-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: I decided to post on a one week schedule for once: we earned it! The feedback and reviews sent my way last chapter were awesome and really helped me keep on schedule, and even surpass my usual chapter quota during a crazy-busy week at work and life. You all rock, and so here is a chapter just for you beautiful people!
Reviews: it was really cool to see the mix of "huh, I did not see that coming" with "OMG I SAW THAT COMING!" for the last chapter. I loved hearing both of those things and am glad the story is providing a mix for everyone.
I really wanna know if anyone saw what's coming next ;)
-Chapter Warnings: Dean faces quite the moral dilemma, Sam doesn't see how this is up for debate, and the reaper isn't the only thing to worry about at the Reverend's church.
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The Road So Far (this Time Around)
Chapter 16
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
They were getting Sam into a wheelchair when Dean came back into the room, having left to pull the Impala up outside the hospital. It had taken extensive negotiating with the doctors to release his brother into his care. It wasn't like keeping him in the hospital was saving him anything; they were just postponing the inevitable, as the doctors kept reminding him. Dean was pretty sure all that had won him that argument in the end was the doc remembering Dean's temper and ultimately, though unhappily, acquiescing to save face. Literally.
So there they were, helping Sam into a wheelchair to get him out of the hospital and onto the road. Getting the sasquatch into the Impala would be a challenge of itself, but the brother's would manage. They always did.
Now all that was left was for Dean to figure out what the hell he was going to do.
Could he trade innocent life for his brother's?
Yes. Yes he could. And yeah, he was friggin' torn up about it and he knew Sam would never forgive him. But when it came down to it, time and time again had proved there was little in this life Dean wouldn't do to keep Sam safe.
Was he going to trade an innocent life for his brother's?
Dean had no friggin clue. Either way, someone had to take care of the pastor's wife and break her hold on the reaper. So they might as well start there, and he could figure the rest of it out on the way.
"Where are we going?" Sam asked with genuine curiosity once he'd recovered his breath and his head had stopped pounding. Well, it never stopped, but it did lessen to the point where he could actually hear his brother's response over the drumming.
The nurse behind his wheelchair gave Dean a nasty look at the obvious exhaustion and pain her patient was in. The hunter didn't care. Yeah, his brother looked like shit and it was obvious he should be in a hospital bed, not checking out AMA, but it didn't matter. A reaper in Nebraska had a hell of a better chance of fixing Sammy than staying there did.
Ignoring the woman and focusing back on his brother's question, Dean contemplated what to say. He couldn't tell Sammy the plan – not yet. One: because he didn't actually have a plan. And B: the kid would never get in the car if he knew Dean was considering trading someone else's life for his.
What had Sam lied his ass off calling it?
"We're going to a specialist."
-o-o-o-
They were outside the motel Dean had spent the night in - a crap-ass, rundown place that was within manageable distance to the hospital in case of emergency but far enough away for a reduced police presence. They had just kidnapped a girl three states over, after all. Dean was throwing the last of his bags and all of the research he'd hastily packed back into the trunk while Sam dozed lightly in the front seat in the late morning sun. Not only was the kid not up for any sort of physical activity, including something as limited as walking, but they weren't getting him out of the car if they didn't have to.
Managing to get his weak butt into the low-riding muscle car had been a comedy skit in the making.
Dean grabbed their duffle full of sawed-offs and handguns, intending to toss it further into the trunk until he had time to put everything back in its proper place beneath the hidden panel, when he knocked his go-bag off of its current spot propped on the spare gas tank and canisters of holy water. The contents toppled out of his bag almost lazily, taunting him for not taking the time to close the damn zipper before he'd shoved the thing in the trunk with their other bags.
The hunter moved to toss everything back inside, annoyed and already at his tension limit for the week, when a glint of gold caught his eye. The amulet Sam had given him fourteen years ago stared up at him from the floor of the trunk, right beneath his outstretched hand.
The man from the future stared at the little horned head and sightless eyes perfectly propped between a Black Sabbath shirt and his FBI badge. Raising his head with a discretion that was wholly unnecessary, the hunter peaked between the raised trunk and windshield to stare at the back of his brother's head.
Dean Winchester didn't believe in signs and he believed even less in the God that would be sending this one. But as he stared at the one thing in life he did have faith in, and always would, he made a decision to listen, just this once.
Scooping the amulet up, he shoved his clothes to the side, threw the duffel of weapons on top, and shut the trunk. Time would tell if it was as dumb-ass a decision as he suspected.
Sam opened his eyes as Dean climbed into the driver's seat. His brother was looping something around the rear view mirror, catching Sam's attention. He sat up a little more, blinking the exhaustion from his eyes, and stared at the amulet dangling just beneath the mirror.
Dean chanced a glance his way, then cleared his throat at the surprise and muddled emotion there. Ignoring the utter chick-flick moment that a high school playwright would surely swoon over in years to come, the older Winchester put the car in drive and headed for Ford City, Nebraska.
-o-o-o-
They called John from the road.
It, of course, went to voicemail. Neither were surprised. They left the message about the Baku and hung up.
There wasn't much point in saying anything else.
-o-o-o-
"You are such a liar."
Sam laughed weakly in the front seat, somehow amused by all of this despite the fact that he was definitely a shade more grey than he had been at the hospital. He stared out the rain-speckled window at the white tent and large sign proclaiming the True Believers Revival Church.
"Shaddup," Dean muttered, turning off the engine and leaning over to look out Sam's window as well.
"Dean, no way you believe this crap. So what are we doing here?"
His brother spared him a look that said he really, really didn't want to answer. "You don't think he's the real deal?"
Sam let out another laugh, though it dipped into a cough at the end that had Dean digging into the pharmacy bag for his meds and handing one of the muscle relaxers over. The younger hunter looked loathe to take it, but did so anyway.
"Sure, he could be. I believe there's just as much good in this world as evil." He swallowed down the pill and leaned his head back against the leather, still watching his brother. He looked completely wiped out. "But I know you don't. So what's really going on?"
His older brother hesitated before bobbing his head in that way of his that said he wasn't going to lie but he wasn't going to give a straight answer either. "The pastor's wife hooked a reaper."
Sam blinked at him slowly, and it was a testament to the damage in his system that it took him a comically long time to parse Dean's meaning. When he did, his eyes widened and he immediately sat up, triggering another coughing spell. Dean was ready for it, already pushing him back into the seat with a gentle hand and an offered water bottle.
The young Winchester tried to talk twice before he was ready, finally having to concede the battle and slow down enough to drink the water.
"Dean, no." He shook his head minuscule as soon as he was able, afraid to trigger another bout of pounding pain. "You are not trading my life for someone else's."
"Yeah, thanks for the update, Spock. I'm aware." He looked back out the front window and added on, muttered slow lowly that Sam almost didn't catch it, "If that was the plan, I wouldn't have told you."
The look Sam gave his brother was not a kind one. And maybe if he didn't think he'd be dead in a week, he'd have raised hell about his brother even considering going behind his back about something like that.
"If the reaper is killing people, even to save lives, we have to stop it. That's murder."
"I know, Sammy. Damn it, I mean Sam." Dean sighed raggedly and pinched the bridge of his nose. But he went for the door handle all the same, pushing open the driver's side. "And there's no we in this one. You sit your ass there and rest. I'll take care of it."
"Dean?" His brother stopped moving, one foot out of the car and his hand on the steering wheel. He looked over his shoulder at him and it was obvious to the younger hunter how hard his brother was trying to hide the fear in his eyes. "Sammy's fine."
Green eyes stared at him, incredulous at first before they hardened into something almost dangerous. Certainly angry. He climbed back fully in the car, pulling the door shut with a harsh sound. "Don't you dare. Don't you start making speeches."
"I'm not-"
"You're not dying, Sam. I won't let you. So don't start with the goodbye concessions."
Sam stared at his brother, gaze sympathetic. Dean hated it. They weren't having this conversation again. He went for the door handle when a knock startled both of them.
A young, cute blonde stood on the other side of Sam's window. She was smiling gently at them, a stern-faced woman with an umbrella standing just behind her, looking both impatient and concerned all in one, constipated expression. Sam took great effort to roll the window down, wheezing once he'd finished.
"Are you going to sit out here all day, or come in?"
Dean remembered Layla Rourke's smile like it was yesterday and his heart contracted so strongly in his chest that he suddenly couldn't breathe.
My god. He was going to kill this woman twice.
Sam grinned up at her, both playful and sincere in only the way Sam Winchester could be. "My brother doesn't believe in faith healers."
Layla's smile grew wider and more than a little playful as she winked at the ailing hunter. "Well, lucky for you, he doesn't look like the one in need of healing."
She opened Sammy's door and carefully stepped back in the mud. "Come on, I'll walk you in."
Sam gave his brother a look like 'You coming?' as he took Layla's hand and let her help him out of the Impala.
Dean, halfway to telling his brother to get his broken, dying ass back into the car and rest while he go ganked a reaper, instead scrubbed a hand roughly through his hair to avoid punching the steering wheel out of sheer stress. He threw open his door and followed after the pair with utterly no clue what he was going to do when they got inside.
-o-o-o-
The next morning, Sam weakly passed his laptop over to Dean, an article pulled up about a local woman who had died the day before, complications from a stroke the article said. Only she was twenty-four, had no prior history of medical problems, and ran a local abortion clinic that was currently in a rather nasty feud with a particularly conservative church less than a city block away.
"You were right."
Dean didn't need to read the article. Roy had cured an older man last night, there with his wife, three kids, and eight grandkids, all praying grandpa would be cured from the debilitating and ultimately fatal complications of a massive stroke.
"I know."
"Then why didn't you stop it?" The anger in Sam's voice didn't surprise him, but the strength of it did. He scrubbed a hand down his face and got up from the small table, pacing the room. Sam watched his every move. "You didn't stop it because you still haven't decided if you're going to use it. Dean, you are not trading my life for some innocent person's!"
"I know, Sammy!" The haggard hunter spun around and he looked so, so very tired. He threw his arms out, defeat in every line of his body. "I know, okay? Living with that would kill you. Believe me, I get it, better than anybody!"
Because he still carried that guilt himself, to this day, for a teacher in another life who had died so he could live. He slumped down on the bed. "But I'm not losing you."
Sam watched his brother falling apart before his eyes and swallowed past the growing lump in his throat caused by more than just his failing body. He knew that Dean had abandonment issues, and he knew he'd only reinforced those time and time again throughout their childhood. But his brother was a rock, strong in ways Sam couldn't even begin to match.
He wrongly assumed Dean would be fine without him.
"Okay," he whispered, causing his older brother to look up, already fighting to hide the water in his green eyes because heaven forbid he should shed an unmanly tear while talking about the inevitable death of his own brother. "I believe you, Dean. You'll find a way to save me. But this isn't it."
-o-o-o-
The afternoon service was about to start and Dean still hadn't gotten out of the car. Sam was watching him, caught somewhere between a lecture and a laugh. He rarely ever saw his older brother hesitate, and it was clear Dean was fighting himself and getting nowhere.
Sam had made his wishes crystal clear that morning; they would find another way.
"What are you going to do?" He settled on a neutral question. No need to spark Dean's temper or current anxieties.
"Hell if I know," his brother muttered back, but it got him opening the Impala door. "Just stay in the car this time, alright?"
Sam answered by leaning his head against the back of the seat and watching his brother struggle his way through the mud and into the tent.
-o-o-o-
As the minutes ticked by, he stared at the roof of the Impala and contemplated calling Jess.
They'd been e-mailing back and forth pretty regularly, and he sometimes snuck away at night to sit in the Impala and just listen to her voice as she talked about her day, or her parents, or how good it was to spend some time back in her hometown.
In some ways, it was the best part of Sam's day. In others, it was an awkward dance that he knew would eventually come to an end. Sam could never lie to her, but Jess would want to know how he was doing and he couldn't really answer without telling her more of the truths and horrors in his life than he wanted to. On the rare occasions he did breakdown and discuss a hunt, or the search for their father, or the yellow-eyed demon, he could hear the uncertainty in her voice as she tried to support and care for him from afar. She didn't know how to broach the supernatural aspect of Sam's life, and he didn't want to involve her in it anyway.
Still, he loved hearing how she was doing, back in a world without monsters and demons. Back in a life he used to have.
He should probably call her.
Jess expressed her fear pretty early on in his road trip that one day she would just stop hearing from him. That she would never know what happened, only that he was likely dead.
Sam had made Dean swear, on pain of being haunted for the rest of his life by an irate ghost, to tell Jess should anything like that happen. The older Winchester waved it off with a 'nothing will, relax', but eventually Sam got him to promise all the same.
And something like it did happen, in the end.
The youngest Winchester sighed and closed his eyes. He should call her. He didn't have much hope in any of Dean's backup plans, though for the sake of his brother he would give each of them the chance Dean thought they deserved. Maybe he could hold off calling Jess for a little while longer. Just in case his brother did pull a miracle out of nowhere.
-0-0-0-
He was almost asleep, lulled by the warmth of the sun and the safe cocoon of the Impala's interior, when a knock on glass startled him awake. Sam sat up, looking to the driver's side window and expecting to see his temperamental brother climbing into the car, or perhaps the young woman from yesterday come to fetch him again.
The person who did climb into the car had Sam startled all the way off the seat, out of the vehicle, and stumbling through the mud.
"Now, now," Yellow Eyes held out his hands in placation, a look of mock worry on his face as he leaned over into the passenger's side of Impala so he could look up at Sam through his still open door. "Easy there, son. We wouldn't want you keeling over before it's time."
Sam couldn't tell if his struggle to breathe came from the pounding in his heart or in his head. He clenched at his shirt as he bent near-over trying to catch a wisp of air and not pass out from the rushing in his brain. The demon sat patiently in the car, watching him with an idyllic look on his borrowed face.
Damn it, he had nothing. No weapons, no holy water. He'd mistakenly assumed the Impala was safe. The colt was in the devil-trapped trunk, and even as his eyes darted too it, Yellow Eyes tsk'ed.
"Lot of innocents around, Sammy." He smiled up at the ailing man as the hunter straightened, shoving his hurts away by sheer force of will. "We wouldn't want things to get messy, now would we?"
Sam clenched his fists by his sides and, wheezing, bit out, "Only my brother calls me that."
The demon was climbing out of the car with the energy of a kid seeing the circus for the first time and the hunter stumbled back through the muddy ground to keep his distance. Yellow Eyes turned raised his hands in a truce.
"I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm actually here to help."
"I doubt that," the hunter shot back.
Yellow Eyes didn't seem phased by his vitriol in the slightest. He just kept grinning at the hunter. "Pushing your powers. Now that's something else, tiger. I knew I was picking the right horse when I bet on you."
Sam swayed slightly, but held his ground against his waning strength. "Bet on me for what?"
"Big things, Sammy."
"I told you, only my brother gets to call me that."
"Yes. Your brother." The demon's eyes shifted over Sam's shoulder to the tent behind him and the hunter stiffened. "The last minute entry in all this. He's got us quite abuzz downstairs."
He fluttered his fingers in a jazz hands motion and Sam frowned at the theatrics. Whatever the demon wanted, he sure was taking his sweet time getting to it. The hunter wondered what the odds were of him passing out before the murderer got to his point.
The demon seemed to notice his fading attention span and clasped his hands together like a businessman about to make a deal. Dread pooled in Sam's gut, but there was little he could do about it.
"Do you know who it is talking to him, kiddo? We'd really like to know. We denizens of Hell frown on cheating when we're not the ones doing it."
Sam pulled a face that clearly expressed his answer.
"Like hell you aren't. One of you is 'betting' on Dean just like you are with me." The hunter held his arms out in a move of self-deprecation. "Guess what, you picked the wrong horse."
Yellow Eyes tilted his head and a flicker of confusion turned quickly into curiosity"Oh, kiddo. Dean's not in this race."
Sam dropped his arms. "What?"
The demon leaned back against the Impala, watching the kid with amusement. "He may be a contender for the Triple Crown, but we're not there yet. Hell, we're haven't even made it to the Kentucky Durby. And unlike you, your brother's not one of my entries."
The hunter scrambled to follow the stupid metaphor. "One?"
The demon grinned, shoving off the car towards him. Sam stumbled back for every step he took forward, but the human lost ground easily. "That's right. My special kids. You're on of 'em, Sammy, but I gotta admit: you're my favorite. Because you push. You've got a drive the others don't. And it's going to serve you well."
Sam snorted, and winced at the spike of pain it sent through his head. "Yeah, it's serving me great right now."
Yellow Eyes suddenly split into a 100-watt smile and reached behind his back. Sam raised his arms, prepared to fight by hand if he had to. When the demon pulled back, he was holding a large mason jar filled with a thick, dark liquid, and nothing more. The hunter stared at it dubiously as Yellow Eyes raised it up to eye level like a prized jewel.
"You just pushed yourself a little further than you're ready for." The demon bounced the jar up and down, and the liquid within sloshed along the sides, painting the glass crimson red. "But I can help fix that. No reaper needed, no innocent life lost for little ole you."
Sam took a step back, staring at the jar with a growing sense of trepidation. "What is that?"
"What does it look like, kiddo?"
The hunter stared at the liquid, then the demon. He squared his shoulders, keeping a defiant chin and a strong stance, despite feeling anything but. "It looks like blood."
"Bullseye! Shooting straight down the center, Sam. That's what I like about you." Yellow Eyes jiggled the container playfully. "This here is demon blood. A pint of yours truly."
Sam took another step back, eyes widening. Crap. Blood had been bad enough, but whatever the demon planned to do with that much of his own blood was probably a lot worse. Yellow Eyes let him gain the distance without closing in on him.
"See, the reason you're sick is because you're overdue for an oil change. Just need more of what you've already got in you."
The youngest Winchester paled as his injured brain registered the creature's meaning. The dread in his stomach solidified to a concrete slab, sinking deep within his bones. "Wh-what?"
"That night in the nursery. The night I killed your mommy," the demon winked his way and Sam's anger spiked through his fear and revulsion for a moment of crystal clarity. "I gave you your first taste. Bled in your mouth, tiger, and now you've got super powers! Not a bad trade, right?"
"You're insane." Sam shook his head. "I'm not drinking that, even if what you say is true. Especially if what you say is true."
The demon tsk'ed, looking down at the container of blood. "Come on now, kiddo. You're not the martyr of the family. That's your brother's job. You want to go back to your nine-to-five life and that pretty gal o' yours? Can't live happily ever after if you're dead."
"I can't play your sick game if I'm dead either."
Yellow Eyes sucked air through his teeth as he kept the smile up, but it turned a touch more dangerous.
"Sam?" Both hunter and demon turned at the soft, uncertain voice coming from behind him. Layla was standing just a few feet away, having come out of the tent looking for the ailing boy missing from the service. Her eyes darted between the two men. "Is…Is everything okay?"
"Yes," Sam answered hastily, holding his hand out to keep her from coming any closer. "Everything is fine, Layla. Go back inside."
God, if the demon attacked her, there was nothing Sam could do. He glanced back at Yellow Eyes with a warning, but the demon just raised his eyebrows and looked wounded at the accusation in those brown eyes.
He turned his gaze to the woman, and got a thrill of enjoyment at the way Sam tensed and slid a step over to stand between them.
"My dear, perhaps you can help us. I'm trying to convince Sam here that I've got the miracle cure he needs."
"Right." The blonde rolled her eyes at him before focusing back on the hunter. "Sam, why don't you walk me back inside?"
Yellow Eyes laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. "Such cynicism from the follower of a faith healer!"
Layla lost her false calm and sweet smile, staring at the demon with a fierceness Sam found remarkable. "I've seen what Roy can do. His healing is real."
She held her hand out once more for Sam, but the yellow-eyed demon wasn't done yet.
"Oh, if it's a demonstration that you need, please; allow me to prove myself."
The two humans turned slowly back to the demon. His tone was not a request and Layla glanced at Sam nervously. Courageous as she may, she could sense the danger coming off the man in waves.
He held the jar out towards the hunter, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Come on, tiger. Let's show Layla here what a real miracle looks like."
The hunter heard the threat and closed his eyes. Damn it, the demon would kill her in a heartbeat if Sam refused. And the boy wasn't about to stand by while another innocent woman suffered from just knowing him, just from being brave and facing down danger to stand beside him.
No, he wasn't letting it happen again.
"Heal her first." He opened his eyes and locked a fierce, challenging gaze on the demon. "She has a brain tumor. Get rid of it and I'll do it."
"Done." The demon smiled widely and turned to Layla. "Run along now, your part here is over."
She glanced between the very dangerous thing standing feet from her and the sweet boy she'd come outside to get because she believed he deserved healing as much as she did. "Sam-"
He gave her a soft nod. "Go, Layla."
It was the urgency in his voice that finally did it. She turned and started towards the tent at as fast a pace as she dared. By the time she hit the opening she was running.
Sam turned back to the yellow-eyed demon only to find him standing right in front of him, jar of blood held out. The hunter stumbled back a step by instinct, but steeled himself as he found his balance.
He'd made a deal, and Layla's life was worth it.
The youngest Winchester took the container, stomach revolting at the cold touch of glass with a hint of warmth running under the surface. The demon stood, observant as Sam unscrewed the lid and, watching those yellow irises, raised it to his lips.
His stomach nearly upended that morning's meager breakfast at the first metallic gulp that slid down his throat like oil sludge. He coughed, pulling the jar away and gasping down the urge to vomit.
"All of it, Sammy. Or you won't grow big and strong."
The hunter glared at the demon, but took a deep breath tossed back the rest of the jar.
The empty glass sank into the mud as he fell to his knees. He heard Dean screaming his name from across the parking lot. But it, and everything else around him, was quickly overcome by the pounding of blood through his veins.