Chapter Text
To say the situation had gotten out of control would be a bit of an understatement. It had gone to shit, no other way to put it.
He can feel the blood cracking on his face as Dean helps him carry their Dad up the steps and to the ground floor of the barn, Dad having lasted just long enough to see him dripping in demon blood before passing out again. Three out of four demons are laying dead on the floor and Meg is out cold – that had taken some real restraint but he wasn’t about to start another time paradox that killing her would cause.
He hefts his Dad’s arm higher on his shoulders, out cold most likely from shock – either of being sliced up by Meg or Sam’s little magic show he can’t really tell. If he’s lucky they can chalk this whole thing up to a blood loss hallucination. Why he even bothers trying to prevent the entire time line from imploding at this point is anyone’s fucking guess.
Of course he can feel Dean’s gaze flickering over their Dad to him every few steps and he knows that luck isn’t a Winchester trait.
“We got to keep moving, if this is a hide out there’ll probably be more demons coming around soon,” He explains as they haul their Dad out through the doors and into the cool night air.
Farmland if Sam had to guess, the barn looking particularly forgotten and he can just make out some cows on the neighboring hill. There’s tress to their backs though and that will have to make due until they can figure out how to get back into town and their Dad can hold his own weight.
“C’mon,” He adjusts his grip and they fall into a matching pace together, Dean nodding in agreement when he sees Sam’s gaze on the tree line.
Carrying Dad through the forest isn’t his idea of a good time but they make it work, going at a slow pace as the lack of trail threatens to take their feet out from under them at any moment. They need to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the barn though, and a sprained ankle is worth it if it means they don’t get a repeat of the past few hours. Meg could wake up at any time.
After an hour of walking they find a rocky outcrop. It’s not great but there’s a low stream running near by and its enough shelter he can do some decent sigils on to hide them from whatever might come looking. They lay their Dad down inside and Sam immediately gets to work, slicing open his palm and tracing the protective runes around the outcrop before laying a devil’s trap at the mouth of the opening. It’s not full proof but it’s the best he can do without any gear and he suspects that the likelihood of anyone following them after his little stunt is low anyway.
Dean’s still inside with their Dad and he leaves them there, heading to the stream to try and clean himself up. His knees hit the dirt and he glances down at the glittering reflection just barely visible in the full moon. Blood. He’s absolutely drenched in it.
His stomach turns and he dips his face down, pooling the water in his ands before bringing it up to scrub roughly at his face. It’s a disgusting sight, one he’s familiar with but thought was long behind him. He can feel the dull thrumming of power in his veins, a reminder that even if he can wash the blood off there’s no way to reverse what he’s done. He fell off the bandwagon. Lost his sobriety chip. Drank demon blood.
If only Dean could see him now, kneeling over a river in the middle of the forest at night and splattered with blood. A monster. He scowls and scrubs harder at his hands to try and fade the crimson staining his skin. Like that will somehow make it better. Like he can ever be really clean.
Dean’s sitting outside the outcrop when he finally heads back, head up towards the stars that are just visible through the thick tree line.
“So,” Sam murmurs, sitting down on the other side of him. “You okay? Meg didn’t get a stab in while I wasn’t looking?”
Dean shakes his head. “No, you had that whole thing pretty under control.”
“Yeah about that –“
“So is this just what our lives are? You keeping a shit ton of secrets? Because I thought you were supposed to be up front with me, Sam?” Dean keeps his eyes firmly on the trees, hands fisting in his jacket. “Because I have no idea what the fuck happened back there. Lucifer? The – the blood shit? You some kind of vampire, Sammy?”
“No.” He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the rock because even at this age he can’t stand to see Dean’s disappointment. “It’s a long story.”
“Yeah, I bet. So this whole thing with Lucifer, he’s got some kind of cosmic connection with you? The fucking devil himself has his eyes on my little brother?”
“There’s a lot of predestined stuff you don’t know about yet.”
“And I’m just supposed to sit back and let it happen? I don’t have any control over my life – over your life? C’mon Sam, you can’t fucking expect me to just sit back and let whatever the hell you were talking about back there happen. I swear to god I’ll ice Lucifer before he touches you!”
“I know – Dean it’s okay. We have it taken care of in my time,” He murmurs, reaching a hand out to rest on Dean’s back.
“And… and what about the blood thing?”
“That's a little more complicated,” He sighs. “Azazel is waiting to try and break the seals because he’s betting on a group of special children he’s set up. He wants a fight to the death when they grow up and the winner will open up the gates of hell and start setting in motion what needs to happen for Lucifer to be freed. I’m one of those kids.”
Dean stares at him with those achingly familiar green eyes, face hard and lip stiff as he takes it all in. “So my Sam – he’s gonna have to fight? How do we win?”
“Win?” Sam asks, surprised. “What? No – we don’t fight. We say no to Azazel and try and stop him.”
He knows his brother loves him but he still is a little shocked by the depth even now. Right now, with Dean still here after watching him drink demon blood and explain that he’s a cursed child, his brother’s first reaction is how they can beat the other kids to make sure Sam survives.
“So you have these powers? Why haven’t you been using them? Might have been a bit helpful back at the motel to stop things before they start.”
“I don’t have powers, Dean – my Dean – he didn’t like me using them. I didn’t like me when I was using them. They’re a dark power and I never asked for them… I haven’t done this in a very long time.”
Dean frowns, reaching over to take Sam’s hand. “You did it for Dad.”
“You and Dad,” He murmurs, leaning back against the rock. “Can’t exactly go around completely fucking up the timeline.”
Dean snorts, tugging Sam up so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders. It’s a snug fit but comforting to press against each other in the cool air. “Yeah, just did it for the timelines.”
“Shut up, I do have to think ahead a bit.”
“You used your magic powers to save us, don’t pretend you’re all high and mighty King Sam.”
“Bite me.”
Some of the tightness in his chest loosens as he grins at Dean but it constricts again when he hears the rustling behind them. They move apart immediately, Dean lounging against the side of the outcrop and Sam sitting in the dirt across from him; this song and dance muscle memory even if it’s been years since they’ve had to be constantly alert to someone walking in on them.
Dad drags himself out from under the rock and glances at both of them, eyes methodically working over their bodies in a familiar search for injuries. He crosses his arms when he doesn’t find any, leaning against a tree as he takes Sam in.
The quiet feels suffocating. Sam knows what Dad told Dean before he died and he really would rather not know if his father would actually pull the trigger himself when truly faced with the decision.
“So. What are you?”
Sam’s lips purse, hackles already rising defensively. “I’m not a monster.” He’s pretty sure most people don’t have to say that as often as he seems to, even without the blood.
“Not saying you are. But you’re definitely something, that was some powerful shit you pulled back there.” Dad says, every word carefully measured. Like he’s watching him for something.
“Azazel… did something to me as a baby. I’m pretty sure you suspect that already.”
He nods slowly, the tension balanced between them but one wrong move and someone will fall. “And that thing you did to the demon- with the blood. You drank it.”
“Yeah,” He sighs. “I know it’s gross, but it’s just how this thing works. Nature of the beast. Blood magic is one of the most powerful forms of ritual witchcraft and this works on a similar principal,” He doesn’t know why he’s babbling like this. Knows that out of everyone on Earth his Dad is probably the least likely to want to know the logic behind his demonic powers.
He clenches his fists to try and ease some of the nerves. He’s not fifteen, he’s not a kid anymore, he shouldn’t feel this helpless looking at the man in front of him.
“So this is how Amanda knew about you? Because of your powers?”
“No! No, I don’t use them. This was the first time in years that I’ve done it. I might have them but I choose not to use them,” He repeats the same spiel he told Dean, knowing how weak it sounded with no proof except Sam’s blood dripping mouth in the barn.
Speaking of Dean – he glances over where he’s nervously watching, most likely debating on if he should intervene or not. He shakes his head minutely, knowing that if they’re going to continue to work together Dad needs to get this out of his system.
“It’s just a side effect of what Azazel – Yellow Eyes – did to me. I’m human, and I don’t let them control me or who I am.”
Dad nods again, eyeing Sam with a heavy look he can’t decipher. “And Lucifer? You’re marked by him? Did Yellow Eyes do that to you too?”
He can hear the implication, that Sam somehow invited Lucifer down to use his body like some sort of teenage Satanist and he grits his teeth. “Angels don’t look like humans. They’re like demons, they need a host when they’re on earth. Except they’re angels so they can’t just go around possessing people, they need permission.” He realizes the mistake as soon as the words leave his lips.
Dad’s lip curls. “And you gave Lucifer permission?”
“No, not like that. Fuck, just listen to me for a second,” He runs a hand through his hair, fingers sliding through crusted blood. “They can’t just be any human, not if the angel wants to wear them for an extended period of time. If they take over just anyone then the host burns up and the angel is left trying to get a new vessel. But there are certain bloodlines that can handle being possessed by an angel… We’re one of them.”
Dad just stares at him and he knows he’s going overboard on being technical but this is what he does when he’s nervous. He talks and tries to explain out things that he has some control over. Like somehow explaining the logistics of angel possession will make his Dad suddenly understanding and he won’t have to look his father in the eye as he realizes what a monster he is. Judging by Dad’s stony face across from him he’s going to say it’s not likely.
Dean gives him an encouraging smile but he can see all this angel stuff is making his brother a little wide eyed. He doesn’t know if that’s because he believes it or thinks Sam’s just crazy but it’s nice to know he’s supportive either way.
“So I’m not just a good match for an angel to possess, I was made specifically to be a vessel for Lucifer. Archangel’s are another level of power and they need special vessels to hold their forms. So, I’m like a custom made suit that’s finally fully grown. That’s why Lucifer most likely became active, he probably sensed me as soon as I got here.”
“Sam,” Dad finally says, voice haggard as he steps forward from the tree. He just looks tired; not murderous which Sam takes as a good sign. “What kind of fucked up life are you living in the future?”
Sam laughs, and even to his own ears it sounds slightly hysteric. “The kind of life you made us for, Dad.”
Dad doesn’t seem particularly pleased with that but they don’t have time for this. “We have to keep moving if you’re feeling up to it? Looks like we’re getting near hiking trails so a road shouldn’t be that far off.”
“Right, hopefully those assholes didn’t bring us too far. I really don’t want to car hop to the motel.” Dean sighs, shoving his hands in his pajama pockets as he squints out at the tree line. “Pretty thick trees, could be close to the pacific at this point.”
“We’ll flag down a ride and you guys can take it into the closest town. Hot wire a car to get you back.”
“That’s funny. You say that like you aren’t coming with us which I know can’t be true because that’s absolute bullshit,” Dean says pointedly, tone leaving no room for argument. And if he were a few decades younger it would absolutely work. But he’s not. His own Dean is dead and he’s had enough of the heavy stare his dad keeps laying on him. He only has a few more hours to get someplace private.
“I have some things I need to take care of.” He says simply. Dad’s being quiet and he doesn’t know if that means he also wants some space or if he wants him to stay so he can keep an eye on him. Make sure the blood drinking thing wasn’t a habit.
“Sam you cannot be serious- we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere and all our stuff is back at the motel – “
“And you guys can keep my duffle safe for me until I get back. Just stuff it in the back of the Impala, no big deal.”
“Sam,” Dad starts but it’s weak and Sam’s already following the path downstream. Or at least attempting to when he smells the sudden hint of sulfur in the air. His gun is drawn before Dean and Dad even realize they have a fourth member in their party.
“Well, perfect timing. No need to walk Sam I can give you a lift,” Crowley says, eyeing the forest floor like it was particularly offensive.
“Christ!” Dad whips around, fumbling for his gun but Sam is already lowering his.
“What do you want, Crowley?”
“Not so much want, but we don’t exactly have much of a choice with your little show back there – one for the theatrics are we, Sam?”
Sam grits his teeth, it a bit unfortunate out of everything to be exactly the same it's Crolwey. “We didn’t have a choice, Meg was going to kill us.”
“Ah well let’s just clear that up with Azazel – oh wait we fucking can’t. Because the hoards of hell have already decided that your performance tonight was as good as a crowning ceremony!”
“It wasn’t like that,” Dean growls, “he was protecting us!’
“No, he attacked and bested – what did you call her? Meg? – Azazel’s daughter and right hand bitch. Oh and not just that, drank from a demon and called upon the powers of hell to do it. It’s a rallying cry if Hell has ever heard one. But don’t worry about that, no, you should be a little more concerned about what Azazel’s next move is now that he’s backed into a fucking corner!” Crowley hisses, jabbing a finger into Sam’s chest. “Our only move now is to go down to hell and make a stand.”
“I’m not starting a revolution.” Sam snarls, pushing his hand away.
“You’re not – we don’t have a choice Sam! You decided to play this game and now you have to end Azazel before the apocalypse starts. You out of everyone here should know why we can’t have that.”
“If I go down there and take over hell it’ll completely change the future and De – everyone’s sacrifices in my time will mean nothing! I’m not about to change the world when we have other options – I’m going to figure this out Crowley.”
Crowley’s gaze is ice cold. “When Lucifer walks free it’ll be on you.”
And then he was gone.
….
Sam prides himself on his brains.
He might not be as fast, big, or strong as Dean but he’s got a quick mind. He can count more than one occasions where he noticed something small in a case that ended up saving lives. A few counselors have even said he might be Ivy League material.
Needless to say they probably won’t be letting him into Harvard after this whole shit show.
“Sam,” Dean’s voice is soft and soothing just like it’s been for the past fifteen minutes through Amanda’s bathroom door but he’s not having it.
“G’way.” He mumbles into his arms, curled up against the clawfoot bath as he tried to figure out if he’d always been an idiot of if one too many hits on the head had made him this way.
“You didn’t know, Sammy. You heard Amanda – she barely remembers it too. It’s not your fault.”
“I forgot that my Dean was hurt – how could I just forget that – “ He huffs, eyes red rimmed but he refuses to start crying again because he isn’t a baby. And he’s pretty sure Dean might actually break the door in if he hears him sniffling.
“Sammy,”
He can hear Dean’s sigh through the door and it makes his heart hurt but he can’t leave. He’s been here, messing around with this future Dean while his Dean, Dad, and Bobby were dealing with Amanda. He walked right into Toni’s hands and just kept getting distracted.
There’s a crack and apparently he really underestimated what Dean would break down a door for before the hinges groan at the same time as Amanda’s shriek and then he’s there, pushing open the broken door to kneel down in front of him.
“Hey, we aren’t going to do this.” Dean murmurs but Sam can’t look at him, gaze firmly fixed on where the ugly floral wallpaper meets the baseboard.
“Sammy.” And that’s the Dad voice, only ten thousand times stronger because it’s now all deep and gruff and does something to Sam’s insides where he has no choice but to lift up his head.
“It’s not your fault.” Dean says, firm but gentle as he touches his cheek. “If there’s one thing you gotta learn in this life kiddo, it’s to only be guilty about the stuff you actually have control over.”
“I should have been there – “
“- You couldn’t, because Amanda and her little weird assistant sent you here. You were taken Sam. You didn’t go willingly.”
It doesn’t help what happened but it’s a small bit of comfort that at least allows him to be guided out of the bathroom under Dean’s arm.
“We done throwing our little fit then?” Amanda asks coolly, lounging on her chair. She’s doing a good job of acting unbothered but Sam can see the little crescent moon indents in her skin that weren’t there before the door was broken in.
Dean gives her a look as he sits down on the couch, tugging Sam down next to him so their thighs are flush. Dean’s big arm is suddenly draped around his shoulders and his hand resting protectively against Sam’s chest. It’s a little warm in the house suddenly.
“So you’re the one who caused this entire mess?” Dean asks bluntly. “Made me think my brother was dead? Made Sam lose his memories? Mess up an entire fucking timeline? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet through you right now.”
Sam stiffens, the reminder of just how much pain Dean has been through evident in his free hand hovering over his side where he keeps his gun. It's a repeat of Missouri's, this version of his big brother really would just shoot someone, supernatural or not.
“My past self caused this, I’m as in the dark as Sam,” Amanda corrects quickly. “Whatever happened I only know the basics, the spell work that’s been done on our memories is powerful stuff, it’s taken me years to even string together the basics.”
“That guy with you was that powerful of a warlock?” Sam asks curiously, thinking back to the blurry memories he has from that night. A silent towering man was about the extent of his impression.
Amanda shrugs. “Bames and I had a strictly professional relationship. It took months for us to be able to figure out how to bring Sam to us from the right time and yet apparently he could work a massive memory charm on all of us. Very little honor among thieves I suppose.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think he did the spell?”
“Who else could have done it? Bames was just a very good liar is all I can come up with, I just have no idea what his motives were.”
“Why can’t you just ask him? Is he dead?”
Amanda rolls her eyes, “A warlock that doesn’t want to be found? At least you can summon the dead, Bames is as good as non existent.”
“Personal disagreement?” Dean asks, a curl to his lips.
“Whatever you’re thinking is not what happened, get your mind out of the gutter.”
“I’m just saying- you said you like to collect things.”
“This has nothing to do with Bames and I. I haven’t seen him in years and even if I knew where he was there’s no way he would tell us what happened. You came here for answers and I gave you Sam’s memories. That’s the best I can do and I’m calling us even.”
This woman couldn’t be serious. “You took me from my family," Sam glares.
“But I’m not the one who did the spell. I’m not a witch, Sam. I can’t switch you back.”
He knew it wasn’t like he was going back today but he thinks back to Amanda confidently asking his family for money in exchange for him and his blood boils. How dare this woman mess around with his entire life, present and future, and think she could just walk away from it.
Dean must feel him tense because his arm squeezes gently around him. “Alright, well we’re pretty tired from the ride. We’ll need somewhere to crash," the light suddenly pleasant charm to his tone a bit disconcerting.
“There’s a motel on fifth street that I’m sure will suit your needs.” Her eyes narrow at Dean’s failure to move. “Really? It’s barely noon.”
“It’s the least you can do.” Dean smiles charmingly. “One room in this big beautiful house of yours.”
Amanda eyes the door but knows she’s probably getting off easy if all she owes them is a place to sleep. “Fine. One night.”
Dean stands and takes Sam’s hand, guiding him up the stairs after Amanda, deeper into her house.
“Why are we staying here?” Sam grumbles, shutting the door with more force than necessary as he stares at the ugly guest bedroom. A huge four poster bed with an actual fucking canopy sits in the middle.
“Because I think Amanda might know more than she’s saying. And if she doesn’t she could defiantly have something in the house that could tell us something.” Dean explains, poking at the random vases on the nightstand before pulling down the comforter on the bed.
Sam glances at the brightly lit late morning sun coming through the window before over at Dean. “Uh, you tired?”
“No,” Dean hums, smoothing down the bedspread before starting to unbutton his shirt.
“Um.”
“But I do want to lay down. I’m not as young as I used to be Sammy, few hours of shut eye just doesn’t cut it,” He says casually, pulling off his flannel and t-shirt before reaching for his jeans.
Sam stares, feeling awkward in the middle of the room which is ridiculous considering he’s not the one in his boxers.
Or rather not in his boxers.
He stares at the underwear on the carpet as Dean climbs onto the bed ass naked, laying out shamelessly. “Lock the door, Sammy.”
Sam’s cheeks flush pink. “You can’t be serious.”
“What, so you’re fine for the back seat but when I actually try and give you someplace nice you’re too good for it?”
“Dean – this is Amanda’s house!” He hisses. “I bet she’ll be able to tell some how – we can’t – there’s no way – “
“Yeah, Amanda who fucked us over major. Think of this as us returning the favor.”
“You want to – to do stuff – in Amanda’s house just because she’ll have to wash our sheets? I don’t really think that’s going to show her anything.”
“I want to do stuff because since the car all I’ve been able to think about is your damn mouth and if I don’t get you alone I’m going to do something that’ll get me arrested in public.” Dean’s says bluntly, one arm moving to rest behind his head.
Sam swallows, mouth suddenly a bit dry and all thoughts of Amanda hearing them disappears.
“Sammy,” Dean smiles and fuck him. Fuck him and that beautiful mouth that makes any logic he was holding onto fly right out the window.
He’s moving then because it’s not like Dean could ever ask anything of him that Sam wouldn’t give.
“There we go.” Dean grins, taking Sam’s hand and tugging him up into the bed. “You seem a little over dressed for this party, Sammy.”
“Um,” Sam clears his throat, purposely keeping his gaze above Dean’s neck to not get distracted. “What kind of party exactly is it?”
“It’s whatever kind you want it to be. We can just – “ Dean leans in, tracing his mouth softly over Sam’s, lips soft and gentle before pulling back. “I know I’m being weird – It’s just been a long time. I’m used to a very high amount of Sam in my life and I’m getting withdraws.”
“I’m not a drug,” He laughs.
“You’re even worse, cause no way in hell would I ever quit you. Never once crossed my mind,” He reaches out, tucking some of Sam’s hair behind his ear before smoothing it out like he’s done for as long as Sam can remember. “Already feeling better.”
“You just needed to touch me?”
“Mm, that’s how powerful you are Sammy, use it wisely.”
It’s nice but Dean didn’t get naked just to spite Amanda and Sam’s blood is boiling a little too hot to just get a few chaste kisses. “Can we … um. Fuck?”
Dean laughs, making Sam’s cheeks burn. “Smooth Sammy.”
“You’ve made fun of me for calling it anything but that since I got here!”
“Yeah, but you’re not usually that crude.”
Sam huffs, feeling like even more of a child in front of Dean and pulls his shirt off to prove himself. He was going for dramatic but now he just feels silly, staring at Dean’s hard lines and scars compared to his own softness. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him and he’s about to make a move when a gentle touch to his stomach stops him.
“Stop thinking so loud.” Dean murmurs, touch slow and sweet as he drags his hand down to rest over Sam’s thigh. Even through his jeans he can feel Dean’s touch like a brand on his skin and he can’t get enough.
“I – I’m not –“ He argues, but Dean isn’t paying attention, mouth dropping down to scatter kisses over his ribs.
“This is it. Nothing tastes as good as you.” An open mouthed kiss to his nipple. “Fuck I missed this – missed having you like this – “
Dean’s murmuring against his skin and Sam’s pretty sure he’s not even really talking to him but his body turns pink all the same. Being with Dean is always the best thing ever but he’s never felt quite like this before. Never felt worshipped.
Then Dean reaches for the waist band of his pants and any other thoughts disappear that aren’t Dean’s hands and mouth.
“You showed me how good you can make me feel – now let me show you.” Dean murmurs between kisses up the inside of his thigh. His mouth lingers over Sam’s cock and he thinks he’s about to get a demonstration on how well Dean can suck when he bypasses it completely and goes down lower – what the hell? He spreads Sam’s legs a bit wider and maybe he’s going straight to stretching him out but that isn’t Dean’s finger pressing against his rim. That’s – that’s –
Oh.
Oh.
…
Sam knows a merciful god doesn’t exist, has first hand knowledge of just how hands off the guys is, but he still can’t help but thank whatever cosmic power that’s listening when he finally hits a hiking trail with a map.
Whitefish. They landed in Whitefish, Montana.
Shouldn’t be too hard for Dean and Dad to get back to the motel then. He left them close to a road and Dad’s paranoia was good for at least restraining Dean from following after him when they parted ways.
It’s not like he had a choice; he can already feel the clawing hunger in his chest starting to rise. However, instead of trying to silently work his way through a detox in a motel room he might just have gotten lucky enough for a plan B quarantine.
Finding the cabin isn’t hard, he’s spent enough time on and off here over the years to recognize the dirt roads and he was lucky enough to find an unlocked truck in the campground parking lot. Rufus stopped using his cabin sometime in the late nineties if he remembers right. It’s more of a risk then he would usually take but after this whole damn week he’s a little desperate.
It’s still a bit of a surprise to pull up the dirt drive and see the place looking less like a horror movie hideout and a bit more like an actual hunting retreat. Still, the windows are dark and there’s no car in the drive or fresh tracks that say anyone will be coming around in the next forty-eight hours. The universe has to give him at least one win, right?
Not likely.
He doesn’t have a better choice though so he parks the truck behind the cabin and unlocks the padlock on the back door – still the same code thank god.
Besides the general lack of dust and rotting wood, the place is practically the same inside. Almost eerie actually as he looks at the same ugly couch in front of the ancient TV box set. The familiarity is haunting, like Dean might just wobble in from the kitchen with a cast on his leg to greet him.
He grinds his teeth, refusing to get lost in ghosts that haven’t even lived in this cabin yet and heads for the basement.
It’s no panic room but it’s secure enough to hold him and with the wards he adds on the door he won’t be able to cross the threshold until the demon blood is out of his system. He lays down on one of the military cots in the corner and it isn’t until his head hits the shitty mattress that he realizes just how exhausted he is.
Not too long ago he was convinced he could set this timeline right, figure out a way to erase memories and put things back into place but now? After everything with Meg? With Dad and Dean both seeing the darkness inside of him? Hell in the middle of a Civil War? There wasn’t going to be anything left to fix, just an entirely new universe with his Dean erased out of existence and Sam left stranded without a heaven or hell or empty worth going to if Dean wasn’t there waiting.
“Fuck.” He hisses, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes so hard his vision spots in the darkness. He thinks better with an edge of pain, Lucifer used to say it brought clarity, but all Sam feels right now is the tight itch under his skin for blood he can’t have and the gaping ache in his heart for a dead big brother.
He prides himself on his logic, typically the clear head to Dean’s gut instinct that made them work so well as a team. But he’s been logical. He’s made plans and tried to reason out everything going on in this timeline and all it got him was Dad and Dean nearly murdered in a barn. Nice job, really he’d outdone himself on fucking up this time around. But even with as much of a fuck up as he is he can’t just leave it, can’t leave Dean and Dad to deal with an uprising in hell, can’t let Dean’s sacrifice mean nothing, can’t just doom a world to an apocalypse it has no chance of avoiding if the key players aren’t even old enough to drink yet.
Which of course is very easy to say but the reality of the situation is he’s stuck detoxing for the next two days and has no clue how the hell to stop this without completely rewriting the future.
He pushes himself up off the cot, the habit of pacing when he needs to think through a problem at odds with just how weak his body is after the past few days and the withdraw shakes starting to settle into his bones. He falls hard on his knees, bones cracking against concrete but the pain is a dull ache compared to the rest of him.
“What am I supposed to do?” He whispers, his voice too loud and raw in the silence.
The lights flicker.
He can’t even fucking walk, how the hell is he supposed to stop the apocalypse? His blatant weakness is so frustrating he can’t help but childishly punch the concrete floor. Dean would never be in this position, would have figured out the obvious answer by seeing whatever it was Sam’s missing here. This world was unlucky enough to be stuck with the wrong Winchester.
“What am I supposed to do!”
His voice cracks and he drops his head pathetically, skin pressing into the cool concrete as he breathes. He needs to get a grip, getting this worked up isn’t going to do him any favors when the hallucinations start. Just an easier target for them to tear him apart with. The weakest part of him is looking forward to it, knows Dean will be a recurring face mocking his failures.
Each breath feels thick, static in the air that makes his skin prickle. He digs his nails against the floor to ground himself, not quite ready to lose his mind to the hunger inside of him - it’s coming on faster than he remembers, it’s been so long since he’d drank.
“You’ve ingested a large quantity of demonic blood.”
Sam turns his head to tiredly see the first hallucination only to stop short at the unfamiliar sight of cargo pants and a bucket hat on a dark haired twenty something. Evidently his consciousness was delving deep to torture him. “Who the hell are you?”
The man blinks and it tugs at something weirdly familiar inside him.
“My name is Castiel, and I’m an angel of the Lord.” Castiel squints at him, as if analyzing his response. “I believe we are familiar?”
“You believe – what? He pushes himself up so he was at least kneeling. If his mind was going to pull this shit on him he needed to be at least somewhat on guard. “You cannot be serious.”
‘Castiel’ doesn’t seem phased by his outburst, just continues to stare at him with that, well, very on brand Cas stare he’ll admit. He has no idea what this is supposed to be, his detox hallucinations typically sticking to the same cast of characters and degrading remarks.
“Your heart rate is elevated; I doubt we can have a reasonable conversation until it is out of your system.” The man finally says, walking over and pressing two fingers to Sam’s forehead.
The dizzying rush of angelic grace flowing through his veins leaves behind nothing but soberness. The hunger is gone, and Sam’s left only with the unmistakable proof that a fully juiced up angel is standing in front of him a decade too early.
“Sam Winchester.” Castiel nods, “You are an apparent abomination but I will disregard that for now. You do not belong here.”
“Are you here to kill me?” He asks tiredly, because honestly, he can take a hint.
“No. I’m here because Lucifer has become active and heaven is concerned that events are happening out of prophesied order. I … shouldn’t be here,” He admits slowly. “But when I was ordered to look into the situation and found you it became obvious time was being disordered. I should have taken care of it myself but –“ He hesitates.
“But what?”
“… your soul is familiar in a way I have never experienced. I believe the fluidity of heavenly existence has allowed me to feel this … echo.”
Sam stares at him. “So… you were ordered to kill me but didn’t because you feel like we’re friends?”
“Yes.”
He stands up, knees aching a bit but he needs to move, try and wrap his head around what the hell was going on here. Out of all the options he’d run through, Castiel showing up was the last one. He glances over at the angel and at eye level the familiarity strikes him even stronger. It wasn’t just Cas’s mannerisms inside the vessel, it was the same blue eyes and dark hair just without the stress lines and a shaggier cut. He was looking at the body of a twenty-five-year-old Jimmy Novak.
“This is insane.” He finally manages to get out. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“No. And I will be extensively disciplined if my superiors find out so I suggest we hurry.”
“Hurry with what?”
“A plan? To quiet Lucifer? To send you back to wherever you came from?”
It’s stupid but in that moment he can’t help the tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks. He’s so tired – fucking exhausted – and knows he isn’t exactly running on all systems right now, but just having Cas here as a somewhat familiar face who doesn’t need to have the entire existence of heaven and hell explained to him makes him want to weep.
“Are you alright?” Castiel asks cautiously. “I’m sensing quite a lot of strong emotion – “
“You can kill a demon right?” Sam interrupts.
“Yes, of course?”
He laughs, “You have no idea how nice it is to hear that,” He reaches over and smacks a hand on Castiel’s shoulder before giving in and just hugging him. The angel is obviously still new to the vessel, everything cold and stiff and unmoving in Sam’s arms but he couldn’t care less. It was Cas and Sam felt a little less alone on the battlefield.
“I suggested we should hurry,” Castiel reminds him eventually and Sam nods, composing himself as he pulls away.
“Yeah, you’re right – sorry, it’s just really good to see you.”
The corner of Castiel’s face tugs in what Sam assumes to be an attempt at a smile. “So we are familiar?”
“Friends,” Sam corrects with a laugh, “We’re really good friends.”
“I believe as your friend I should take you back to your family.”
“I don’t think that’s – “ Sam can’t even finish the sentence, his entire body suctioned through what felt like a vacuum before stumbling onto soft carpet with gun oil and the hum of the evening news on an old TV set replacing the musty silence of the basement. It lasts for less than a second before -
“Jesus Christ!”
He opens his eyes, Castiel staring curiously at John who has a rifle pointed straight at the angel’s chest. “What the fuck are you!”
“Dad – he’s okay, he’s with me.”
The motel door suddenly bursts open, Dean standing in the doorway with his gun drawn, bucket of ice scattered at his feet. “Dad -?” Whatever else Dean is going to say is lost as soon as their eyes meet. “Sam!”
He opens his mouth to defend himself for going off on his own – old habits – but he doesn’t get the chance, Dean crossing the room and gripping him tight before he can make any excuses. The hug lingers just a few seconds too long but with Dad hyper focused on Castiel he figures they can get away with it.
Dean finally pulls back, fingers digging into Sam’s shoulders as he gives him a once over. “How the hell did you get here? I thought you were dead set on being an idiot and going off on your own?”
“I did but I ran into – “
“Hello, Dean.” Castiel says pleasantly before turning to Dad. “John.”
“How the hell do you know who I am? What’s going on Sam?” Dad growls, gun not wavering off Castiel. “Because generally I don’t hesitate to shoot people who just appear out of nowhere.”
Sam sighs, feeling like a broken record at this point, “Dean, Dad – meet Castiel.”
Cas nods, “I believe your son is being vague in order to spare you distress but I’m afraid we don’t have time for such constraints. I am an angel of the lord and I am here to help you stop the apocalypse.”
Sam would also like to add he was trying to spare them all from the awkward silence that follows.
“An angel?” Dad scoffs but Sam’s face must betray something because his eyes widen. “You’re shitting me.”
“I did tell you,” He points out but knows first hand being told something exists and seeing it yourself doesn’t exactly compare.
Dean raises an eyebrow, not looking as convinced as Dad but then again he didn’t see Cas fly right into the motel room. “Thought you said they were a bunch of assholes? Cause if angels exist they sure as hell are doing a whole lotta nothing while good people are dying.”
“We are under no obligation – “
Sam cuts him off with a hand to the mouth, not about to derail their tentative progress with an angelic ethics lesson. “Cas is right, we really don’t have time for this. We need to figure out our game plan.”
“Which is?” Dean crosses his arms, “cause if it involves you running off on your on again the answer is no.”
“I agree with Dean.” Cas chimes in and Sam has to resist rolling his eyes since apparently their usual dynamic is universal. “It would be unwise to separate with demons tracking you.”
Sam nearly chokes, “Wait – what?”
“You had a confrontation with several of Azazel’s associates as well as being the appointed uncrowned king of hell. It shouldn’t be surprising several demonic parties are after you.”
He bites back a curse, feeling like an idiot because while he expected Meg to eventually try again he’d been hoping spreading the word of him being Lucifer’s vessel would buy them a little time. Meg is either keeping it quiet or Hell was just too desperate to care and both options make him uneasy.
“You can just sense them?” He hears Dad ask Cas but ignores both of them in favor of sitting down on one of the motel beds, rubbing his temple as he tries to clear his head.
This is getting too complicated. He just wants a clean out, reassurance that the timeline will run as normal and he can get back to joining Dean in the next life. Even with the daily temptation of just taking this Dean and running he’s stayed reasonable, tried to think of what was best for the world, not just his own.
And look where it fucking got all of them.
They’re spiraling, with every move to prevent the apocalypse it just pushes right back and soon enough they’re going to hit a wall with nowhere else to go.
“I think we need to focus on the spell that brought me here.” He finally says, looking over at the other three.
Dad immediately shakes his head. “And then what? You leave us here to deal with this mess? Sam we have no idea how to take on demons like what you’ve been describing.”
“Of course not, but me coming here is what woke Lucifer up. It’s reasonable to think that if I leave he’ll have no choice but to wait for your Sam to grow up. Maybe I’ve been going at this backwards,” he admits. “I think we need to look into the spell – but not switch anyone until we make sure things have quieted down. I have a contact we should track down.”
Dad holds his gaze, the weight in them heavier than Sam remembers seeing until he was much older, “you can’t walk out on us Sam.”
“Never.” He promises, and means it, but can't help but think that three years from now Dad will be met with a very different story.
“So, we’re going to bring Sammy back?” Dean clarifies, glancing between them.
“Yeah,” Sam grins, “I think it’s a good place to – “
“Fucking finally!” Dean’s fist punches the air and Sam’s sentence falls flat, acutely aware that his brother isn’t listening. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go now!”
Dean is already throwing the few things him and Dad had unpacked since they’d gotten back to the motel in their duffels, wasting no time in getting the car prepped and ready with military efficiency.
Sam tries to keep the bitterness out of his eyes when Dean flashes him a hopeful smile from across the room. It’s not Dean’s fault he already has a little brother and Sam’s gotten a little too caught up in the replacement roll.
“So where’s your contact then?” Dad asks, making Sam turn away. Right, more important things to angst over than his teenage brother.
He grabs his bag from the pile, thankful Dean and Dad were able to save it before the motel staff had a chance to scavenge it from the lost and found. “No idea, we’re going to have to find her first,” He explains, pulling out a few different notebooks.
Castiel eyes his books unimpressed, “That shouldn’t be an issue, heaven can track anyone.”
“Not this woman, she’ll be more warded up than the Vatican. We’re also going to need a few things before we find her so we’ll have to stop at Bobby’s first.”
Dad nods, “I’ve known a few of those and Bobby helped out this real strange type awhile back. Apparently you can’t ever call him by the same number twice and is always moving around. Except he thinks all this is because of the government or some shit.”
“Frank?” Sam laughs. “He’s a good guy – just his own way of coping.”
“How do you know him?” Dad moves up behind him, most likely trying to get a peak at what he’s looking at but Sam doubts he’ll be over to see over his shoulder.
“A very long story but he got me and Dean out of a bind more than once – here.” He sighs in relief, touching over the lock of bright red hair he’d taped into his notebook for this very reason – you never know when you need to do a summoning and heading back to the bunker for materials isn’t an option.
“And hair will accomplish what that I can’t?” Cas asks.
“DNA spell work is a little harder to evade than an angel homing signal. C’mon, you can take us and the car to Bobby’s though.”
“Take us how?” Dean frowns, “’Because Dad didn’t seem super impressed with however the hell he brought you here.”
Cas ignores Dean. “Bobby Singer, North Dakota?”
“That’s the one.”
He doesn’t even get the chance to warm them, the next second all four of them standing in the middle of Bobby’s kitchen.
Dean stumbles forward but Sam’s expecting it and manages to catch him before his knees can hit the ground. “Easy, the first time is always the worst.” That and if he does manage to make it back to his time he needs to thank Cas for practicing because these rides were a hell of a lot rougher than he remembers.
"We just - did we just fly?" Dean pants out.
Dad is gripping the fridge in an effort to regain his equilibrium, both him and Dean looking a little on the green side. “Never again – we are not doing that again.” He groans, pressing his head against the cool freezer door.
“You might want to explain just what the hell it is you did first – what are you doing here and who the hell is that?” Bobby asks, still holding a cup of coffee as he watches them all from the kitchen table.
“I am Castiel and I’m – “
“We need your help Bobby,” Sam interrupts, because they are not starting this again. “Do you have the stuff for a witch hunting spell?”
Bobby obviously isn’t thrilled with Castiel and the lack of explanation but he takes Sam up to his ingredient storage to pick out what they need. The bunker may be better stocked but it’s here in this room where Sam first took an interest in spell work and potions, following in Bobby’s shadow as he watched the man work. To be here again watching Bobby read through a spell book to cheek the ingredients is a bit surreal.
“I modified the spell.” He admits, looking over Bobby’s shoulder to read the instructions. “Salt paste instead of holy water, I needed it to be more gelatinous.”
“Gelatinous?” Bobby laughs, “Changing another mans spell work is just rude, boy.”
“Yeah but,” He grins and it’s stupid but being here, getting to tell Bobby about his little experiments is amazing. It’s not like Dean didn’t appreciate the outcome of his work but he doesn’t really care about the process and any other hunter would put a bullet through his brain for dabbling in as much magic as he does. “I wanted to figure out how to turn it into more traditional ammunition.”
Bobby pauses, “Bullets?”
“Yeah, the molotov cocktail version wasn’t’ exactly the most portable. I wanted something a little easier to carry around since we seemed to be running into witches a lot more often.”
Bobby stares at him for a long moment before a proud little smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He’d forgotten just how good it felt to see that. “Well why don’t you show me this witch killing bullet of yours.”
It's a long process but working with Bobby speeds it up considerably. He can't help but show off a little, explain his thinking about the ward inside the bullet he added before the potion center. Working with his hands helps to clear his head a bit, giving him a bit of peace about what they're going to undertake. They have angelic support, some - admittedly lack luster - advising from Crowley, and the determination of three Winchesters - if anyone was going to fix an entire timeline and stop the apocalypse it was them. He's feeling at least somewhat confidant with a bit of positive thinking and a whole case of witch killing bullets when there's a crash downstairs.
“Your angel – he like shifted or something!” Dean tells Sam when they get downstairs. He points wide eyed at Cas who's curiously staring down at his hands.
Sam frowns, not liking the sound of that in the slightest. They just barely got enough support to maybe turn the tides, they can't lose it now. “What’s wrong? Did heaven find out where you were?” He asks, reaching out a hand to rest on the angel’s shoulder.
“No, I don’t believe so. Something else is pulling me – “
His hand falls clean through Cas’s vessel and smacks against his own leg, the angel there one moment then gone the next.
“Did he fly off again - how'd he just - ? Dean gestures vaguely at the spot.
“I don’t know. If heaven’s not pulling him back it can’t be anything better,” Sam frowns. Cas had reached out to him out of some sort of perceived loyalty and if something happened to him it would be Sam’s fault. He isn't going to let someone else he loved die because of his mistakes.
“Heaven?” Bobby asks weakly, “You’re telling me that scrappy kid is a – “
He’s interrupted by a bright flash the flutter of wings, a very much not twenty-five-year-old vessel standing in front of them in a brown trench coat and Sam is absolutely positive he's still detoxing because there's no way this is anything other than a hallucination.
Castiel blinks, seeming just as bewildered by the change in location before his eyes fall on the group, widening in shock. "Sam?"
Sam doesn't get a chance to answer, Cas immediately embracing him in a very real and suffocating grip. It lasts for less than a second before his brain catches up with his body and he wraps his arms around Cas just as tight, digging his fingers into the familiar material of his coat. This is real, Cas - his Cas - is here and hugging him and Sam presses his face into the angel's shoulder to try and get a grip on the edge of hysteric relief threatening to spill over.
Cas pulls back despite Sam's grip, just far enough to look at his face. "You're alive,"
It's a bit of a buzzkill and Sam shakes his head, confused. “Of course I'm alive - what are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“I didn’t, something pulled me back – Sam we need to get you home and set the timeline straight with your younger self.” Cas says urgently, dropping the hug only to grip Sam's arms tightly.
“How did you know - ? Younger me is in your time?” Fuck. That's a complication he didn't plan for. The sinking dread that fills his stomach is quick as he thinks about where exactly he was when he switched to this time.
“He’s from the future? And that's where Sam is?” John asks, eyes darting between Sam and Cas.
“Who cares about that – you’ve seen Sammy?” Dean demands, evidently forgetting his early hesitancy around angels. “How is he? Is he okay? Does he know we’re looking for him?”
Cas looks down at Dean a little wide eyed before his gaze softens. “Hello Dean,” He murmurs, “Your brother is safe.”
“That’s not what I asked – “
“It’s a mess Cas, we’re trying to fix the timelines but I don’t know how the hell to even begin doing that.” Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Are you alright? Did younger me end up with Toni? What’s happening on your side?”
“Toni wasn’t interested in hurting a child, don’t worry. Dean-“
And then he was gone.
…
Sam thinks he’s somewhere between earth and heaven, a little zone where mere mortals get to visit when they ascend to pure ecstasy. Everything is just warmth and pleasure as he rides out the wave, basking in hazy glow as his soul comes back into his body.
“You with me, Sammy?”
The whine that comes out of his mouth would be mortifying if Dean hadn’t just blown his entire mind. His brother has complete control of his body now as far as Sam’s concerned, all post orgasm noises included.
He feels Dean shift and even with as out of it as he feels, his face still flushes at the squelch of Dean’s cock pulling out and the wet slide of come and lube that follows.
“Sorry,” Dean murmurs, soothing a hand down his sweaty back before dropping down next to him on the bed. “How you feeling?”
“Like I’ll never walk again.” He groans dramatically
Dean rolls his eyes, pressing a kiss to Sam’s pouty lips before rolling over to grab his phone.
“Any updates?” Sam yawns, still getting used to the whole technology side of things. It’s mind blowing Dean can just research anything, GPS, and call anyone from a little square in his pocket.
“No, Cas still hasn’t called me back. No clue what his problem is.”
“I dunno how eager I would be to call you after those voicemails.” Sam teases, turning to rest his chin on Dean’s shoulder. He reaches up and runs a hand over the devil’s trap tattoo on his chest, hiding his grin when Dean shivers. “Maybe you should leave another one with a few less threats?”
“He knows what he was hiding from me. He just needs to fess up to why the hell he lied.”
Sam sighs, knowing Dean has a right to be angry but with everything else going on he’s just happy to know he’s not some sort of imitation and to be working on getting back to his family. If Cas can help with that – and he’s an angel so he should be able to right ? – then Sam is more than willing to forgive him. Though he is a little curious why the angel would lie in the first place.
“He’ll call,” Sam assures him, leaning up to peck Dean’s lips. He’s still getting used to that rough scrape against his skin, his Dean only barely starting to see if he can grow out a bit of shadow. Dean hums against his lips, opening his mouth to bring Sam in deeper while one of his hands wanders lower with the promise of another round when his phone starts to buzz.
“Told you.” Sam grins, the screen lit up with ‘Cas’ and a picture of the angel looking unimpressed into the camera. Dean rolls his eyes and nudges him playfully before answering the call, face immediately darkening.
“Why the hell haven't you been answering your phone?” He growls as a greeting. “Found out about the whole changling thing being fake – you wanna tell me where the hell you got that from Cas? Because the rest of sure, but you’re able to sense his soul so the only option is you fucking lied to me. But that’s not important right now because where have you been? Missouri gave us a lead that Sam might actually be alive!"
“I know,” Castiel says through the speaker phone. “I just talked to him.”