Chapter Text
Dean fucking hates witches.
They’re creepy, generally a pain in the ass to deal with, and spew bodily fluids around like it’s goddamn confetti. He had originally gone on this hunt thinking it was werewolves. All the clues were there; people ripped to shreds, missing hearts, the timing with the moon cycle was even spot on! But no. Of course it’s witches. Witches doing their disgustingly witchy things, and generally being a pain in the ass for Dean.
He just wanted a nice, easy hunt as some sort of break from all the big stuff. Like fighting the darkness and almost becoming a supercharged magical suicide bomb, only to have the answer to all of their problems be fucking communication. Only the Winchesters would come up with the most destructive solution before considering just getting Chuck and Amara to talk their shit out.
Figures.
Anyway, the wonder twins got to go off on their little vacation, leaving Sam and Dean behind to protect the earth. Which isn’t a huge responsibility at all, fuck you very much, Chuck. Amara thankfully seemed to sever that weird connection—the one that was super uncomfortable and unwanted—she had forced between them. Then she went and said something about him giving her what she needed most, and her wanting to do the same for him, before they took off. Which isn’t extremely ominous or anything. But Dean hasn’t noticed anything different since, so he’s kinda just decided not to worry about it.
Y’know, cause that shit never bites him in the ass.
Point is, he needed a fucking break from all the ‘fate of the earth’ bullshit he’s had to deal with. So, Dean took on this hunt. Alone. Because a few werewolves were child’s play when you’ve been through the shit that he has.
He should have been done by now, sitting in a motel room, maybe patching up the inevitable bruises that you get on hunts, calling Sam to check in, and then getting his four hours of sleep before driving back to the bunker in the morning.
But it’s not werewolves, it’s witches, so instead of a somewhat clean motel bed, he gets to lie on the definitely not clean floor of some creepy ass house, trying to get back the breath that was knocked out of him when the witch threw him across the room because he interrupted her spell or whatever.
He slowly sits up, every muscle in him protesting the action. There’s a reason hunters don’t live long. He’s getting too old for this shit. Unfortunately, there’s no time to bitch about his age and achy body, because the witch seems to have decided that he’s out of commission and not a threat at the moment, so she’s started intoning her spell again. Since her back is facing Dean, he carefully gets to his feet and silently makes his way towards her. He can hear her chanting something in Latin. It’s always fucking Latin with these guys. Dean should really learn the language so he doesn’t always have to have either Sam or Cas translate for him when it’s anything other than the exorcism spiel.
Her words keep repeating themselves though, that much he can tell. It must be some powerful stuff; there’s usually a lot of repetition involved when it is. She’s standing in what would have been the living room area once upon a time when people actually used the house for non-witchy stuff. Streams of light in colors of green and purple surround her. Dean is approaching from the hallway, sneaking his way along the wall even though she can’t see him with her back turned. When he gets to the doorway, he’s able to make out some of the words, which he tries his best to remember for later so he can ask Sam about it when he gets home.
“Vinculo nostro semper una erimus.
Vinculo nostro invenies anteferretur.
Vinculo nostro iterum iuvenes erimus.”
A squeaky floorboard blows his cover, and she promptly ends her chanting to look directly at him. He stops in his tracks like a deer caught in headlights. Shit. He’s expecting to get thrown around again, but instead she just resumes her chanting in a newfound frantic voice, almost shouting it at him while tears stream down her face.
“Vinculo nostro quod erravit mutabimus!
Vinculo nostro fatum reformabimus!
Vinculo nostro vivemus in aeternum!”
Dean doesn’t waste his moment. He takes out his gun and shoots her twice in the chest with his witch killing bullets. She drops to the floor. This should be the end of it. Usually when you kill a witch you stop the magic too, since the magic draws its energy from the caster or something like that, but the colors don’t disappear. They seem unaffected by their maker’s death, still floating around. The only visible change to them is the purple getting lighter, shifting into a more blue-ish color, while the green gets tiny specks of gold in it, making it almost glitter.
It’s kind of pretty. Beautiful, even, which only makes it more terrifying.
Dean doesn’t dare move a muscle. He doesn’t trust this magic, and he doesn’t want to trigger anything, so he does the smart thing and gets his phone out to call Sam, who picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, Dean. You catch that werewolf yet?”
“Actually, turns out it was a witch. I got her but…”
“But?”
“You know how sometimes there’s magic swirls or whatever when they’re doing their thing?”
Sam snorts in a way that suggests an eye roll preceded it. “If you wanna call it that, sure, what about it?”
“Yeah, well, what do you do when they don’t disappear after you’ve killed the witch?”
Suddenly the ground starts shaking, and Dean grabs onto the door frame for stability. The trembling doesn’t let up. When he looks at the colors again, they seem almost tense, like they’re gearing up for an attack, which does not suggest anything good is about to happen. Dean can hear Sam’s voice talking, but he isn’t listening. His eyes are solely trained on the green and blue light that are no longer moving. It feels as if the two strands of color are specifically looking at him, which is weird since light doesn’t have eyes. On instinct, Dean starts backing away, and that sure does get the light going again. It swirls ominously in the air, the two beams curling in and around each other in some sort of flowing dance while they follow him, matching his pace step by step.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispers to himself. Sam has started yelling his name, but he’s not really Dean’s priority right now. He turns and starts sprinting towards the front door, silently praying that the magic is tied to the building and can’t follow him outside. The entrance of the house is still open from when he walked in. He can see the rain, practically hear the roar of Baby already when he hopefully gets to her and drives the fuck outta dodge. But before he even reaches the door, something hot and sharp burrows painfully into his back, and everything goes dark.
~o0o~
When Dean wakes up it’s to the sight of complete darkness. The air is musky and everything smells like dirt. He’s feeling pretty out of it, like he’s still half asleep, so he tries to focus on each part of his body. He’s lying on something hard and uncomfortable, kind of like the hardwood floors in the witch's den. His back is a little sore, his head hurts, and his throat is dry as all hell. He tries to bend his legs, but his knees bump into something solid. He lifts his arms to get a sense of his surroundings. He’s in a confined space. Scratching the ‘roof’ over him, it feels like it’s some kind of flimsy wood. Dean has the weirded case of déjà-vu right now, if it can even be called that when he knows he’s been through this before.
He digs his way out, breathing in lungfuls of fresh air like it’s the water his body desperately craves at the moment. He scans his surroundings. Yeah, it’s all exactly the same as he remembers it. Still looks like some kind of bomb went off. But it can’t be, right?
Dean makes his way to the same abandoned gas station as he did the last time he was here. It all still looks the same, like it’s plucked right out of his memory.
The first thing he does is down an entire bottle of water, then half of another one. Damn, that feels good. Next on the list: self reflection. He doesn’t do it a lot, but this seems like the appropriate time.
He finds a mirror and stares at himself in disbelief.
He looks younger.
He lifts up the bottom hem of his shirt. No scars.
He lifts his sleeve. Cas’ handprint, vibrant as the day he got it.
Is today the day he got it?
He finds a news article and reads the date. September 18th, 2008.
This– No. No fucking way. This isn’t happening. How the fuck could this happen? What kind of fucking trick was that witch trying to pull? This isn’t even time travel in the way he’s tried before, where he either met people from the past or himself from the future. He’s not just been thrown through time and met his younger self, he’s been thrown into his younger self. What the actual fuck!? Could this be some sort of weird djinn dream? Except, he can’t figure out why a djinn would create this kind of scenario…
The gas station tv suddenly turns on, staticky and irritating and– oh shit. Hell fucking no is he staying for Cas’ concert. He doesn’t want to relive his ears bleeding and his head feeling like it might explode. Definitely not a djinn dream; those are supposed to be happy. He grabs another bottle of water and runs out of there, finding a car to hot wire it just like last time. The rust bucket is crappy, and he immediately misses the impala. God dammit, right now she’s all douched up thanks to Sammy. Don’t worry Baby, I’ll come save you soon.
It’s like he’s on autopilot as he sets course for the salvage yard, which surprises him. Why would that be his first instinct? Maybe it’s like he has the muscle memory and instincts of his younger self, but the mind of his… his future self? Current self? Time travel is weird, man.
In any case, if the body he’s in, his past body, has the same instincts, or muscle memory, as it originally did, then it makes sense for him to not think twice about heading to Bobby’s place. This was before they had the bunker, so as long as they were in the near vicinity of it, the salvage yard was always their go-to place if/when shit hit the fan.
As he takes a right down a familiar road, reality of what is actually happening occurs to him. He’s driving to go see Bobby. If he’s truly in the past, then Bobby’s still alive, thinking that Dean is dead and in hell right now.
Holy shit. He’s going to see Bobby again.
Working hard to stay calm, Dean decides that he should establish the way of the land on his way over. He needs to have an outline on how things are at this point in time.
Bobby’s alive, so is Ellen and Jo. Sam is… Sam’s with Ruby right now, getting manipulated by the demon bitch. He’ll have to fix that later. Cas is a brainwashed soldier of heaven who’s trying to contact him but doesn’t know that Dean isn’t one of those ‘special people’ who can hear his true voice.
Shit, Dean really wishes the real Cas was here. Real Cas might have a stick up his ass, but it’s nowhere near the size of the one Castiel, angel of the lord, has.
It doesn’t take long before he’s driving up the driveway of the salvage yard. When he parks the car, he takes a deep breath to try and center himself. How is he going to do this? Last time he just went up and knocked on the door, but then Bobby immediately attacked him. Which was fair enough, Dean would have probably done the same. At this point in time, coming back from the dead was new, if you didn’t count the times people sold their souls. Thinking about it, Dean can’t really see any outcome that doesn’t result in Bobby attacking him, then testing him, but in the end believing him. At least this time, Dean’s prepared for it.
In the end, he decides to just do the exact same thing as he did last time. He walks up to the door, knocks, and waits.
Dean is prepared for the mistrust, the disbelief, the inevitable pain of having to draw blood to prove he is who he says he is. What Dean isn’t prepared for is seeing the face of the closest thing he’s ever had to a stable father figure. It’s like finding land after swimming in the ocean for hours. He feels almost dumbstruck with how good it is to see the old grump again, and he’s so surprised by the wave of emotion that he’s still caught off guard when Bobby attacks him.
A cut of a silver knife and some holy water splashed in his face later, Bobby hugs him tight, and damn if Dean didn’t need that just as much, if not more, than he did the last time he went through this.
“It’s good to see you, boy,” Bobby says.
Fuck. Dean feels like he’s gonna cry.
“Yeah, you too.”
“But, how did you bust out?”
Well that sure is the big question, isn’t it? Should he tell Bobby the truth? Explain to him how he even knows the truth? Would this Bobby even believe him?
Their world was so small before the angels came into their life. They thought they knew everything, had seen—or at least heard of—all the crazy things the hunting job had to offer, but looking back it was like they were living life with training wheels. No one had to worry about the apocalypse. No one knew God existed and that angels are a pain in the ass. At this point, demons were their biggest problem. Not to downplay how hard they’ve fought up until now, but demons really aren't that big of a deal compared to all the other shit that happens in the future. Dean will take fighting demons over leviathans any day of the week.
No, there’s no way Bobby would believe him if he told him the truth. He hasn’t seen enough crazy shit yet to be that open minded about this stuff. Best thing to do for now is the same as he did then. Follow the script, or whatever.
“I don’t know… I just woke up in a pine box.”
Bobby furrows his brows and walks to the living room. “That don’t make a lick of sense. Dean, your chest was in ribbons, your inside’s were slob. And you’ve been buried four months.”
Yeah, he really must have been a sight to behold, huh? He feels bad that Sammy had to see that. No wonder he was so lost afterwards.
Bobby continues, “Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meatsuit–”
“I know, I should look like a ‘Thriller’ video reject,” Dean interrupts, because he might not have to reenact the past line for line, but that comment was gold and he’s not sorry about it.
Then a thought nags at the back of his mind. He’s actually not sure how he knows that that’s exactly what he said last time. He just does. It’s a little like an instinct and a lot like someone behind the scenes pouring the dialogue into his brain the second before he needs it. And that’s… that’s weird, right? That shouldn’t be happening.
Bobby ignores the comment, keeping them on track. “What do you remember?”
Last time, he lied about not remembering hell, and then they talked about Sam. How he took Dean’s death, ghosted Bobby, and they assumed he was the one to resurrect Dean. Then Dean told Bobby about the grave site and showed him the handprint.
He doesn’t need a repeat of that conversation. As far as he remembers, it ended with them finding Sam, and Sam telling them he tried to make a deal but no demon would. And then…
Then Bobby suggested they get help from Pamela, and during the seance her eyes burned out. Yeah, Dean’s not gonna let that happen again. Repeating conversations is fine, but he draws the line at letting people get hurt when he can prevent it. At that point the script can go fuck itself.
What did they get out of the seance? Right, Cas’ name. Okay, so if Dean already knows that, then they can avoid it completely.
“Not much. I remember being the hellhound’s chew toy, then lights out. I heard a voice. A name. ‘Castiel’. Then I come to 6 feet under. That was it.”
Bobby sits down. “Castiel…” he mumbles thoughtfully. “Doesn’t ring a bell. You know ‘em?”
Dean shakes his head. He thinks they should still summon him. If they don’t then Cas will probably find him sooner or later, but Dean doesn’t see a reason why they shouldn’t do it anyway. Sticking with the script and all that. Also, he doesn’t have a good explanation why he would know that Cas is an angel, and he would really like to get that information out there sooner rather than later before he slips up or something.
“No, but I bet he’s the one who got me out. Unless you know if Sam did something stupid?”
And with that, they get around to talking about Sam and tracking him down.
~o0o~
As Dean walks up to the motel door, he mentally prepares himself for seeing this version of his little brother. Back then, their relationship got strained by mistrust and lying demons taking advantage of the changing battlefield that they were entering. Dean’s trauma from the pit didn’t help either. Standing outside room 207, he looks at Bobby for courage, and Bobby nods. He knocks on the door, which is opened a few seconds later by Ruby. Damn, he totally forgot that Ruby was the chick Sam was with at the time.
“So where is it?” she asks, looking at them expectantly, not a trace of recognition in her eyes when she looks at Dean.
You sneaky son of a bitch. She really was a good actress, huh? Did she know he was coming or something, or was she just always prepared for it? How did Sam not think her non-reaction to Dean was weird?
When Dean doesn’t say anything, trying his best not to show how angry her stupid face makes him, Bobby asks, “Where’s what?”
And like the snarky little demon bitch that she is, she says, “The pizza that takes two guys to deliver?”
Dean barely contains the eye roll threatening to reveal his annoyance. Bobby mutters that maybe they got the wrong room, but then Sam enters their view. He looks directly at Dean, eyes briefly flicking to Bobby and then back to Dean again.
Dean steps forward with a strained smile. It’s weird to see his brother like this. Younger, more naive. Way less traumatized. “Hey, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t let him get far before he takes out a knife to stab him, but Dean has been expecting it, so he easily puts up a hand to push the knife away while Bobby steps in to hold him back.
“Who are you!?” Sam shouts, clearly in distress.
Last time, Dean shouted back at him. He was so sure back then that Sam was the one responsible for Dean being here, and he was so mad about it. The rage and the memory of it faded like those things tend to do with time, but since this déjà-vu experience is his reality, the old hurt and fear simmer under his skin, whispering accusations of his brother’s actions, telling him to scream and shout about it. He knows better now though, but despite that he’s still not sure what to say.
Sam and Bobby are still struggling, and Bobby tries to calm him down. “It’s him. It’s him, Sam. I’ve been through this already. It’s really him.”
Sam stops resisting, and he just looks so lost. “What?”
Dean smiles crookedly. “I know, I look fantastic, huh?”
Sam doesn’t smile back, but Dean knows he believes Bobby. They hug like they did the last time, and even though, to Dean, he didn’t just come back from the dead, it’s still nice to hug his little brother and experience a brief moment where Sam seems genuinely relieved, happy even, to see him.
As they let go of each other, Ruby speaks up. “So are you two, like, together?”
Fucking demons. She must have laughed her ass off at that comment later.
“What? No. No. He’s my brother,” Sam assures quickly, looking extremely awkward doing so.
Yeah, she knows that. Both Sam and Dean know she knows. They just don't know that Dean knows that she knows. What a nice little play, can’t wait for it to be over. If Dean had the demon killing knife, he would have stabbed her already.
“O-oh. Got it, I guess. Look, I should probably go.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s probably a good idea. Sorry.”
Sam shows her out the door, doing the whole ‘calling her the wrong name’ act, as if they haven’t been slugging it together ever since Dean got mauled by hellhounds. He can feel old anger from the lies of the past rising up in him, which isn’t gonna do him much good right now, but are they really lies of the past when it’s currently happening right in front of him?
Sam sits down and they all stay silent for a while, Dean standing with his arms crossed. How is he gonna play this? Last time, he went on the attack, accusing Sam of making a deal to get him back. What if, this time, he lets Sam have the first word?
Sam takes a deep breath, looking down at his own feet. “So, how did you get back?” he asks quietly. Then he looks up at Dean. “I mean, how are you here? I know you probably think it was me who did it, but I didn’t. I swear, I tried, but no demon would deal.” He starts choking up. It breaks Dean’s heart a little. “You were rotting in hell for months. For months, and I couldn’t stop it… Dean, I’m sorry.”
Dean places a hand on Sam’s shoulder to comfort him, but Sam’s face only scrunches up like he’s in pain. “It’s okay, Sammy. You don’t have to apologize. I believe you.”
Sam looks back up at him like he was expecting a fight and can’t believe that Dean’s just taking his word for it. Which both hurts a little but also makes sense. Dean really is a ‘shout first, ask questions you’re not gonna trust the answers to later’ kind of guy.
“We know it wasn’t you, Sam, it was someone, or some thing, named Castiel,” Bobby explains.
Sam looks bemusedly at the older hunter. “Do we know who or what that is?”
Dean shakes his head. “Not a clue.” He walks away to open the fridge where, bingo , there’s beer. He grabs three and hands two out to the others, sitting down on the ugly little yellow couch in the room. He takes a sip, eyes on Sam. “So what have you been up to while I was down under?”
Sam takes a deep breath and a sip of his own. “Once I figured out I couldn’t save you, I’ve been hunting down Lilith, trying to get some payback–”
“What, all by yourself?” Bobby interrupts. “Who do you think you are, your old man?”
Sam looks down with guilt. “Uh… yeah, I’m sorry, Bobby. I should have called. I was pretty messed up.”
Sleeping with a demon points to yes, and you’re still really messed up, Dean thinks bitterly, but he doesn’t interrupt. He needs this conversation to get moving.
“Anyways,” Sam continues, “I was tracking these demons out in Tennessee, and out of nowhere they took a left, booked up here just yesterday morning.”
“When I busted out,” Dean supplies.
“You think these demons are here because of you?” Bobby asks.
Dean nods. “I mean, some badass named Castiel drags me out and now this? It’s gotta be connected somehow.”
“How are you feeling, anyway?” Bobby asks with a suspicious frown.
Dean knew the question was coming. He can taste the irony of being the one asked that question after (before?) all that time doubting Sam’s humanity because of Alastair’s words. He knows better now though. This Sam is nothing like when he was soulless.
“A little hungry but otherwise I’m good. I feel like myself. Nothing demonic or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He knows that’s what Bobby’s thinking, but he can’t really blame him.
“Listen, no demon’s letting you loose out of the goodness of their hearts. They gotta have something nasty planned,” Bobby reasons.
“Maybe Castiel isn’t a demon then. I feel fine.”
Sam buds in, “Look, we don’t know what they’re planning. We got a pile of questions and no shovel. We need help.”
Bobby sits up a bit, back straightening. “I know a psychic a few hours from here–”
“No!” Dean interrupts hurriedly without thinking. They both look at him like he’s grown another head. Shit. Not very smooth, Winchester, but dammit! He can’t let Pamela get involved in this again. He won’t. Her helping with angel business has always ended badly for her, and even when she kept insisting she wanted no part of it, she still lost both eyes—and eventually her life—to helping them with that shit.
Bobby looks at him offendedly. “What do you mean ‘ no’ ? She’s the best in the business. With something this big, maybe she’s heard the other side talking.”
Shit shit shit shit, how’s Dean gonna do this? They already know Castiel’s name; the only thing visiting Pamela is gonna get them is a blind psychic. Now they’re both looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain why he’s so anti-psychic.
Dean usually works well under pressure. Unless it’s the pressure of having to lie to his family about important shit on the spot, then he apparently works terribly under pressure.
“If Bobby says he knows someone who can help, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t try. Worst case scenario, we don’t get any new info,” Sam reasons, visibly confused by Dean’s reluctance.
Fucking easy for him to say. Dean doesn’t have a counter argument as to why they shouldn’t go. Except, “What if we just summon Castiel?”
“Boy are you out of your damn mind? We don’t even know what this Castiel is. It could be anything!” Bobby exclaims.
Both Sam and Bobby are glaring at him disapprovingly. Fuck. Guess he’s gotta do it the hard way then and just sneak out in the night to summon him himself before Pamela’s stubborn ass gets a peek at Cas’ true form.
“Fine, fine. Jesus, it was just a suggestion,” he amends with his hands up defensively.
Bobby gets up, probably to call Pamela, while muttering something about Dean being an ‘idjit’.
As Dean stands up to go find something useful to do—or maybe think of a more thorough gameplan, he’s not sure yet—Sam stops him with a, “Dean wait.” He looks at his brother expectantly, and that’s when Sam takes off his necklace. Dean’s necklace.
He had almost forgotten about it. He stopped wearing the damn thing some odd years ago, when one too many monsters would use it to choke him. In his time, he keeps the amulet in his bedside drawer, or uses it as a bookmark. On long drives, he would tie to the rearview mirror. He takes the necklace and puts it on while thanking Sam, but he can see that that’s not all his brother wanted.
“Hey, Dean? What was it like?”
Dean knows he means hell, and although the truth will eventually come out, and Sam will be upset that Dean didn’t spill the beans immediately, Dean isn’t ready to have that whole conversation right now.
“I don’t know. I must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing.”
Sam nods. “Thank God for that.”
I don’t have a lot to thank Chuck for, actually.
Dean smiles tightly. “Yeah.”
Bobby wanted to go see Pamela right away, but Dean convinced them that he needed to rest for a bit and they could go tomorrow. Good thing Dean has always had a habit of overworking himself and powering through, because when he says that he needs a break, they immediately agree to it, no questions asked.
When they all decide to turn in, Dean pretends to be asleep on the ugly ass couch in Sam’s motel room. He’s pretty sure Sam is gonna sneak out to see Ruby, so he’s planning on sneaking out himself when Sam’s gone.
He still feels angry about the way Sam is lying to him, but he’s trying to put it aside for now. Ruby isn’t going to kill Sam; he’s safe. She’s just going to manipulate him, but if Dean plays his cards right, Sam won’t get addicted to demon blood this time around.
If Dean is even going to be here for that long.
Actually, how is he even supposed to get back to his own time? And if he does, will past-him just not remember anything? What exactly happens if he goes back to the future? Should Dean even go back? He might have to relive a lot of years, but what if, by staying here, he can prevent a bunch of shit from happening? He could stop the apocalypse from starting. Stop Cas from absorbing the leviathans.
Fuck. Cas.
He would still have to find a way to get him to go from Castiel; angel of the lord, to Cas; his best friend. Maybe he can even stop the angels from falling so Cas doesn’t lose his wings…
The sound of the door closing as Sam heads out to go see Ruby mercifully breaks his train of thought. Fucking knew it.
Dean gets up and starts getting ready to go out himself. He has the demon-killing knife, and he knows his shotgun is in the impala. He didn’t hear the sweet roar of her engines, so Sam must have left without her, thank fuck.
As he walks outside, he spots her. Baby . It hasn’t been long since he’s seen her, not really, but just like how thirsty he was when he woke up, and how he instinctively sat course for Bobby’s place, there must be some leftover feelings from his past self that makes it seem like he hasn’t seen her in 40 years. Not that he’s not always happy to see her. The sight of his first real home always manages to relax him in some indescribable way. He smiles as he approaches her. When he sits down in the driver’s seat, feels the leather shift underneath his jeans, it’s like coming home from a long trip.
He rubs his hands on her steering wheel lovingly, scowling when he sees the ipod jack. He removes it, tosses it into the backseat like the disgrace that it is, and pats her dashboard gently.
“Told ya I would come save you…”
“Boy, you are way too attached to your car.”
Dean jumps a bit. Of course Bobby’s here.
He looks to the passenger side as Bobby opens the door and gets in, staring at him intently. “Well? Where’re we going, and why isn’t Sam with us?”
Dean sighs. Well , he thinks, Bobby was with me last time, why not this time too?
He starts the car and begins driving towards the barn where he first met Cas. “Because he’ll just try to stop me.”
“From what?”
“From summoning Castiel.”
Bobby looks at him with an air of disapproving disbelief. “You can’t be serious.” He keeps looking at Dean, who is as serious as a gunshot to the chest. “I thought we talked about this. Castiel could be anything. We don’t know!”
“So then we gotta be ready for anything.” Dean takes out the knife. “We got the big time magic knife, Baby’s got an arsenal in her trunk…”
“This is a bad idea,” Bobby complains, but he doesn’t look like he’s gonna bail or talk Dean out of it. He always did have their backs. Dean looks at him for a moment and lets himself enjoy having Bobby by his side again. He really missed the guy. He truly didn’t appreciate him enough when he was alive, but then again, do children ever fully do that with their parents until they’re already gone?
“Well, whatever Castiel is or wants, I think he’s after me. I got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down, or I can make a stand.”
He can see that Bobby knows he’s not telling him everything, but he doesn’t comment on it.
“Dean, we could use Sam for this.”
Dean strongly disagrees. “He’s better off where he is.”
~o0o~
They get to the barn and do the summoning ritual exactly the way Dean remembers them doing it. And just like last time, it takes a long ass while for the winged bastard to show up.
Dean’s sitting on an old table, twirling and twisting his knife into it to pass the time. Bobby’s whistling some melody Dean isn’t paying attention to. He’s feeling just as restless about waiting as he remembers he did, but at the same time he’s anxious to see Cas. To meet him for the first time again. He’s honestly not sure what exactly got Cas to rebel in the first place. He’s said before that he did it all for Dean, but Dean’s not sure what exactly he even did in the beginning to make Cas want to go against everything he knew, everything he believed in for his entire existence.
He’s done a lot of shit to Cas, and vice versa, over the years, but something Dean did, the way he acted, must have struck something within Castiel in those early days to make him doubt. To make him end up rebelling. Hell if Dean knows what that thing was, but he figures if it worked once, it’ll work again. So, might as well stick to the script for this one. This is something he isn’t prepared to risk changing.
He takes a breath and looks at Bobby. “You sure you did the ritual right?” When Bobby gives him a pissy look, Dean shrugs. “Sorry.” Then, just to be a little shit, he mumbles, “Touchy, touchy.”
Not even five seconds later, the wind starts playing kickball with the doors and roof, making loud, alarming noises. Practically the whole barn is shaking from the force of it. Both Dean and Bobby stand up, weapons at the ready, and face the entrance.
He can sense Bobby’s tenseness and thinks that maybe he should act more alarmed than he is. Sure, he can feel the adrenaline in his body. His younger instincts tell him to be scared, be prepared, but he knows it’s just Castiel and that he’s not here to hurt them. Still, there’s a jitteriness in his limbs born out of the kind of anxiety you get when facing something unknown. He leans into it, uses it to play his part convincingly.
“Wishful thinking, but maybe it’s just the wind,” Dean quips.
The lightbulbs above them explode in answer, glass shattering around them as the wind picks up even more.
Honestly, that was kinda dramatic of him, Dean thinks, a little amused. He’d always sort of thought that Cas developed a personality after he started doubting heaven, that he was just an empty husk of a mythical being before that, but clearly Dean’s memory doesn’t do his friend justice. He didn’t have to make such a loud entrance. You could argue that it’s to intimidate them, show them what kind of power they’re dealing with, but Dean likes to think that Cas wanted to do it this way just because he could.
The doors unlock, opening by themselves, and in walks Castiel. It’s difficult to get a good look at him at first, the lights still shattering, lightning striking in the background, but as soon as he walks in, and they get a clear view, Dean instinctively raises his shotgun.
He’s a little taken aback by himself since he doesn’t want to hurt his friend, but then he remembers that this isn’t Cas. It’s Castiel, fully powered and invulnerable to the weapon Dean’s body has raised without his permission.
Well, better put my gun where my mouth is, he thinks, just as he and Bobby start shooting Castiel in the chest. Castiel keeps on walking towards them, a determined look on his face, not at all bothered by their attack.
Knowing what he knows now, and seeing the face of his best friend, helps Dean put the fear his younger body carries to the back of his mind. He’d completely forgotten how terrifying Cas was back then, how much it actually scared Dean to see him just walking so determined with this air of pure power around him. The sky was clear when they drove here, there shouldn’t even be any lightning. The forces of nature are literally bending to his will. Dean’s honestly surprised he didn’t shit his own pants the first time he went through this.
With the fear basically being a non-issue now, Dean actually finds himself appreciating the sight. Cas looks fucking badass right now. (Something about the sight makes him feel warm around his neck. What’s up with that?) He wishes smartphones were a thing they used regularly in 2008, because then he could have totally snuck a video of this.
After they’ve shot him a few times to no avail, Dean looks at Bobby to confirm that he’s also giving up on the open-fire plan, and Dean grabs the knife instead. It’s not that he wants to stab Cas, but at the same time he kinda really wants to relive seeing him pulling it out like it’s nothing. Because, hey, if he’s gotta relive it, might as well enjoy it. He knows it won’t hurt Cas anyway.
As he gets a good grip on the handle, Castiel has reached them and rounds in on Dean, looking calm and collected, like he thinks that since they’ve stopped shooting they’re ready to talk. He smells like rain—and in a way that shouldn’t be possible, thunder—something Dean’s always known but hasn’t actively acknowledged to himself before; the scent is so naturally unnatural, and it only adds to this feeling that Castiel is something other , which inexplicably seems to draw Dean in closer. Is it before or after Dean stabs him that he asks the question? Probably doesn’t matter either way.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”
Wonder if he rehearsed that line beforehand. Has Cas always been that theatrical?
Looking at him, Dean notices that his hair is even more fucked up than he’s used to. Also, maybe a bit younger. Did Cas age when he was either low on grace or human? He must have. Dean’s sure he remembers him having a slight hint of wrinkles in the future, just small cracks around his eyes and mouth from all the squinting he does when he’s confused or indignant. Other than that though, he looks the same as Dean remembers. Which is kinda weird. In his memory of this time, he pictures him looking more awkward in his own skin, like it took him a while to get used to having a vessel, but maybe that’s just Dean’s mind remembering things wrong.
Anyway, moving on.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” he replies before he stabs Castiel in the heart. He’s pretty sure that he let go of the knife pretty quickly in the past, but he finds himself holding on to it a little bit longer before he lets go. Castiel, of course, doesn’t react in pain to being stabbed. He simply looks down on the knife in his chest, pulls it out, and drops it to the ground like it was some wayward thread he had just pulled from his coat.
Bobby immediately strikes, but without much effort Castiel deflects the blow, puts two fingers to his temple, and makes him pass out. As Bobby falls to the ground, the angel nonchalantly turns to Dean again, fixing those baby blues on him.
Castiel is watching him like all of this, all of Dean and Bobby’s efforts, are barely anything to him, not even enough of a resistance to be called a fight in his book, and that’s just… Well, Dean has always known that when it comes to strength, Cas has got him beat on all accounts. It’s not even a contest, like comparing a housefly without wings or legs to the power of the sun itself. Dean has always found Cas’ strength and power—mostly when they’re not directed at Dean—to be something awe inspiring, that isn’t new, but getting a repeat performance of this day, getting to see Castiel like this again, but in a new light, it puts this odd thought in Dean’s head…
“Damn, that’s kinda hot.”
A thought he really didn’t mean to say out loud.
There’s a flair of something going through Castiel’s eyes. Something familiar. “We need to talk, Dean.” He pauses briefly. “Alone.”
Yeah, Cas must have definitely always been this dramatic.
Not knowing how to play this, he crouches down to ‘check’ on Bobby. He knows he’s okay, Castiel never hurt him, but Dean doesn’t know what to do, how to handle this situation. He really should have made a plan beforehand that wasn’t just ‘do what you did last time’, because even though some part of him is having an uncanny knack for knowing what he said and did in the past, the weird feeling of constantly experiencing not-actually-déjà-vu really seems to throw him off his game.
Cas is busying himself with the book they wrote down the summoning in, casually saying, “Your friend is alive.”
Dean looks up at him. “Who are you?”
Without looking at Dean, he answers, “Castiel”
Yeah, no fucking shit. Even if Dean wasn’t from the future, he did summon the bastard. He knows his name is Castiel.
“Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, what are you?”
Cas finally looks at him. “I’m an angel of the lord.”
The feeling of looking into his eyes is so familiar it kind of aches. This isn’t Cas. This is Castiel. He has to remember that. He slowly rises to his feet without breaking eye contact. A part of him is playing the role, but another part of him is finding it funny to say, “Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.”
Castiel faces him fully, his voice solemn. “This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”
The last time Cas said those words, and the shadow of his wings appeared behind him, Dean felt frightened. Shaken to his core, because his world was being turned upside down. This time, Dean looks at them in awe and misery. Cas had been this powerful being. Full of determination and faith. Until he put that faith in Dean. Until he lost those majestic wings and got into a bunch of shit, all because of him. The boom of the thunder surrounding them from the lightning illuminating the wings’ shadow doesn’t even make him flinch this time.
“Some angel you are,” he says, but it doesn’t come out as something sarcastic like it did when he first said it. It comes out quiet, sad, like an apology for a future Castiel hasn’t yet lived. He doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, he truly meant to play his part as the indignant, disbelieving hunter who doesn’t even believe in God for the time being.
Trying to save face, Dean thinks of what general conversation they had the last time. Can’t bring up Pamela, that didn’t happen. What else…
“So, what, you’re some sort of holy tax accountant?” He gestures to the suit and tie in front of him.
Castiel looks down at his clothes.
“This? This is…” He takes a breath. “A vessel.”
Dean hasn’t even thought of Jimmy before now, but possession, ‘consensual’ or not, strikes a cord within him, making him sneer out his response without missing a beat. “You’re possessing some poor bastard?”
Weirdly enough, Castiel tilts his head quizzingly.
“He’s a… devout man. He actually prayed for this.”
That’s… odd. Castiel seems so hesitant in his answers. It’s been years since this happened to Dean in the first place, but he could have sworn that Castiel didn’t say things so… reluctantly.
Something’s off about this. “Look, pal, I’m not buying what you’re selling. So who are you, really?”
Castiel’s brows furrow along with his continuing head tilt. Did the action ever give him a crick in his neck when he was human?
“I told you.”
“Right, and why would an angel rescue me from hell?”
“Good things do happen, Dean.”
Dean snorts an unamused laugh, which only seems to puzzle Castiel even more.
“Not in my experience.”
Castiel walks closer to him. All the way up in his personal space. Dean sees his hand twitching as if he was about to reach out to him. Which… huh. He doesn’t remember him doing that.
Castiel glances down at his hand, then up at Dean again.
“You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” he observes with a sad tilt to his voice.
This is wrong. Dean’s memory is far from perfect, but Castiel wasn’t sad for Dean. He was confused, maybe even curious or a little annoyed. How far off script has Dean been to get that reaction? And why does it feel like he’s tearing up?
With an embarrassingly choked voice, Dean asks, “Why’d you do it?”
Castiel holds up a hand and wipes the traitorous tear from his face, taking Dean by surprise. It’s a brief touch, just a thumb gently swiping across the skin below his eye once. It only lasts a second, and then the hand is gone, slowly returning to hang by the angel’s side, but the feeling of the fleeting touch lingers on his cheek like a brand. They’re still looking into each other’s eyes. Castiel’s gaze shifts over his face, like it’s searching for something. Their conversation has been so familiar, so much like the first time they had it, but something’s different. Something’s not how it’s supposed to be.
“You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” Castiel repeats quietly, looking down. It’s a near-silent whisper, almost like the thought wasn’t intended to be voiced, but Dean hears it clear as day from how quiet the barn is and how close they’re standing. Dean’s breath catches in his throat. That’s not what he said before. Last time he told Dean that God had ordered it, or whatever. This isn’t right, but it has to be…
“Cas?” Dean whispers, a small ember blooming in his chest.
Castiel, no, Cas, looks sharply up at him.
“Dean?” He looks confused, but almost… hopeful?
Well, here goes nothing. “Did a guy named Chuck command you to do it?”
Cas’ eyes light up at his words. “ Dean ,” he breathes out in relief, immediately pulling Dean into a bruising hug that they both melt into instantly.
He can’t believe it. This is Cas. Not Castiel. His Cas. They cling to each other tightly, as if they might evaporate if they let go. Even when they separate, they’re still holding on to each other’s arms. When he looks at Cas, feeling stable and secure for the first time since he got here, he sees that Cas suddenly has an unhappy frown on his face, which confuses and alarms Dean immensely.
“Cas?”
“If you’re you you, then why did you stab me?”
… Is he being fucking serious right now?
Dean stares at him, eyes wide and disbelieving that this is what he’s focusing on right now. “What do you mean why did I stab you? How the hell was I supposed to know you were you you? I was just playing along!”
Cas looks at him like Dean just pissed in his celestial cereal, then rolls his eyes like the little shit that he is.
“You could have just asked, Dean”
Dean scoffs, “How would I even start that conversation, Cas? I just woke up in the shallow grave that you resurrected me in and went with the flow! No one else remembers anything so I just assumed I was the only one!”
Cas seems to deflate a little at that.
“I suppose that’s understandable. I think I came to around the same time as you. I was about to contact you at the gas station when you left and I remembered how much it hurt you when I tried to talk to you with my true voice.”
Dean looks at him skeptically. “So, what? You just decided to wait until I summoned you?”
“Yes. Like you, I assumed the part of my past self to not raise suspicion upon my peers. Though pretending to believe what I once did has proven to be… a pain in the ass, as you would say.”
Dean exhales a sharp laugh. “Yeah, I can imagine. I wouldn’t wanna be around those dicks either.”
“I was also confused as to why things are different this time. Pamela didn’t contact me, but I thought that could be a ripple effect from me not trying to talk to you. I started suspecting you when you said things you didn’t the last time.”
Dean’s ears start to heat up in embarrassment. Shit, Cas heard that comment about him being hot, didn’t he?
He lets go of his hold on Cas and takes a step back to try and save face. If Cas brings up that comment he might just die on the spot. Even Dean was surprised by it. He has no idea where it came from, so he sure as hell can’t explain it. But it’s not that weird a thought, right? He’s seen women hit on Cas before, he can acknowledge when a guy is good looking. Dean has eyes, for fuck’s sake. It’s just… not something that’s supposed to be an outside thought. He just got his wires crossed for a second, that’s all.
With his neck feeling slightly warmer than usual, he rubs it awkwardly and looks around. After some silence, he clears his throat. “So, what’s the plan here, Cas? How are we gonna find a way back?”
Cas sighs deeply. “I’m not sure if I even know how to get back, let alone how we got here in the first place. We’re not just visiting the past, we are our past, so to speak.”
“Uh… well,” Dean says sheepishly.
Cas squints at him. “What did you do, Dean?”
He holds up his hands defensively. “Nothing! I mean, I was hunting this witch, right? And she was chanting all kinds of stuff when I offed her. And now, here we are.”
After holding Dean hostage under his scrutinizing gaze while he thinks it over, Cas exhales explosively. “Well, then. With no knowledge of the spell they were casting, it’s going to be difficult to find a way to counteract it. I will see what I can do to get us back, but in the meantime… perhaps we should prepare ourselves to stay, for the time being.”
Dean nods, looking down. Alright, doesn’t sound like they have much of a choice then. “What if we can’t find a way back? Do we tell the others the truth?”
He’s not sure how he feels about not going back, but he’s a realist. He needs to plan for all possible outcomes. He’s been silently debating himself whether or not he should do it, and if he did, how and when he should. But Dean’s not really sure of anything right now. Except for the fact that he’s not alone in this, and that if they have to do it all over again, he’s fucking ecstatic that he doesn’t have to start over with Castiel, but instead gets to have Cas by his side.
“Whether or not we can get back, I think… I think we should wait,” Cas says, studying the sigils Dean and Bobby had drawn on the walls of the barn. “The less people that know, the less likely it is for heaven and hell to know too. If we stay in the past and change too much, then it won’t be our future we get back to. In the case that we can’t get back at all, we will need every advantage we can get if we’re going to successfully stop the apocalypse.”
Right. If they’re staying, then they would at least get another shot at stopping the supposed end of the world.
“But for now, I suggest we lay low, at least until we figure out what our options are,” Cas finishes. Dean nods his agreement, seems the most logical strategy for now, and it’s what they’ve both been doing so far anyway. “And,” Cas quietly adds while looking down at Bobby, “When the time comes to make a decision one way or the other, it will be your call. They’re your family, after all.”
Dean doesn’t like how sad he sounds when he says that. He knows he’s not been the best friend in the world towards Cas, but it breaks his heart that he doesn’t feel like he’s included in the family. There’s an uncomfortable feeling growing in his stomach, rooted in the thought that Cas isn’t even taking his own thoughts into account in all of this, because what about him? Dean steps up to him and holds his jaw in one hand, moving his head so they’re looking at each other. “Cas, they’re your family too. You’re right, we’ll play our cards close to our chest for now.”
Cas nods, which shifts Dean’s hand, reminding him that he never withdrew it after getting Cas’ attention, so he moves it to his shoulder and squeezes it in comfort before he lets it hang limply by his side again. They’re not usually so… touchy with each other. But hey, Cas started it with the swiping of the-tear-that-must-not-be-named, and they’re in a pretty messed up situation. Dean figures he can get away with it.
“Well, I much prefer this family as opposed to my original one. We haven’t been here long, but I’m already growing tired of dealing with the angels.”
Dean chuckles. “Yeah, bunch of dicks. You gonna be okay? I don’t really think I can bring you home or anything right now…”
Cas smiles a little and shakes his head. “No, I suppose not. I’ll be fine. We’ll talk soon, Dean.”
And with that, Cas flies off. The sound of wings flapping and the little gust of wind that comes along with it makes Dean smile. Cas has his wings again. That’s at least one good thing to come out of this. If they end up staying, and they play their cards right, the angels will get to keep them, and the future ‘team free will’ will stop the apocalypse.
But that’s a decision for Later-Dean. Right now, all he has to do is polish up his acting skills and not fuck this up.