sip of his beer, taking it a little easier than she was, on her forth already.

"Sam, huh? So, Sam, what are you running away from?"

He gave her a look that was starting to feel pretty permanent on his face. It was something between irritation and amusement, which was usually reserved only for Dean or sometimes Jess when she was in a particularly playful mood.

The youngest Winchester didn't really enjoy being on the tail end of the joke. "Who says I'm running from anything?"

The blonde rolled her eyes at him, the grin ever present in her those big doe eyes. "Please. You have the lost groupie look down even better than me." She leaned in conspiratorially. "And I have a leather jacket."

He laughed around the neck of his beer, managing not to choke on a mouthful. "I'm not running. There's just something I have to find."

"And it's in California?"

Sam shrugged, looking down at the label on his drink. "It was. Who knows by the time I get there."

She was sympathetically quiet for a moment, possible lamenting her own grievances at the Illinois Greyhound company and its sad excuse of a bus schedule. "Is this a something, or a someone?"

He gave her a grim smile. "It's my dad."

Her eyes widened and she reached over to set her hand on his arm, only to think better of it at the last moment. He was grateful for the aborted move, but could appreciate the attempted sentiment. "Is he in trouble?"

Sam thought about the way John's voice had sounded on the phone. He'd sounded so damn tired. Dead on his feet. And Sam had only ever heard him like that when he came back from the really bad hunts.

"I think so, but he wouldn't tell me. So I'm going to go to find him."

He looked up from his beer to find her staring at him. Her eyes were so intense that he fought the urge to fidget under the contemplative stare. "California's kind of a big place. You know where he is?"

"I've got an area code. I'll start there." He cleared his throat and opted for a change of topic, unsure why she was making him uncomfortable. "How about you? What are you 'running' from?"

Meg heaved a sigh and launched into a tale of controlling parents with dreams for their child. Dreams their child didn't particularly want. Sam could relate – he'd been in the same exact place four years ago. Sitting in a bus stop with everything he owned in a bag, waiting for the ride that would take him away to college, away from a family that wanted everything he didn't.

She stared at him somewhat expectantly at the end of her story, but he wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. "I've been there. It used to be the same for me."

"Yeah?" Meg blinked those almond eyes at him. "But not anymore?"

He gave a soft smile, picking at the edge of the beer label. "Not for a while. I left my family for school, and, uh, didn't turn back."

She tilted her head. "Only you're running back to them now."

Sam set the empty bottle down on the table. "Yeah. Well….they're my family."

Meg kept watching him with intense eyes he didn't fully understand.

-o-o-o-

Dean called Sam once he was safely back on the interstate.

"Yeah, piece of cake. I'm on my way back now. Where are you?" He turned up the volume dial on the stereo and tapped his head to the classic music. "You're still at the depot? Jesus, Sammy, I figured you'd be halfway to the coast by now."

His brother bitched at him down the line and he grinned. "Yeah, yeah, sounds like excuses to me. I'll be there in a couple hours and you can ride in true style to California."

He could practically hear Sammy rolling his eyes. But then he was asking if he'd figured out what type of pagan the scarecrow had been and Dean's mind ground to a halt, mouth poised open, but lips frozen in an 'o' shape.

Son of a bitch, what was the thing called?"

"Uh, yeah. Course. Something with a V. Varin. Verif. It was Norse, I couldn't pronounce it."

Sammy's less than enthusiastic answer left him feeling like he'd once again lied to his brother's face and been caught right in the act.

-o-o-o-

Sam lowered his phone with something between a growl and a sigh. Damn it, when was this going to stop? Because, to be honest, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep traveling with his brother if the lies didn't stop.

"Everything okay?"

He sat back down across the floor from his new runaway friend. They were camped out in the bus station once more by the far wall of chairs, a card game stretched between them that he had stepped away from when his phone rang. They had two hours left to go, but at this point Dean would be back to pick him up before the bus left. And Dean would drive way faster anyway.

"Just my brother."

Meg raised her eyebrows at him over the top of her hand as she drew a card. "He hear anything from your dad?"

Sam shook his head, looking down at the phone in his hand before tucking it back into his bag and picking up his abandoned cards. Meg discarded the four of Diamonds and he picked it up to slide into his hand. "No. He called about something else. But he's on his way here."

The woman shifted, uncrossing one leg to tuck the other instead. Sam didn't pick up on the subtle change of body language, mind focused on his brother. "You don't sound too happy about that."

The hunter sighed, discarding a Queen of Spades and putting his hand back down. He didn't feel much like games right now. "Have you ever known someone who just, one day, became a totally different person?"

Meg straightened up a little, those full eyes regarding him with her complete attention. "What do you mean?"

"It's just…" Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I've known my brother my whole life. The guy practically raised me. And suddenly, one night he isn't…him anymore. It's still him – same stupid movie references and bad jokes and martyr complex. But…. I don't know. He's just….heavier. Keeping secrets."

She watched him for a moment after he trailed off, no longer sure how to put into words what was going through his head. She picked up the Queen of Spades and slid it into her hand. "Sounds like he got some bad news."

Sam blew out a puff of air and picked his cards back up. "Yeah, from who?"

-o-o-o-

They gave up cards after Meg mopped the floor with him four to one. She complimented his half-assed attempt, and he laughed off the sarcasm. Yeah, his head hadn't really been in it. Though the woman had a hell of a poker face.

Sam rubbed at his forehead, the beginnings of a headache banging against his skull. He was ready to be out of this bus depot, even if his escape was an equally cramped car with his cagey brother.

His phone rang at ten to five, and he glanced down at Dean's name across the screen. "Hey. Yeah, I'll be right out."

He stood from the hard plastic chair, scooping up his bag. His headache spiked with the sudden movement but he pushed through it. Meg was watching him with those intense eyes of hers and he chuckled when she didn't move from her sprawled position over the seat and her bag.

"You could come with me," he offered as he slung his duffle strap over his body. "Dean won't mind."

"I'm not getting in a car with your brother." She smirked up at him, once more through those long eyelashes. "He could be some kind of freak."

Sam laughed, shaking his head at her. "Good luck with your parents and your trip."

She smiled, and he realized the woman was never not smirking. "You too. Hope you find your dad."

His smile was grim but appreciative. He turned for the depot entrance and stumbled as the pain in his head flared.

"Sam?"

Shaking his head, he tried to wave Meg off, but then he was on the floor, his head pounding between his hands like a pick ax working on a nail. He gasped as his vision flickered between flashes of white and empty black.

He could still hear Meg calling his name, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He could hear someone yelling for help. But through all of that, he wasn't in the bus station anymore.

It was dark all around him, but he could tell the space was huge by the way the silence echoed. A flash of white had him gasping, and his dad was standing in front of him, his back turned but paused mid step, as though about to look over his shoulder to his son. He seemed somehow far away. Unreachable.

"Dad?"

John's head moved to the side, but he wasn't looking at Sam. The youngest Winchester followed his father's gaze through the throbbing in his skull.

There, in the dark, so deep in the black haze that he could barely make it out, was a pair of eyes. Cold, piercing, so dark amber they seemed inflamed. Inhuman. Sam took a shaky step back as something moved forward in the inky darkness. Something heavy slid across the floor, tensing in preparation for the pounce, and those eyes never blinked, locked on John Winchester.

"Run, Sammy."

The young hunter turned back at the sound of his dad's voice. John Winchester was facing him, arms held out to the side. Sam caught tired – exhausted – eyes pleading for him to get away. There was movement to his left and he tensed, prepared to push his dad out of the way, to do something before the thing attacked.

He was back in the bus depot as suddenly as he had left it.

"Sam!" Meg was holding him upright, pretty much the only reason he wasn't face first on the filthy tile floor. "Get an ambulance!"

"No," he mumbled, struggling to find his muscles on this plane of existence once more as he tried to push himself off the floor. It wasn't graceful, but he managed. "I'm okay."

"Sam, you went catatonic," Meg argued, looking up at him as he managed to stand, only slightly listing to the side as his head began to clear. "You had some kind of fit."

"I'm alright," he repeated, rubbing at his forehead. "I get these, uh, fainting spells. But I'm okay."

Meg climbed to her feet as the small crowd that had gathered began to disperse as he insisted he was fine, that he didn't need medical assistance. His bus buddy looked less then sure, as if she might need to catch him at any moment should he swoon like a damsel again.

"I'm really okay," he hissed through the last spike of pain, but grabbed his bag once more. He needed to tell Dean what he saw. Dad was in trouble. "I should get out to my brother."

"What you should get to is a hospital."

He shrugged off her concern. "It happens all the time. Really, I'm alright. You sure you don't want to come with us?"

Meg eyed him with worry and no subtle about of skepticism, and he glanced at the front doors. Dean was probably wondering what was taking him so long.

"Think I'll stick with the bus."

He shook his head again, still somehow amused at this woman, before realizing what a bad move that was as he swayed in the sudden lack of balance. She moved to steady him, but the hunter waved her off. "Alright, well, good luck."

He was halfway out the doors when he heard her answer from behind.

"See you around, Sam."

-o-o-o

Dean pushed the passenger door open for his brother as the kid jogged over to the Impala. He was rubbing his head.

"Dude, what took so long? You stop for pie?" Sam slid into the car with a wince and Dean stared expectantly. "No, seriously, you got pie? I'm starving."

"Shut up, Dean," his brother answered with equal parts exasperated affection and pained annoyance. "I had a vision."

Pie, and all food, was suddenly the furthest thing from Dean Winchester's mind.

-o-o-o-

Meg waited until the Impala pulled out of the bus depot before she went outside, watching the sleek muscle car disappear down the road, headed west. She flagged down the first car to pass by – a shady guy in a white van that had seen better days.

That would do.

The guy grinned nervously at her, failing to hide all manner of sin behind his smile. "Looking to go somewhere, pretty lady?"

"Just need a ride." She smiled at him, even as she pulled open the driver door. He looked confused for all of a second before he was on the ground, nursing an aching arm as he stared up at the crazy chick climbing into his van.

"Hey!" He struggled to sit back up, clutching at his shoulder where he'd landed harshly on the concrete. The woman paused with one leg on the cab step before she turned back to him. The driver shrank back on himself, the look in her eye telling him he'd made a terrible mistake.

"I have to make a call," she said as if it was some sort of explanation, jumping back down and slinging her pack off her back.

"I-I…uh…I have a cell phone."

She smiled sweetly at him, even as she pulled a silver chalice from her bag. "It's not that kind of call."

In a single, deadly swipe that he never saw coming, she slit his throat and held the goblet to collect his spilling blood.

The driver was dead before she finished.

"Thanks for the ride." Meg climbed into the van, balancing the goblet of liquid carefully, and headed down the road after the Winchesters.