"What the hell was that?" Sam gasped for air, leaning away from his brother. Or, in better context— the blade he was wielding.
"Fffuck.." Dean squished his eyes together, locking them. There was perhaps no backing out from this. He had to confess to Sam. All because of his stupid little decision to save his ass! He was too used to using the blade, to be competent to fend against other threats that were world threatening… like the Leviathan's, Archangel's, not some group of vengeful spirits. He was for once in his life—overprepared.
"Sammy! I-I can explain," he backed up defensively.
Sam rose in protest, scowling at the bright silver hilt. "What is that? Where… where the hell did you get it?" His questions were rapidly firing at all angles. Hope to God nobody outside this bathroom was listening in.
"It—it's a weapon. Just a little—" Dean stuttered, hand still snaring the blade. His breathing hitched for a moment. Were the lights all of a sudden getting brighter? All the buzzing and hissing were sharp blades in his ears.
"Dean. Dean?" Sam rushed over, while his brother's legs buckled. Leaning over to the nearest wall and panting heavily. His vision was fogging up exponentially. Static was what he was seeing, his head was whirling, and didn't know why.
Dean fumbled one last time, eyes glossy in the dimming lights. Sammy knew. He had to. He was unsure if his brother was physically coming at him to hurt or an act of prudence. So, he did the only motion that was subconscious. "Cas!" Dean groaned.
A bright flash of light blinded the hunters, and their clamoring had silenced well with the spinning. The angel rose in full glory, wings outspread outside a hovering shadow.
Castiel's eyes glowed with heavenly light, dimming moments later. Sam was on the ground, unconscious. Unhurriedly swiveling to meet Dean's blinking sights. So, Cas still came to my call, huh? The angel's expression was nothing but confusion. Liked he'd never been forcefully summoned by a human before. Let alone without a chant, it was unheard of.
"How did you…" Yep. The angel was finally baffled.
"I thought you believed me when I said I was from the future. Remember?" Dean stifled a chuckle, wobbling back upright. "Anyway, thanks for knocking out Sam." He puffed.
"I can recall that, Dean." The angel took a long stride forward, towering over the hunter. "I just didn't know you could do it. I was in the middle of something."
"Well—" Dean's mouth formed an uncomfortable line. "Sorry, habit."
"Apologies accepted." Cas craned his head to Sam, who was snoring loudly, nose full of snot. "What did you summon me for?" His eyes flicked to the angel blade.
"I kind of killed a vengeful spirit with it." The Hunter giggled a little but was cut off.
"Angels blades are not used to kill feeble creatures, Dean. They are meant to—"
"Smite and eliminate demons and angels alike, yeah yeah. I know." Agitation absorbed his tone.
Shit, now he had a problem.
It was no longer Cas, but Sam. He was unconscious at their feet, unaware of what was unfolding in the waking world. But on second—
A few flecks of blood dribbled to the hard, bland tiled floor. The red fades into a grim gray when making contact with the spirit's sulfur residue. "What…" Dean pressed his thumb to the roof of his nose, the warm, wet liquid coating it. "My nose is bleeding? The damn ghost didn't even touch me," he exhaled, a thousand questions pondering within the two brain cells he kept in store.
A silence echoed in the small room, the light flickered with an annoying hum overhead.
"It must be the spell," Castiel concluded, raising eye level. "Your human body must not be cooperating with it."
"With it how?" Dean peeled off the nearest roll of toilet paper and shoved it in his left nostril. He felt like a complete goof.
"If you are from the future, then your future body is decaying. As for your case," he looked him up and down, "the only thing that was moved was your soul. Not your entire being."
"So you're saying, I'm dying?" His heart skipped a thousand beats.
"Slowly, yes." Castiel's bottom lips curled, "In simplest of terms, you are using yourself as a vessel."
That answered so many questions it was stupid.
So this meant that this whole time, he was possessing his past self. And decaying like Lucifer's first vessel. The longer he stayed in it, the more his body became unstable. But if what Cas said was true, that meant he had nobody left to go home to—he'd died in the future alongside his brother and partner.
Dean shuttered, "Thanks for the info," he prowled past, their shoulders brushed for a brief moment. "How long do I have? If you even know?"
Castiel stared blankly, snapping back to reality seconds later, "A month, at best."
"Great. And I've already been here frolicking in the damn fields for two days." He grumbled. "But that still gives me time to fix it. And I gotta deal with the Witnesses. Fuck."
Sam's exposed body filtered through his peripheral vision. A muffled wince later, bent down to his brother, watching his chest rise and fall peacefully. The memory of his brother's lifeless body never left his mind. The blood-soaked flannel, the hole lodged within the center of his bloodied chest— his face permanently shown in agony, eyes glazed and unmoving. Red drying up along his hairline, down to behind his ear in a deep pool of crimson. The—
"Dean?" Castiel leaned forward, his soft monotone enough to make him melt like butter.
"Huh?" He breathed, a quiet tear secretly streaming down his cheek. The angel didn't take his eyes off the hunter, almost the same puppy-eyed Cas. Who he was going to end up with in the future, the one he leaned on for support mentally and physically.
The backbone of Team Free Will.
Castiel's gaze drifted down to Samuel's limp body, his tie folding under the tan trenchcoat. "I…"
"It's okay. I had to deal with Hell dreams and angelic torture for a decade and a half," Dean snickered, lightening up the mood. "Do you think you could maybe work your voodoo on him? Maybe make him forget this all happened?" his tone eased to a soft murmur. Every worry had blown away and became tamed by the scent of cinnamon and cologne in the air.
"I can't, I'm afraid. But, I can change his perception of the moment." The angel explained with full clarity.
The hunter's grimness brightened to a stupid smirk, wiping away the last drops of blood running from his nose and throwing the piece of tissue into the trash. "Can you make him picture this?" Dean eased Ruby's knife out from its leather sheath and rested comfortably alongside his belt.
Castiel simply nodded, taking the mental image and bending down to Sam's lifeless body. Pressing two swift fingers along the crease of his forehead. A small glow illuminated the tips of his fingers, transferring it to the center of Sam's subconscious.
He rose back onto his feet, the trench coat hissing behind his wake. "It's done," Was all the angel said before he disappeared, and Sam gasped awake.
With a new motivation, Dean was back in full swing, on the road with his brother once again. Sam believed Cas' makeshift story, taking bits and pieces of his photographic memory to implant the idea: Dean came barging in to save Sam, stabbing Henriksen in the back with Ruby's awesome blade.
It was foolproof. The work of an Angel of the Lord and a witty hunter. Dean felt like a million bucks after pulling the stunt. The small bit of normalcy he'd basked in for days. Something reminiscent of what their small riny-dink team would flourish into. Now all that lay ahead was to assemble them. Somehow.
But that was a plan for another day, meanwhile, Sam was recovering from the angelic jolt. Massaging his head with a wince, "I think I got a concussion," Sam groaned from the passenger seat. "Or just a stupidly bad headache,"
"You'll be fine Sammy, it's nothing you can't handle." Dean grinned shamelessly. As if he had nothing to worry about in the world. "Now let's go find those Witn….ghosts! Alright?" his head whipped to his brother, who blinked furiously like he'd been staring at the sun for an eternity.
"Yep," Sam's lips formed a straight line. That's when Dean took in his brother. Like really took him in. And for Chuck's sake, why the bangs? Why? The mullet looked way better… maybe he could drag Sammy down to a Supercut and get that fixed. "Anything from Bobby yet?"
"Nothin'," Dean closed his flip phone, stuffing it into his inside pocket, pricking himself with the tip of the angel blade. His hand recoiled, reaching out for the steering wheel as he made the final turn.
They both had pulled up into an abandoned house, guns at the ready, and ears open. Those Witnesses were a pain in the ass for them. They were persistent, and he couldn't afford another slip-up for Sam to see— heck even the damn spirits shouldn't see the silver blade.
Dean walked up the steps of the ancient house. It was two stories, surrounded by crammed roads, a small oak hanging over. Casting a shadow along the front. The paint was worn, and the residency screamed vacant.
The door was ajar, "Oh well that can't mean anything good," Sam remarked.
Dean gently pushed the door open, its hinges creaking, the floorboards groaning under their light footsteps.
"Bobby?" Dean called, his voice reverberating up the stairs. Empty. The place was dead empty, inside and out. "Shit," Dean cursed under his breath. He vaguely remembered these moments. Like every hunt or God-given mission. A Hunter never forgets.
So if his senses were proving him right, Bobby was not inside. He was going to send Sam out to the junkyard. Where Bobby was. "Let's go check the back," He floated past, could Sam in a dark vale of lies.
"Why? Don't you think we should split up?"
"No," Dean parried sharply, "We don't know what we are going up against, it's best if we stay together." He said briskly, moving out to the dusty back.
Cars filled with rust and dirt were scattered in uneven lines. Screw it if he had to miss his little intervention with Meg, he could get back to that later, but right now, Bobby was his main priority. Save the ones that need to be saved.
"Bobby!" Dean called, not afraid to shed a little voice here and there.
"Bobby!" Sam echoed, following the same path, his shotgun loaded and tightly pressed against his chest.
Fuck, was leaving Meg alone in the house maybe going to bite his ass? A thought swam.
Not until he felt a cold chill teater down his own spine. The brothers exchanged glances, and Sam's eyes glued to his breath.
Cold, it was freezing. They were close.
"Bobby!" Dean yelled even louder this time around, sprinting down the winding halls of metal sheets. Sam was now leading, following an invisible scent; like a bloodhound tracking its target. Frantically prying open car hoods and trunks, searching each one until he began to scrabble up to a higher elevated car.
Dean could recognize that car, the same beaten-up one that Sam had described to him days after they'd recovered from the Witnesses. Prying it open with a grunt. Two girls were stationed on either side of Bobby, who was chained down to the car's floor.
Sam soon went flying, pushed back by an invisible hurricane wind, and into the nearest windshield. The girls were tattered, both wearing baby blue and white dresses that flew down to their mid-thigh. Their long, knotted, chocolate hair and piercing blue eyes stared back at him.
"Holy Shining," Dean gasped. This was the first time he'd physically seen the girls. The twins that Bobby couldn't save. His own regrets.
One of the twins teleported from the inside of the car, appearing in a thin mist of sulfur above Sam's body. Her hand raised like a mighty bear claw about to strike. When Dean cocked his shotgun and laid a shot; the girl disappeared into embers.
Sam whipped around aimlessly, with Bobby lurching forward with a crowbar to handle the second one.
"Bobby!" Dean smiled, running over to help his brother. Shards of glass sparkled off his back.
Bobby hopped down, panting and groaning, hunched over to catch his breath.
Their fight wasn't over just yet. Dean knew that. He could feel it, deep inside his very bones.
A smooth, grinning voice whispered behind him, "Hello, Dean,"
His bendy got propelled back by a forceful hand, skidding off the ground; slamming hard into the bumper of a rusted truck. Sam and Bobby gasped once the familiar blonde came into view.
"Meg," Sam growled, hoisting his shotgun up, Bobby's makeshift weaponry at the ready. Dean winced, rattled, but fine for the most part. He stood up, spitting a wad of blood into the packed dirt.
"Hmm…" Meg tilted her head, her bland blue shirt fading in and out of transparency. "It's been a while, Dean. Remember me?"
Dean grinned wickedly, "Crystal clear," he whipped out his shotgun, firing two rounds perfectly aimed at the spirit. Her body fizzled into smoke before reappearing in a different location. It's not like this was his first rodeo with a powerful being— but it sure as hell shocked Sam and Bobby. Those two were both standing there on the sidelines, gawking at Dean's sudden skills. Not realizing he was from a decade into the future, but anywho—
"Someone got better I see," Meg purred, a cat playing with their food. Her attacks were slow, and predictable in his eyes, She'd teleported in his blind spot. From behind, to the side, above, below. Any place where the human eye couldn't instantly react or predict a precise attack.
But Dean had killed dozens of Angels. They worked almost the same.
Her body flew at him at lightning speed, not fast enough to fully catch. So, with his side open, he folded his arms in, maneuvering the butt of his shotgun to the blind spot. Once she came charging, her chest made contact with the end of a shotgun, killing her momentum— stunning her for a split second. A window of opportunity opened, and Dean took that chance. Spinning on his heel, and slamming his free hand (That was no longer holding the shotgun), and giving her a good ol' Charlie Pucheroo. Knocking her to the ground with the force of a bullet train.
Bobby tossed him his crowbar, and with a quick and easy swipe her body got dusted.
Dean exhaled in relief, legs finally giving out from the strain, and the trio plopped onto the ground. Heaving for air they didn't know they were holding.
"This isn't the end," Dean gasped, Sam groaned loudly.
"Dean's right, they're gonna come back, "Bobby agreed, "Whether we like it or not."
