Chapter Text
A lone preacher was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, handing leaflets to strangers, asking them if their souls were 'rapture ready'. He wore a plain black suit, probably the same suit he worse every Sunday to church, in an effort to make himself as presentable and approachable as possible.
“Hi, good evening brother, is your soul rapture ready?” he asked a passing man. Like every other person the preacher had come into contact with, the man kept walking. Not even a glance thrown his way, no sign of recognition that he was even standing there.
“Thank you, brother. God bless.” The preacher called after him. Yet another attempt at being as friendly as possible.
Another couple were passing, the preacher tried his luck again.
“Good evening folks, is your soul rapture ready?”, he asked, leaflet stretched out in an open invitation to take one. The man took the leaflet but made no eye contact what so ever. He seemed to just circle around the preacher, taking one as if that would make the preacher stop talking.
“What i'd like to do for you is show you what God's love is for you.” The man shook his head. More polite than most, the preacher thought.
“Okay. God bless.” he said as they walked away.
Dean stepped out of the Impala, duffle bag in hand, locking the door behind him.
The preacher stopped him with a gentle hand up to his chest before Dean could get inside.
“Excuse me, friend?” the preacher asked. Dean glanced at him, slowing his walk to listen to what the preacher had to say.
“Have you taken time out to think about God's plan for you?”, the preacher held up the stack of leaflets he had to his chest, so Dean could see what he was talking about.
Dean stopped, turning around, eyebrows raised. He looked at the leaflets then up at the preacher.
“Too friggin' much, pal.” he replied, turning around so he could get to the door of the motel.
He opened the door, stepping inside.
The preacher looked the man up and down. Perhaps that's him, he thought.
-
“We're talking about the Cult, right?” Dean asked holding his phone up to his ear, using his free hand to peep out the window, making sure the net curtain was covering the window properly, shutting the curtain once he was done.
“As in the Cult?”
“We are.” Castiel confirmed over the phone.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean said walking over to the second window, doing the same with the net and the curtain as the previous. “Why would the demons keep a gun that kills demons?”
A large 12 by 4 passed the corner on which Castiel was standing. He held his free hand up to his ear to try and hear what Dean said but had no luck.
“What?” he shouted through the phone, testing to see if Dean could still hear him. “Wha- Dean, Dean!” he shouted again, proving his theory to be right. Castiel waited until the truck had completely passed before talking again. “I didn’t get that,”he said, a little frustrated. Castiel sighed. Dean chuckled, finding the situation rather amusing.
“You know its kind of funny, talking to a messenger of God on a cell phone.” Dean chuckled again, closing the door to the fridge he was just looking in. He propped his butt up against the counter, fiddling with the counter top that was peeling away. “It's, you know, like watching a Hells Angel ride on a moped.” he finished, smiling to himself.
“This isn’t funny, Dean,” Cas said feeling agitated, “The voice says I'm almost out of minutes.”
“Okay. All right,” Dean said seriously. “I'm telling ya Cas, the mooks would have melted down the gun by now.”
Castiel looked up at a flickering street light across the road from him. “Well, I heard differently.”
Dean walked over to the motel bed, sitting on the edge while Cas spoke in his ear. “And, if its true, and you are still set on the insane task of killing the devil, this is how we do it.”
“Okay. Where do we start?” Dean asked, closing his eyes momentarily due to exhaustion.
Cas perked up. “Where are you now?”
“Kansas City.” Dean answered, leaning over to the bedside table to get a look at the motel key chain. “Century Hotel, room 113.”
“I'll be there immediately.” Cas said, going to hang up.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean interrupted. “No, come on man, I just drove like 16 hours straight. Okay? I''m human and there's stuff I gotta do.”
Cas scrunched up his eyebrows, confused. “What stuff?”
“Eat, for example, in this case sleep.” Cas nodded in understanding, then realised Dean was miles away and couldn’t actually see him. “I just need like four hours once in a while, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. So you can 'pop' in tomorrow morning.”
“Yes. I'll just-”
Dean abruptly hung up.
Castiel looked at the phone, surprised Dean would hang up and not say goodbye. “Wait here then.”
-
Buzz, Buzz, Buzz, Buzz.
Dean was pulled out of the, frankly nice dream he was having, reaching out to grab his phone and answering. “Damn it, Cas, I need to sleep.” he grumbled, voice laced with sleep.
“Dean, it's me.” Came Sam's voice through the phone. Dean's eyes shot open. “Sam?” he asked, as if not believing his brother was actually on the other end of the line. He glanced at the clock, realising the time, changing his mood from shock to annoyance.
“It's quarter past 4.”
“This is important.” Dean rolled his eyes.
-
Dean opened the fridge to reveal the 6 pack of beer he put in there upon arriving, “So you're his vessel, huh?” he said, grabbing one of beer's and closing the fridge behind him. “Lucifer's wearing you to the prom.”
“That's what he said.”
“Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh Sammy?” He said, peeking through the curtain onto the street below.
“So that's it? That's your response?” Sam asked, confused.
“What're you looking for?” Dean replied.
“I don’t know, a-a little panic, maybe?”
“Well I guess I'm a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point.” Dean took a swig of
the beer he was holding, still trying to wake up properly.
“What are we gunna do about it?” Sam asked.
“What do you wanna do about it?”
“I want back in, for starters.”
“Sam-” Dean moved back over to the counters, leaning his arms and torso up against the fridge.
“I mean it.” Sam voiced, “I'm sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches.” He took a deep
breath. “I'm gunna hunt him down, Dean.”
“Oh, so we're back to revenge then, are we? Yeah, cos that worked out so well last time.” he said,
rolling his eyes.
“Not revenge.” Sam stated calmly. “Redemption.”
“So what? You're just gunna walk back in and we're gunna be the dynamic duo again?” Dean asked, confused why Sam hadn’t thought this through.
“Look Dean, I can do this. I can.” Sam spoke stubbornly. “I'm gunna prove it to you.”
Silence. Dean breathed through his nose, calming himself before he replied.
“Look, Sam.” His voice sounded tired as he spoke, not the kind of tired that can be cured with sleep. “It doesn't matter.” He said, walking over to the single sofa chair in the corner. “Whatever we do.” He sighed, closing his eyes, sitting down.
“I mean, it turns out that you and me we're the-” he adjusted his position, leaning back, resting his arm on the chair rest. “The fire and the oil of the Armageddon.” He smiled to himself as he spoke, putting the beer bottle next to him on the counter. “Ya'know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere.” He paused, collecting himself. “Stay away from each other, for good.”
Sam cut Dean off before he said anything else. “Dean. It doesn’t have to be like this. We can fight it.”
“Yeah, you're right, we can.” Sam started to smile. “But not together.” That smile went as fast as it came. Dean's words hitting him as he understood just what his brother was saying.
Dean leaned forward in the chair, using his elbow to prop himself up. “We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker... because whatever we have between us... love family, whatever it is, they are always, gunna use it against us, and you know that.”
Sam stayed silent.
Dean leaned back again, a lump forming in his chest, threatening to move into his throat.
“We're better off apart.” He continued, closing his eyes, keeping his breathing under control. Convincing himself just as much as Sam with the words that were coming from his mouth.
“We've got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing...” his lip quivered, the lump moving into his throat now wanting to escape his lips. “... if we just go our own ways.”
Sam's eyes became glossy, tears building up as he said “Dean, don't do this.” But in his heart, Sam knew Dean had already made up his mind. This was it.
Dean stayed silent for a moment longer, wanting to just stay in this moment for as long as he could before he said goodbye, he knew it' be a long time before. He took a deep breath, swallowed back the lump, dreading saying the words before he even said them. But he knew this was the right thing to do. He knew this was the best way to save everyone.
“Goodbye, Sam.”
He hung up.
-
A horrible smell drifted through the air causing Dean to wake from his slumber. He was lying on the same bed, in the same room, but something was different. Dean's nostrils flared as his eyelids fluttered open.
What the...? Dean thought to himself. His eyes open fully now, looking around the room in complete bewilderment. And then, he noticed.
He was lying on the same bed, yet there was no mattress. He was in the same room, but it had been ransacked and abandoned, a cold breeze coming in from the shattered window opposite him. Dean sat up, looking around the room confused. He took in the chipped off walls that were no longer covered in dingy wallpaper, there were stained, like the kind of stains you'd get in a building that hadn't been touched in years. Dean sits up, swivelled his body round, confused as to what could have happened in the short hours he had been asleep. How long have I been asleep? He thought. Dean's eyes darted all over the room, taking in the chaos. Each time, he was brought back to the window. Something isn't right. He stood up off the bed, walking slowly toward the other side of the room, worry and curiosity filled him as he approached the small window. He yanked back the curtains, peeked his head through the net, stuck his head fully out of the broken window.
He didn’t know where to look first. From as far as he could see, no matter which direction he looked. Chaos. Buildings had fallen down, the tops crumbled and burnt. Streets lamps pulled over and just left in the road. The roads were covered in some sort of slime, blood and mud, bits of furniture thrown out, cars turned over, some looked like they had been burt. Even the sky looked worn out, completely covered with a grey cloud. And silence. The only sound that could be heard was Dean's breathing.
Dean looked to where he parked Baby the previous night, but, as luck would have it, nada.
Great.
-
He walked out onto the streets, fear bubbled inside him. He wasn’t sure if he should run and hide or scope the place out, see what he could find. Dean chose to go with the latter, he slowed his pace, looked around to look at everything around him. He spun in his step, looked back at the motel, taking a few paces backward before turning back, completing a 360 turn.
Dean began to walk down the street, quickening his step a little, noticing the small things just left on the floor; stuff like small gas tanks, chairs, a bat, a desk, more turned over cars etc.
A sudden chill came over him. The feeling someone would get when they feel they're being watched. Dean started to walk faster, turning his head back every so often to check he wasn’t being followed. The more he walked, the more confused he became.
Smash
The sound of broken glass caused Dean to halt completely, his eyes widened as he scanned where the noise came from. He broke into a light jog in that same direction. He slipped down the side of two buildings, coming to a small opening when he stopped.
A small girl, around the age of 6, was knelt over the ground, looking into something on the floor. She was dressed in a mucky grey dress, her dark hair matted like it hadn't been brushed in weeks and her fair skin covered in markings and mud.
Dean looked behind him, back into the view of the main street, then back to the girl.
“Little girl?” He asked, keeping his voice calm so he didn’t scare her. The girl didn’t even look up, no acknowledgement that she even knew he was there. He slouched his body, trying to get a better look at her. “Little girl?” he repeated.
Dean began walking toward her, slowly. “Are you hurt?”
Nothing. Yeah this isn’t creepy at all. He walked closer, and closer until he was next to her, his knees bent over so he didn’t seem intimidating.
“You know the not-talking thing is kinda creepy, right?” He said, voice calm and almost happy sounding.
Then, he noticed the thing the girl had been looking into. Broken glass that had no doubt been a mirror. A droll of blood leaked it's way out of the girls mouth, spilling its way onto the glass.
Suddenly, the girl looked up, grabbing a sharp piece of broke glass, swinging her arm to get a hit at Dean. But Dean was quick, he dodged out of the way. The girl got up, making an human noise, and launch herself at Dean, trying to get a hit. But again, he jumped out the way, she screeched again but Dean cut it short by punching her in the face, sending her falling back ono the propped up mattress.
A sharp pain made itself aware on Dean's side as he tried to turn his body to look behind him. He winced, but then, his attention was drawn to the wall opposite. The word he had heard before that sent a whole town mad with just one drop of blood, and there it was written in that same sticky red substance. Croatoan.
“Oh crap.” Dean muttered.
Just then, a group of more than 10 people walked round the corner. If it wasn’t for the word behind their heads, Dean might've been glad to see them. The guy at the front stopped, turned his head, and looked directly at Dean. Naturally the rest of them followed this action. They all stood there for a moment just looking at him, Dean didn't want to take any chances and began running in the other direction.
He took off, sprinted as fast as he could, rounding the corner onto the main street, knocking over a few trashcans as he did so, not looking back for so much as a second to check if they were following. He knew they were. He ran as fast as he could, dodging the littered objects on the floor to avoid crashing to the ground. Adrenaline started to kick in as Dean ran faster, he managed to create a distance between himself and the Croats, but he didn’t slow down , not for a single second.
He took his chances as he came up to an opening of road with hardly any debris that would cause him to fall. He turned his head to see that the Croats had began to fan out, probably a hunting tack tick of theirs. He came up to a truck, taking a sharp turn behind it to try and lose at least a few of them. But, just his luck he rounded the corner to a dead end. A chain-link fence of all things.
Dean slowed to a stop. He turned to face them, ready to fight, to the death he had too.
The sound of gunshots broke out behind Dean, hitting the Croats in front of him. Dean ducked out of the way behind anything he could in order to not be mistaken for a Croat and therefore shot. He took a quick look behind him while he was out of sight. The army?
Do you love me? Blasted out from some sort of over speakers whilst the guys gunned down the Croats. Dean scrambled further away, he noticed an alley way and toke his chances. Every once in a while he would stop, just for a moment, and look at the guys, more and more pouring out of the tanks from behind the fence.
Dean managed to stumble away without getting shot or jumped on by a Croat. He hid away in an alley until it was safe to emerge.
Dean didn't want to make the same mistake as last time, so he waited until nightfall before making a break for it.
It was just light enough for Dean to be able to see where he was going. He used a metal piece of scrap from the floor and began digging under the fence. Once there was enough of a hole to mpve the fence, he pulled, creating a gap that he could crawl through.
He came to a stumbled stop when he noticed the sign. It read:
CROATOAN
VIRUS
HOT ZONE
---------------------------
NO ENTRY
BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND
AUGUST 1ST 2014
KANSAS CITY
Ord. 848243/43QE
“August 1st, 2014?” Dean muttered allowed. How in the hell is that possible? Not knowing what else to do, he continued walking forward. Car. Dean thought. I need a car.
Hot-wiring a car was easy for Dean. He'd been doing it for years, finding one with gas was going to be difficult though. As he walked through a crappy yard, he realized he wouldn't have to look very far. Half a tank would have to do.
-
In the car Dean tried his luck with signal, he held up his cell to the roof of the car he'd high-jacked. Nothing. He switched on the radio, but instead of the soft sound of music, he found static.
“That's never a good sign.” He grunted.
Not knowing what else to do, he just drove. The sun had now completely set which meant that Dean had to drive in the darkness. Not that he minded, it was just a pain in the ass when you were in an apocalyptic time-frame, 5 years into your own future.
A soft sound of feathers fluttering came from beside him. Dean looked to his right in panic, swerving the car slightly. Freakin' Angels. “Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia.”
Dean hit the palm of his hand against the steering wheel, his 'bitch face' made itself known, as he continued to look ahead, eyes on the road. Zachariah.
“I thought I smelled your stink on this 'back to the future' crap.”
Zachariah ignored his snarky resort, continuing to read from the newspaper he had in his hand.
“President Palin defends bombing of Houston.” Zachariah said as he turned the page, scanning for more articles. “Certainly a buyer's market in real-estate. Let's see what's happening in sports.” He glanced at Dean and smirked.
“Oh, that's right, no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly.” He flicked through the pages again. “What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum if you ask me.”
Dean rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear any of his B.S.
“How did you find me?
“Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late. Human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups.” Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. “They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out.” Then it clicked.
“The Bible freak outside the motel. He, what, dropped a dime on me?”
“Onward, Christian soldiers.”
“Okay, well, good, great.” Dean snarked, “You've had your jollies. Now send me back, you son
of a bitch.”
Zachariah smirked, “Oh, you'll get back. All in good time. We want you to marinate a bit.”
Dean looked at him, confused. “Marinate?”
“Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you.”
Dean shook his head, still not understanding what this was all for. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means that your choices have consequences.” He said, unimpressed. Zachariah shook the paper he was reading to flatten out the pages, turning it so Dean could see what he had been reading.
“This is what happens to the world if you continue to say no to Michael.”
Dean looked at the paper, now understood a little more but was still baffled.
Zachariah sighed once more. “Have a little look-see.”
Dean rolled his eyes. He glanced out of the side window for just a second then turned back to see that the passenger seat was empty. Dean huffed in anger. Great.
He carried on driving, he noticed fires in the fields beside him. Bobby will know what to do.
-
Dean entered Bobby's house, the door was unlocked which could mean the old Croat was inside. But Dean saw the state of the yard outside, he knew Bobby wouldn’t leave it in that mess.
“Bobby?” he called, just in case the older man was home. The last thing he wanted to do was startle him. He toke a step inside but couldn’t see anything that was out of the ordinary. He checked the door to see if there was any forced entry, nada. “Bobby, I'm comin' in.” Nothing seemed to be out of place. Until he entered the living room.
The same amount of clutter littered the room, but there were cobwebs and dust everywhere. Bobby's placed had have to have been untouched for years.
Then Dean noticed the last ting he wanted to see.
Directly in the middle of the room was Bobby's wheelchair, turned on it's side.
“Oh, no.” Dean hushed under his breath. He walked over to it, checking the side door before picking it up. The chair was covered in cobwebs, it was rusty and had a sticky substance on the seat. Blood.
Two bullet holes were struck in the back, dry blood coming from the entrance holes.
No, no, no, no, please no
Dean looked around the room again, eyes wide in confusion and fear. Doubt and dread began to fill his gut.“Where is everybody, Bobby?”
The only place Dean could think of to look for any leads on where the hell everybody was he searched through all the hidden stashes Bobby has scattered around his place. He checked under the fridge, the slat in the stairs under the stairs, hidden spaces behind light switches and hanging lights, floorboards, cabinets, until finally, he looked in the fire place. Jackpot.
A small journal was tucked away inside, articles, research, notes, drawings and photos. One photo caught his eye, it was a group shot that included 3 hunters he had worked a small amount of case on with his Dad, Bobby and Cas. Cas looked different. Human different. They were holding guns, laughing at something someone behind the camera said, They were standing behind a sign that read:
WELCOME TO CAMP CHITAQUA
“Camp Chitaqua.” Dean repeated to himself. That's where he needed to go.
Dean parking the stolen car down the road and walked the last mile, arriving at the camp at late hours. Guards were on patrol, three groups of two covering the outer perimeter, Dean just had to be careful when to sneak in. Walking up to a side gate, hiding in the shadow briefly until the guards passed, peeking through the chain-linked fence taking in the patrollers and a cabin.
“Oh, Baby, no.” he muttered, noticing his beloved car. She had been left and abandoned, over grown weeds around her tires, she was rusty and looked like she had been driven in years. Just left, unloved.
He managed to break through without causing any attention, creeping over to get a closer look.
Her front doors had been ripped off, the windows mucky, stained, the interior peeling away, a musty smell filled her presence.
“Oh, no, Baby. What did they do to you?” he said, hurt lingering his voice as he spoke.
A blunt punch to the head sent him to the ground.
Dean came to with a ringing in his head and a cramp in his wrist. His arm was held up and as he tried to move, he got pulled back. Looking up to see he was handcuffed to a ladder. Looking over to the other side of a room to see a woman reassembling a gun. She was sitting backward on the chair so she was straddling it. Black army boots, baggy denim jeans followed by a grey worn out top, it actually looked really familiar Dean. A brown leather jacket to complete her get-up. Her dark, curly hair tied up in a messy bun. Her skin tanned, scratches visible on her neck and jaw.
“What the hell?” he yelled.
“I should be asking that question don't cha think?” she snarked, voice low, threatening. “In fact,” she said, cocking the gun, pointing it straight at Dean. “Why don’t you give me one good reason why I shouldn't shot you right here and now?”
Dean have the women a quick look up and down. “This how you greet all your guests?” he remarked.
She raised her eyebrows, tilting her head like he'd said something amusing. “Only the ones I catch breaking and entering.”
He gave her a look, taking a deep breath. “Would you please just-”, he pleaded, gesturing with his free hand at her to lower the gun.
“I know you're not a Croat.” she barked, not shouting exactly but loud enough to make Dean jump. He raised his free arm in surrender. She held the gun in place. “So tell me...”
“Dean. I-I'm Dean.”
“Dean. Why'd you break through the side entrance when you coulda' just walked through the front?” she raised her eyebrows, smirk playing on her lips.
Dean kept his arm raised, jabbing his head to the door, “just, admiring your scraps.”
A look of recognition fell across the woman’s face. Her eyes widened as she slowly lowered the gun, not completely but enough for it to go slack in her hold. Her eyes began darting all over the place, as if she was figuring something out, connecting the dots in her mind.
“Oh crap.” she muttered, “Dean?”
Dean lowered his arm, trying to get a read on who this woman was. Do I know her? He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he asked, confused for not the first time today.
“The Dean?” she repeated.
“Do I know you?” he asked her.
She pointed her gun more determined than before, not taking her eyes off of him for a second. Hardly even doing so much as blinking. “No, no,” she hushed, “We've never met.”
“Whoa, whoa, ay, what did I do?” Dean yelled, he yelled dammit he did not whine.
Ok, this is getting weird.
“I've heard stories about you.” She was looking at him as if he was some sort of celebrity. A celebrity she wanted to kill but a celebrity nether the less. “You're Dean Winchester. Cas' Dean, right?”
Dean widened his eyes at that. “Cas?” he asked, a flicker of hope filling him. “Cas is alive?”
Finally, the woman blinked. She stood up placing the gun on the table behind her, turning her chair around only to resume her butt, resting her elbows on her knees. “Just about.” she muttered, loud enough she meant for Dean to hear. Clamping her hands together, resting her fists on her chin.
“I've done all the checks, not a Croat, not a demon or shapeshifter, or even a damn ghost.” She turned and picked up a shotgun, pointing it at him violently. Dean's hands flew up.
“What are you?” she yelled, louder than before.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, okay, okay, listen.” Dean took a deep breath. “This is gunna sound crazy but-”
“What are you?” she boomed again, standing up and walking over to him until the barrel of the gun was digging into Dean's scalp. “You even think about swiping this from me and i'll blow you fricken brains out.”
“I'm from the year 2009.” he gasped out quickly. He honestly believed this woman would kill him.
“You're from the- get outa here. You can't come up with a better lie than that?” she chuckled, but her face hardened the second she let out the slight laughter.
“Dean?” came a voice from behind him. Dean knew that voice. Sensing he was going to turn his head, the woman dug the barrel further. “Don't even think about it,” she flat-panned.
“What're you doin' in here Chuck?” she asked looking at the direction he was stood in. “I'm in the middle of an interrogation.”
“Yeah, I can see that, how about you put the gun down and listen to what he has to say.”
Chuck must've hypnotised her or something because she was removing the gun and taking a few steps back. “The cuffs stay on,” she said, walking further back, putting the gun down then sitting back on the chair.
Chuck walked in front of Dean, looking at him with wide eyes, almost sad-like.
“You did all the checks, right?” he muttered in the direction behind him, moving his head slightly but not taking his eyes off of him.
“Yeah,” she sighed, “All clear.”
Chuck breathed out a sigh of relief, running a hand down his face, his eyes turning glossy. He shook his head like he couldn't believe Dean was sat right in front of him.
Dean looked at him, confused as to why Chuck was acting this way. “What's goin' on Chuck?” he asked, trying not to worry.
Chuck's eyes widened, he turned around, “Cas doesn’t know yet, does he?”, his eyes pleading to the other woman.
“No, I only just found out myself.”
“Can someone please, tell me what the hell is going on!” This time, it was Dean who was doing the yelling.
Chuck turned around in surprise, his eyes blood-shoot.
“Oh god,” he breathed, “Okay.” he muttered to himself, “just gunna come out with it bluntly.” He shuffled on his feet, “you died, Dean.”
Dean was taken back. There was no way. That had to be some mistake. “Where's Sam?” he asked, Sam would understand, he would clear this whole thing up “I wanna talk to Sam.”
Chuck sighed again. “Crap.” he muttered under his breath.
“Sam should know I'm here.” Dean demanded.
“He's not here.” The other woman answered for Chuck.
Chuck began pacing, running his fingers through his hair as he walked. He seemed agitated, the man really didn't handle stress well.
Dean's eyes darted back and forth between them, waiting for an explanation.
Dean hung his head, his arm tugging on the cuffs making them rattle. “Where is he?” he whispered.
Chuck stopped to look at him. Pity filling his voice.
“He uh- he said yes, Dean.”
Dean snapped his head up. “No,” he grumbled. “No, no, no, no, no.”
“We should tell Cas.” the woman stated, absolute no expression on her face. “He deserves to know.”
Dean just hung his head, he slumped completely over. He just stared at the floor.
He said yes? “Cas is only just getting better.” How could he do that? He promised. He promised to say no, to not let any of this happen. “He deserves to know, I've heard what they went through, what Cas went through, he should know.” Does that mean I said yes too? Is that how I died? How did the woman not know me straight away if I had been here. “You didn't see them together, Cas was there when it happened, he held him until he died.” How long have I been dead? Why did it effect Cas so much? What the hell has Zachariah gotten me into? What was the damn point of this? “They were practically married, he deserves to know Chuck.” Three days, Just survive three days and I'll be fine, I'll be with Cas and it'll be fine. “Dean was different back then, he doesn’t remember a thing. I think it might have been the angels.” Maybe I could call Sam? Tell him I was sorry? No, no that'll just make things worse. “Would you want to know if you were in Cas' position?” Why are they talking like it's their decision. Why are they talking like I'm not here.
“Maybe you should let Cas decide.” Dean mumbled.
Chuck sighed, untying the cuffs as he said, “A lot has changed since your time.”
Dean let his hand drop into his lap.
“Take me to him.” Dean muttered.
“Dean, he's fragile.” Chuck answered. “He took your death hard okay? He won't be what you remember, everything is different.”
“Nothing you're saying is making any sense.” Dean breathed, Maybe this is a dream?Maybe I'm just sleep deprived.
“I won't listen or do anything you tell me until I speak to him.” He voiced stubbornly. Collecting himself he stood up. He breathed and swallowed back a strange feeling in his chest. Dean looked Chuck straight in the eye, “Take me to him,” he pleaded. “Please.”
The walk to Cas' cabin was long. Like Dean had been walking all day just get himself to somewhere he felt safe. Chuck knocked on the door, nudging Dean to the side a little. “Let me talk to him for a second first?”
“Yeah?” Cas' voice came from the other side of the door. Dean scrunched his eyebrows up in confusion. That does not sound like Cas. “Cas?” Dean mouthed to Chuck. Chuck nodded, “You decent buddy, I need to talk to you. It's important.”
“Yeah, come in.”
Chuck pushed open the wooden door. Screw it, Chuck thought.
“There's someone here to see you.” Chuck glanced at Dean, a silent motion for him to step inside for Cas to see him. He did. Cas was sat with his feet up on a coach, smoking some sort of pipe. He was in baggy well worn clothes, his hair ruffled and longer than Dean remembered, Dean scrunched up his nose, sniffing slightly, a strong smell of Marijuana hitting Dean's nose.
Cas sat up in a flash, his eyes wide. Like he was seeing ghost. Shit, maybe this was a-
“Dean?”