Aeternus Eternus...Part 1
Aeternus Eternus (Memories of you and me) Part 1...
The bag almost slipped from Dean's hand as he tried to close the door to his cheap motel room, his fingers were so numb he barely caught it before it crashed into a lamp. Fumbling with the lock, he managed to close the door and toss his bag onto the bed without falling over. He stood still for a moment, so tired he wasn't sure if he could get his legs to work long enough to walk across the room. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the muscles stretch across them, stiff and aching.
He hoped someone would shoot him the next time he decided driving alone across three states, after spending six hours chasing a shape shifter through woods, was a good idea. It really wasn't.
He'd been so angry since the confrontation with Castiel that he'd gone out on a random hunt just to unload. Sam and Bobby had protested, insisting that they needed to decide what to do about Castiel, but he had just wanted to leave, to get as far away as possible. As far away from what exactly, he couldn't put into words. Everything was just so fucked up that it could have been a hundred things.
He briefly thought about showering, but couldn't move his feet in the direction of the bathroom, let alone take his boots off. He collapsed onto the bed fully clothed instead, deciding he was probably cleaner than whatever was on the sheets in a joint like this anyway.
He closed his eyes, hoping the world would disappear for about eight or nine hours. His luck was never that good.
He opened his eyes, not really sure if he had actually fallen asleep or not. The motel room was dark, he was fairly sure it hadn't been before. He didn't have to look around the room to know he wasn't alone any more.
"What the hell are you doing here, Cas?" he groaned as he closed his eyes again, too tired for another confrontation.
When the angel didn't answer or leave, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in an effort to achieve full consciousness. Propping his elbows on his knees, he looked up at Castiel. The angel was staring at him, as usual. If he had been more awake, or not Dean, the intensity of that granite expression and the weight of his presence might have been unnerving, to say the least. As usual Dean didn't notice, or did, but let it wash over him, like the weight of an angel's grace crashing over him was the most normal thing in the world.
Hell, sometimes it felt like the only normal thing left.
A multitude of emotions had barraged Dean since they had confronted Castiel. He honestly hadn't known how to process what he was feeling, so had fallen back on anger. Anger he could handle. Now, now he was just tired, beyond tired, just putting one foot in front of the other and hoping it led him somewhere good.
"What do you want, Cas?" Dean asked when it didn't look like the angel was going to say anything.
Castiel took a few steps across the room, stopping to look out of the window. If Castiel had been human, Dean thought he might have sighed, or drowned himself in alcohol or women, with all the troubles he took upon himself. Castiel wasn't human though, so seemed to settle for clenching his jaw a little tighter.
Dean empathised with that weary look in Castiel's eyes. The angel had always looked weary, like he was carrying some unimaginable sorrow. Dean knew he should reach out, or do whatever it was people who weren't emotionally stunted did. Unfortunately the weariness in Castiel's eyes seemed to sap what little strength Dean had left, and he couldn't.
Something told him he would regret that one day, but it was easy to ignore when he was so damn tired he could barely focus his eyes, when his brother needed his help, when the world was trying to end itself.
"Do you ever regret the choices you've made?" Castiel asked quietly.
"All the damn time," Dean answered, trying to ignore the crushing guilt that was always with him.
He was about to ask Castiel exactly which choice he was regretting, working with a demon, opening purgatory, or lying to Dean, when every window in the motel exploded.
Dean threw his hands up to try and block the shower of glass. Acting on pure instinct, he rolled off the bed and grabbed the knife that even in his exhaustion he had slipped under the pillow. As his feet hit the ground he took count of the three suit clad angels, that appeared in the middle of the room. He gripped the knife tighter, knowing that it wouldn't do him much good. Castiel dispatched one of the attackers with cold precision and without missing a beat, tossed the dead angel's blade towards Dean.
The two remaining angels were far more cautious then their dead comrade, attacking Castiel in unison, keeping themselves between Dean and the angel, to hinder him from simply grabbing Dean and flying out of the room. Dean made for the blade where it lay on the floor. Slipping in the ashy remains of angel wings, he fell to his knees. As his fingers closed around the blade, streams of bright, white, light flickered, lighting up the room and casting eerie patterns in the ash Dean had stirred up. He looked up, trying to process where it was coming from. Three more angels were standing behind Castiel, one of them Raphael.
Castiel disappeared, in almost the same instance appearing at Dean's side, his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean barely had time to take in the satisfied look on Raphael's face, before the room exploded.
................................
"Dean it's Sam, again. Where the hell are you?"
Sam looked at the time as he hung up, his forehead crinkled in concern despite trying to convince himself nothing was wrong. As he stared at the phone another minute ticked by. 6:47am. He shoved the offending phone back in his pocket, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to shake loose his unease.
Dean hadn't been answering his phone for 12 hours, not exactly long enough to call in a full search party. Sam toyed with the idea of calling Bobby, but decided he was probably just being the overly paranoid mother hen Dean always accused him of being, and besides, it was too early in the morning to be called an idjit. Dean had needed to clear his head after everything that had happened; he was probably just sleeping off a hangover somewhere.
His fingers itched, idly feeling the shape of his phone through his jeans, as he fought the urge to try calling again. Eleven messages verged on stalker behaviour as it was. Dean hadn't been in the best of moods; actually he had been downright surly on the phone when Sam had last spoke to him, even more so than usual. Understandable given everything that had happened recently. Dean hadn't reacted to the confrontation with Castiel well, he had taken it hard, harder than either he or Bobby had feared he would.
He looked across the road to a diner that looked pretty much like every other diner he had ever eaten in. He decided that Dean had probably spent last night drowning his issues in a bottle in typical Dean fashion and was sleeping it off, he thought he might as well grab some breakfast, before hitting panic stations.
He was idly trying to decide what to eat in an effort to distract himself from wondering if his brother had been hauled off by angels, demons or every other monster that thought killing Winchesters was a good way to pass a few hours, when he felt his phone vibrate against his thigh.
Sighing in relief and ready to berate his brother for being an ass and making him worry, even though he would deny he was ever concerned at all, he flipped the phone open.
He frowned slightly when he saw it was Bobby's number.
"Hey Bobby."
"Is Dean with you?" Bobby said without preamble.
"No he isn't, why?" Sam replied, as something in his gut suddenly sank.
"I just got a call, from a hunter I know in Nebraska."
"What is it Bobby"
"Apparently a motel room went nova last night. Sounds like maybe some of Cas' angel buddies might have blown it off the map."
"Where was the motel?" Sam asked, his voice tight.
"Omaha."
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Sam parked across the street from the motel. Or what was left of it. Wisps of smoke and dust still hung in the air. He didn't have to get a closer look to know what had happened, he'd seen wreckage like this before. Angels. Before he had a chance to convince himself this had nothing to do with Dean, he saw the Impala. It was parked right outside the room that looked like it had been the origin of the explosion.
"No," Sam whispered in shock, trying to process what he was seeing.
Sam rummaged through his bag, grabbing the first ID that looked suitable. He pulled out an FBI badge. The area was swarming with cops. He walked across the street, flashing the badge at the first one he came across.
"What do we know," he asked as the cop gave his badge a cursory look.
"Not much," the officer answered. "Probably a gas leak."
"Was anyone inside?" Sam continued, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.
"They're just pulling out a couple of bodies now. What's the FBI's interest in this anyway?"
"Just here on a case nearby, thought it might be related. Mind if I take a look around."
"Sure, knock yourself out."
Sam smiled politely as the officer waved him through the taped off area. He rubbed his hands against his jeans, trying to keep his face impassive. He spotted the medical examiners truck, and three body bags they were bringing out.
He flashed the badge again, as the bodies were laid on the ground. He unzipped the first bag, his breath catching at the stench of burnt flesh. It wasn't Dean. He checked the other bags, but didn't recognise either of them.
He stood slowly, rubbing a hand through his hair as he looked around the scene, relief flooding through his body at the same time as his anxiety hit the roof.
Sam pulled his phone out and dialled Bobby.
"Dean's in trouble," Sam said before Bobby had a chance to say hello, his eyes still darting around the chaotic parking lot, hoping to see his brother safe.
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Dean crumpled to his knees as he hit the earth. He looked around, taking in his new surroundings. He was in an alley, dark grey brick on either side of him, the concrete warm beneath his knees, and the unmistakable smell of garbage. Despite it being dark when he had arrived at the motel room, it was now daytime, and a good twenty degrees warmer.
"Cas," he called out before he had a chance to get his bearings, his body shaking from the sudden shock of being teleported. It was something he would never get used to, no matter how often he did it.
He took a deep breath, trying to convince his body that angel flight was perfectly normal. He scanned the alley more carefully this time, peering in the direction of the teeming garbage cans, but he could see no sign of the tan trench coat or the angel who wore it.
"Cas!" he called out louder.
He stumbled to his feet, glad that he hadn't had a chance to take his boots off earlier. The alley wasn't exactly the best place to wander around barefoot. He was still clutching the angel blade, otherwise he had nothing, not even his phone.
He heard a noise from further down the alley. Tightening his grip on the sword, he cautiously headed towards the sound.
He walked about ten metres before he saw Cas staggering to his feet. Castiel's trench coat was singed and in disarray, and Cas didn’t look much better. Dean rushed forward, grabbing his friend before he fell over again.
"Cas, what the hell happened?"
"I don't know?" Castiel replied in a daze, looking around, his eyes not focusing on anything.
He was clutching a hand to his side, but turned away slightly before Dean could see why.
"I tried to take us somewhere safe. This wasn't where I intended to go," Castiel said still looking around the alley.
"Okay, any ideas where here is?" Dean asked irritably.
"No."
"I don't have my phone. You got yours?"
Castiel reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and handed it to Dean.
"Well, that's not gonna do us much good," Dean muttered, looking down at the phone that looked like someone had fried it in a microwave. It was actually smoking in his hand, which Dean had previously been convinced only happened on TV.
"I don't much feel like walking out of here. Can you zap us back to Bobby's?"
Castiel wavered on his feet. Dean tightened his grip on the angel's shoulder.
"Cas, you okay?"
He got his answer when Castiel suddenly slumped against him. He roughly pulled aside Castiel's coat, looking for evidence of Castiel's injury. When he saw it, he couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him, or the sudden bolt of terror he felt strike low in his stomach. Castiel had his hand pressed against his lower ribs, white light seeping out from between his fingers. Grace, Dean thought, that can’t be good.
"I'm fine," Castiel said quietly.
"Like hell you are," Dean said, cursing under his breath as he watched the colour drain from Castiel's face, like a light had suddenly dimmed. "Shit."
He shifted Castiel's weight as he tried to think what to do. He had no idea where they were. He could leave Castiel here, and go try to find some help, but he didn't want to leave Castiel alone.
"Can you walk?"
Castiel nodded slightly in answer, his face was drawn in pain, and Dean thought he could see blood on his lips.
They walked towards the end of the alley, a litany of curses running through Dean's mind. They came out onto a street; it didn't look any more familiar then the alley had. He decided left looked as good a direction as any and started walking, Castiel stumbling by his side.
"Dean," someone called from behind him.
Dean spun around too quickly and lost his grip on Castiel, cursing again, he struggled to stop Castiel from falling, another set of hands were there to help. He looked up into worn blue eyes and tousled brown hair.
"Chuck?"
"Um, hi," Chuck said apprehensively.
"Cas needs help," Dean said, stating the obvious.
"I know. I was waiting for you," Chuck answered.
Chuck helped support Castiel's weight as the angel all but lost consciousness. Chuck pointed towards an old beat up Ford. Whatever questions where running through Dean's head where put on hold as they stumbled towards it, letting Castiel fall as comfortably as possible into the back seat.
Dean climbed in behind him, cradling his head, while Chuck ran around to the driver's side. As they pulled out Dean felt completely numb. He stared down at Castiel, fixated on the spots of red pooling on his arm, as blood dripped from Castiel's lips.
Chuck tossed back a bundle of bandages. Dean pressed them against the wound in Castiel's side, trying to ignore the light that was still seeping from it. Dean couldn’t quite tell, but after a few minutes the light seemed to be dissipating a little. Dean leaned his head back, too numb to ask where they were going.
Chuck drove them to a motel on the outskirts of Omaha; apparently Castiel hadn't taken them far after all. Castiel lay slumped on the bed, Dean hoped he was healing--blood he could deal with; white light spewing from underneath Cas’ ribs he had no idea where to even begin-as he didn't know what else to do for him. Dean sat in a chair at the end of the bed, staring bleary eyed at Castiel, watching as his chest rose and fell as he breathed. Dean was beyond tired now that the adrenalin had worn off.
Chuck hovered off to the side, alternatively looking from Dean to Castiel, chewing on his fingernails, looking like he was waiting to be interrogated. Dean eventually looked up at him.
"You said you were waiting for us? How'd you know we'd be there?"
"I um, saw it. In a vision a while back."
"We assumed you weren't getting visions anymore. No one's heard from you in a couple of years."
"Years?" Chuck asked, looking confused for a moment. "Oh right. It's ah, it’s 2010 Dean."
"It's what?"
"2010."
Dean closed his eyes as his head sunk into his hands. Of course it was. Like his previous couple of jaunts through time weren't enough. If Castiel wasn't already lying half dead on the bed, he'd kick his ass.
"I don't suppose you know why we’re here?"
"No, sorry. I just knew you'd be there," Chuck said with a shrug.
Dean went back to staring at Castiel. He was too tired to ask anything else.
................................
When Dean woke up sometime later, Castiel was still asleep on the bed. Dean stretched his arms above his head, looking around the room to find that Chuck was gone. There were newspapers and some loose sheets of paper on the other bed, though, and he was about to look them over when he heard Castiel moan.
Castiel swung his legs over the side of the bed, Dean leaned over and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder to stop him from standing, he was too weak to push Dean's hand off.
"You doing okay?"
"Better."
Castiel was still pale, his hair dishevelled, coat sitting crooked and his tie even more messed up than normal. At least the bleeding looked to have stopped, which was something.
"Well, we're not in Kansas anymore."
"We weren't in Kansas," Castiel replied groggily.
Dean smiled, reluctantly finding Castiel's unwavering lack of pop culture comforting.
"Apparently you took us back in time."
"I did?" Castiel asked looking slightly confused. "I didn't mean to."
"Figured that." Dean watched as Castiel's hand went to his side, feeling the bandage Dean had hastily put over the gash on his ribs. "Let me have a look at that," Dean said gruffly trying to cover his concern.
Castiel looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't have the energy. Dean ignored his protest and knelt next to the bed. He pushed the bloodied white shirt aside and peeled the bandage back. The stab wound would have been more than enough to kill a human. Even on the angel Dean could see it was serious. The light wasn't streaming from it anymore, but Dean could see it pulsing in the wound.
"Will that heal?" Dean asked as he wiped away the blood, trying not to think about how much there was, and that Castiel shouldn't be bleeding at all.
Castiel gave a non committal shrug.
He'd seen Castiel stabbed and shot more times than he could count. Hell, he'd shot and stabbed him himself, but they never seemed to even slow him down. He guessed it was different when the wound was made with the only weapon that could kill him. Despite his anger towards the angel, he found the thought chilling.
It wasn't that long ago that he had been wounded the same way at Bobby's. His eyes searched Castiel's torso for that wound. He could still see a faint white scar that looked like it would soon disappear completely. Dean grabbed one of the clean bandages that Chuck had given him and tentatively covered Castiel's wound, hoping this one would heal as well. He still felt betrayed over Castiel lying to him for the last year, still angry with him, but for the moment they had bigger issues.
"What year is it?" Castiel asked as Dean finished with the bandage.
"2010."
Castiel brow creased as if he was trying to figure out how they had ended up here.
"Maybe that wound screwed up your mojo," Dean mused out loud.
"Maybe," Castiel said absently.
Frankly with how out of it Castiel was, Dean figured he should probably just be thankful that they were still breathing, and hadn’t ended up appearing inside a mountain or something.
Dean walked over to the other bed, and picked up the paper.
"May 2010," he said.
Dean stared at the date for a moment, remembering exactly what he had been doing at this time in the midst of the apocalypse, and what was about to happen tomorrow, before tossing the paper aside to look over the loose sheets.
Chuck's hand writing scrawled across the pages, haphazard like it had been written in a hurry.
Castiel propped himself up against the headboard, his eyes half closed. "What does it say?" he asked.
"What does it say, Castiel asked, as he propped himself against the bed head, too stubborn to lie down again," Dean read aloud.
Castiel looked over at Dean unconvinced.
"Well close enough," Dean said with a hint of a smile. "It's about us, in this room, reading Chuck's pages."
Dean kept reading, glancing across at Castiel when he came across a section where Chuck described how the angel was carefully measuring his breaths, trying not to move as pain shot up and down his body. Castiel just glared back at him, so Dean went back to reading.
"Huh," he said absently.
He sat on the bed next to Castiel and handed him the last page, tapping the final paragraph with his finger. Castiel read it out loud.
"Dean and Castiel stood outside the pizzeria, a soft breeze ruffled the angel's tan coat. Water dripped from the awning, as the city seemed to breathe a sigh of relief after the abated thunderstorm."
Castiel turned the page over, looking to see if there was any more written, but the next page was blank.
"I know that pizza place. It's in Chicago," Dean said.
"Chicago?"
"It's where Death is. Or will be. Tomorrow."
"That's when you met him, last time I mean?" Castiel asked.
"Yeah."
Dean stood up and started pacing. It was a six hour drive to Chicago. He couldn't help the thought that seeing as they had ended up back here, maybe he could do something to change what happened. He picked up the newspaper he had discarded earlier and idly flipped through it. Skimming headlines about all the signs of the apocalypse, though the rest of the world didn’t realise that was what they were.
He sighed and tossed it aside. The whole plan to trap Lucifer in Hell by sacrificing Sam had been a crap idea. He wasn't sure if he could change that though. Had there really been another way to stop the damn devil from torching the world? In all the time he'd had to think about that choice, he had never come up with any other way it could have gone down.
He glanced back at Castiel, whose eyes were closed and face drawn in pain. Maybe there was something else he could change. Though he had no idea how.
Dean looked out the window watching as the sun set. He briefly closed his eyes, making a decision. They would go to Chicago, just like Chuck had seen, and maybe he could find a way to stop Castiel from going through with his deal with Crowley. Maybe Dean could talk to the Castiel from this time. He would have to come up with an argument that would be more convincing than the one he had given a few days ago.
Even as he made the decision, a part of him fought against it. He glanced behind him as Castiel stirred again, trying to push aside the feeling of guilt he didn't want to understand, convincing himself stopping Castiel was the only thing to do. Castiel's plan to stop Raphael was a bad one. He held onto that thought, conveniently ignoring the fact that he didn't have a better one.
"We'll need a car if were gonna get to Chicago," Dean said looking back to Castiel. "I'll be back soon."
Part 2 HERE...
The bag almost slipped from Dean's hand as he tried to close the door to his cheap motel room, his fingers were so numb he barely caught it before it crashed into a lamp. Fumbling with the lock, he managed to close the door and toss his bag onto the bed without falling over. He stood still for a moment, so tired he wasn't sure if he could get his legs to work long enough to walk across the room. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the muscles stretch across them, stiff and aching.
He hoped someone would shoot him the next time he decided driving alone across three states, after spending six hours chasing a shape shifter through woods, was a good idea. It really wasn't.
He'd been so angry since the confrontation with Castiel that he'd gone out on a random hunt just to unload. Sam and Bobby had protested, insisting that they needed to decide what to do about Castiel, but he had just wanted to leave, to get as far away as possible. As far away from what exactly, he couldn't put into words. Everything was just so fucked up that it could have been a hundred things.
He briefly thought about showering, but couldn't move his feet in the direction of the bathroom, let alone take his boots off. He collapsed onto the bed fully clothed instead, deciding he was probably cleaner than whatever was on the sheets in a joint like this anyway.
He closed his eyes, hoping the world would disappear for about eight or nine hours. His luck was never that good.
He opened his eyes, not really sure if he had actually fallen asleep or not. The motel room was dark, he was fairly sure it hadn't been before. He didn't have to look around the room to know he wasn't alone any more.
"What the hell are you doing here, Cas?" he groaned as he closed his eyes again, too tired for another confrontation.
When the angel didn't answer or leave, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in an effort to achieve full consciousness. Propping his elbows on his knees, he looked up at Castiel. The angel was staring at him, as usual. If he had been more awake, or not Dean, the intensity of that granite expression and the weight of his presence might have been unnerving, to say the least. As usual Dean didn't notice, or did, but let it wash over him, like the weight of an angel's grace crashing over him was the most normal thing in the world.
Hell, sometimes it felt like the only normal thing left.
A multitude of emotions had barraged Dean since they had confronted Castiel. He honestly hadn't known how to process what he was feeling, so had fallen back on anger. Anger he could handle. Now, now he was just tired, beyond tired, just putting one foot in front of the other and hoping it led him somewhere good.
"What do you want, Cas?" Dean asked when it didn't look like the angel was going to say anything.
Castiel took a few steps across the room, stopping to look out of the window. If Castiel had been human, Dean thought he might have sighed, or drowned himself in alcohol or women, with all the troubles he took upon himself. Castiel wasn't human though, so seemed to settle for clenching his jaw a little tighter.
Dean empathised with that weary look in Castiel's eyes. The angel had always looked weary, like he was carrying some unimaginable sorrow. Dean knew he should reach out, or do whatever it was people who weren't emotionally stunted did. Unfortunately the weariness in Castiel's eyes seemed to sap what little strength Dean had left, and he couldn't.
Something told him he would regret that one day, but it was easy to ignore when he was so damn tired he could barely focus his eyes, when his brother needed his help, when the world was trying to end itself.
"Do you ever regret the choices you've made?" Castiel asked quietly.
"All the damn time," Dean answered, trying to ignore the crushing guilt that was always with him.
He was about to ask Castiel exactly which choice he was regretting, working with a demon, opening purgatory, or lying to Dean, when every window in the motel exploded.
Dean threw his hands up to try and block the shower of glass. Acting on pure instinct, he rolled off the bed and grabbed the knife that even in his exhaustion he had slipped under the pillow. As his feet hit the ground he took count of the three suit clad angels, that appeared in the middle of the room. He gripped the knife tighter, knowing that it wouldn't do him much good. Castiel dispatched one of the attackers with cold precision and without missing a beat, tossed the dead angel's blade towards Dean.
The two remaining angels were far more cautious then their dead comrade, attacking Castiel in unison, keeping themselves between Dean and the angel, to hinder him from simply grabbing Dean and flying out of the room. Dean made for the blade where it lay on the floor. Slipping in the ashy remains of angel wings, he fell to his knees. As his fingers closed around the blade, streams of bright, white, light flickered, lighting up the room and casting eerie patterns in the ash Dean had stirred up. He looked up, trying to process where it was coming from. Three more angels were standing behind Castiel, one of them Raphael.
Castiel disappeared, in almost the same instance appearing at Dean's side, his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean barely had time to take in the satisfied look on Raphael's face, before the room exploded.
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"Dean it's Sam, again. Where the hell are you?"
Sam looked at the time as he hung up, his forehead crinkled in concern despite trying to convince himself nothing was wrong. As he stared at the phone another minute ticked by. 6:47am. He shoved the offending phone back in his pocket, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to shake loose his unease.
Dean hadn't been answering his phone for 12 hours, not exactly long enough to call in a full search party. Sam toyed with the idea of calling Bobby, but decided he was probably just being the overly paranoid mother hen Dean always accused him of being, and besides, it was too early in the morning to be called an idjit. Dean had needed to clear his head after everything that had happened; he was probably just sleeping off a hangover somewhere.
His fingers itched, idly feeling the shape of his phone through his jeans, as he fought the urge to try calling again. Eleven messages verged on stalker behaviour as it was. Dean hadn't been in the best of moods; actually he had been downright surly on the phone when Sam had last spoke to him, even more so than usual. Understandable given everything that had happened recently. Dean hadn't reacted to the confrontation with Castiel well, he had taken it hard, harder than either he or Bobby had feared he would.
He looked across the road to a diner that looked pretty much like every other diner he had ever eaten in. He decided that Dean had probably spent last night drowning his issues in a bottle in typical Dean fashion and was sleeping it off, he thought he might as well grab some breakfast, before hitting panic stations.
He was idly trying to decide what to eat in an effort to distract himself from wondering if his brother had been hauled off by angels, demons or every other monster that thought killing Winchesters was a good way to pass a few hours, when he felt his phone vibrate against his thigh.
Sighing in relief and ready to berate his brother for being an ass and making him worry, even though he would deny he was ever concerned at all, he flipped the phone open.
He frowned slightly when he saw it was Bobby's number.
"Hey Bobby."
"Is Dean with you?" Bobby said without preamble.
"No he isn't, why?" Sam replied, as something in his gut suddenly sank.
"I just got a call, from a hunter I know in Nebraska."
"What is it Bobby"
"Apparently a motel room went nova last night. Sounds like maybe some of Cas' angel buddies might have blown it off the map."
"Where was the motel?" Sam asked, his voice tight.
"Omaha."
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Sam parked across the street from the motel. Or what was left of it. Wisps of smoke and dust still hung in the air. He didn't have to get a closer look to know what had happened, he'd seen wreckage like this before. Angels. Before he had a chance to convince himself this had nothing to do with Dean, he saw the Impala. It was parked right outside the room that looked like it had been the origin of the explosion.
"No," Sam whispered in shock, trying to process what he was seeing.
Sam rummaged through his bag, grabbing the first ID that looked suitable. He pulled out an FBI badge. The area was swarming with cops. He walked across the street, flashing the badge at the first one he came across.
"What do we know," he asked as the cop gave his badge a cursory look.
"Not much," the officer answered. "Probably a gas leak."
"Was anyone inside?" Sam continued, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.
"They're just pulling out a couple of bodies now. What's the FBI's interest in this anyway?"
"Just here on a case nearby, thought it might be related. Mind if I take a look around."
"Sure, knock yourself out."
Sam smiled politely as the officer waved him through the taped off area. He rubbed his hands against his jeans, trying to keep his face impassive. He spotted the medical examiners truck, and three body bags they were bringing out.
He flashed the badge again, as the bodies were laid on the ground. He unzipped the first bag, his breath catching at the stench of burnt flesh. It wasn't Dean. He checked the other bags, but didn't recognise either of them.
He stood slowly, rubbing a hand through his hair as he looked around the scene, relief flooding through his body at the same time as his anxiety hit the roof.
Sam pulled his phone out and dialled Bobby.
"Dean's in trouble," Sam said before Bobby had a chance to say hello, his eyes still darting around the chaotic parking lot, hoping to see his brother safe.
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Dean crumpled to his knees as he hit the earth. He looked around, taking in his new surroundings. He was in an alley, dark grey brick on either side of him, the concrete warm beneath his knees, and the unmistakable smell of garbage. Despite it being dark when he had arrived at the motel room, it was now daytime, and a good twenty degrees warmer.
"Cas," he called out before he had a chance to get his bearings, his body shaking from the sudden shock of being teleported. It was something he would never get used to, no matter how often he did it.
He took a deep breath, trying to convince his body that angel flight was perfectly normal. He scanned the alley more carefully this time, peering in the direction of the teeming garbage cans, but he could see no sign of the tan trench coat or the angel who wore it.
"Cas!" he called out louder.
He stumbled to his feet, glad that he hadn't had a chance to take his boots off earlier. The alley wasn't exactly the best place to wander around barefoot. He was still clutching the angel blade, otherwise he had nothing, not even his phone.
He heard a noise from further down the alley. Tightening his grip on the sword, he cautiously headed towards the sound.
He walked about ten metres before he saw Cas staggering to his feet. Castiel's trench coat was singed and in disarray, and Cas didn’t look much better. Dean rushed forward, grabbing his friend before he fell over again.
"Cas, what the hell happened?"
"I don't know?" Castiel replied in a daze, looking around, his eyes not focusing on anything.
He was clutching a hand to his side, but turned away slightly before Dean could see why.
"I tried to take us somewhere safe. This wasn't where I intended to go," Castiel said still looking around the alley.
"Okay, any ideas where here is?" Dean asked irritably.
"No."
"I don't have my phone. You got yours?"
Castiel reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and handed it to Dean.
"Well, that's not gonna do us much good," Dean muttered, looking down at the phone that looked like someone had fried it in a microwave. It was actually smoking in his hand, which Dean had previously been convinced only happened on TV.
"I don't much feel like walking out of here. Can you zap us back to Bobby's?"
Castiel wavered on his feet. Dean tightened his grip on the angel's shoulder.
"Cas, you okay?"
He got his answer when Castiel suddenly slumped against him. He roughly pulled aside Castiel's coat, looking for evidence of Castiel's injury. When he saw it, he couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him, or the sudden bolt of terror he felt strike low in his stomach. Castiel had his hand pressed against his lower ribs, white light seeping out from between his fingers. Grace, Dean thought, that can’t be good.
"I'm fine," Castiel said quietly.
"Like hell you are," Dean said, cursing under his breath as he watched the colour drain from Castiel's face, like a light had suddenly dimmed. "Shit."
He shifted Castiel's weight as he tried to think what to do. He had no idea where they were. He could leave Castiel here, and go try to find some help, but he didn't want to leave Castiel alone.
"Can you walk?"
Castiel nodded slightly in answer, his face was drawn in pain, and Dean thought he could see blood on his lips.
They walked towards the end of the alley, a litany of curses running through Dean's mind. They came out onto a street; it didn't look any more familiar then the alley had. He decided left looked as good a direction as any and started walking, Castiel stumbling by his side.
"Dean," someone called from behind him.
Dean spun around too quickly and lost his grip on Castiel, cursing again, he struggled to stop Castiel from falling, another set of hands were there to help. He looked up into worn blue eyes and tousled brown hair.
"Chuck?"
"Um, hi," Chuck said apprehensively.
"Cas needs help," Dean said, stating the obvious.
"I know. I was waiting for you," Chuck answered.
Chuck helped support Castiel's weight as the angel all but lost consciousness. Chuck pointed towards an old beat up Ford. Whatever questions where running through Dean's head where put on hold as they stumbled towards it, letting Castiel fall as comfortably as possible into the back seat.
Dean climbed in behind him, cradling his head, while Chuck ran around to the driver's side. As they pulled out Dean felt completely numb. He stared down at Castiel, fixated on the spots of red pooling on his arm, as blood dripped from Castiel's lips.
Chuck tossed back a bundle of bandages. Dean pressed them against the wound in Castiel's side, trying to ignore the light that was still seeping from it. Dean couldn’t quite tell, but after a few minutes the light seemed to be dissipating a little. Dean leaned his head back, too numb to ask where they were going.
Chuck drove them to a motel on the outskirts of Omaha; apparently Castiel hadn't taken them far after all. Castiel lay slumped on the bed, Dean hoped he was healing--blood he could deal with; white light spewing from underneath Cas’ ribs he had no idea where to even begin-as he didn't know what else to do for him. Dean sat in a chair at the end of the bed, staring bleary eyed at Castiel, watching as his chest rose and fell as he breathed. Dean was beyond tired now that the adrenalin had worn off.
Chuck hovered off to the side, alternatively looking from Dean to Castiel, chewing on his fingernails, looking like he was waiting to be interrogated. Dean eventually looked up at him.
"You said you were waiting for us? How'd you know we'd be there?"
"I um, saw it. In a vision a while back."
"We assumed you weren't getting visions anymore. No one's heard from you in a couple of years."
"Years?" Chuck asked, looking confused for a moment. "Oh right. It's ah, it’s 2010 Dean."
"It's what?"
"2010."
Dean closed his eyes as his head sunk into his hands. Of course it was. Like his previous couple of jaunts through time weren't enough. If Castiel wasn't already lying half dead on the bed, he'd kick his ass.
"I don't suppose you know why we’re here?"
"No, sorry. I just knew you'd be there," Chuck said with a shrug.
Dean went back to staring at Castiel. He was too tired to ask anything else.
................................
When Dean woke up sometime later, Castiel was still asleep on the bed. Dean stretched his arms above his head, looking around the room to find that Chuck was gone. There were newspapers and some loose sheets of paper on the other bed, though, and he was about to look them over when he heard Castiel moan.
Castiel swung his legs over the side of the bed, Dean leaned over and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder to stop him from standing, he was too weak to push Dean's hand off.
"You doing okay?"
"Better."
Castiel was still pale, his hair dishevelled, coat sitting crooked and his tie even more messed up than normal. At least the bleeding looked to have stopped, which was something.
"Well, we're not in Kansas anymore."
"We weren't in Kansas," Castiel replied groggily.
Dean smiled, reluctantly finding Castiel's unwavering lack of pop culture comforting.
"Apparently you took us back in time."
"I did?" Castiel asked looking slightly confused. "I didn't mean to."
"Figured that." Dean watched as Castiel's hand went to his side, feeling the bandage Dean had hastily put over the gash on his ribs. "Let me have a look at that," Dean said gruffly trying to cover his concern.
Castiel looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't have the energy. Dean ignored his protest and knelt next to the bed. He pushed the bloodied white shirt aside and peeled the bandage back. The stab wound would have been more than enough to kill a human. Even on the angel Dean could see it was serious. The light wasn't streaming from it anymore, but Dean could see it pulsing in the wound.
"Will that heal?" Dean asked as he wiped away the blood, trying not to think about how much there was, and that Castiel shouldn't be bleeding at all.
Castiel gave a non committal shrug.
He'd seen Castiel stabbed and shot more times than he could count. Hell, he'd shot and stabbed him himself, but they never seemed to even slow him down. He guessed it was different when the wound was made with the only weapon that could kill him. Despite his anger towards the angel, he found the thought chilling.
It wasn't that long ago that he had been wounded the same way at Bobby's. His eyes searched Castiel's torso for that wound. He could still see a faint white scar that looked like it would soon disappear completely. Dean grabbed one of the clean bandages that Chuck had given him and tentatively covered Castiel's wound, hoping this one would heal as well. He still felt betrayed over Castiel lying to him for the last year, still angry with him, but for the moment they had bigger issues.
"What year is it?" Castiel asked as Dean finished with the bandage.
"2010."
Castiel brow creased as if he was trying to figure out how they had ended up here.
"Maybe that wound screwed up your mojo," Dean mused out loud.
"Maybe," Castiel said absently.
Frankly with how out of it Castiel was, Dean figured he should probably just be thankful that they were still breathing, and hadn’t ended up appearing inside a mountain or something.
Dean walked over to the other bed, and picked up the paper.
"May 2010," he said.
Dean stared at the date for a moment, remembering exactly what he had been doing at this time in the midst of the apocalypse, and what was about to happen tomorrow, before tossing the paper aside to look over the loose sheets.
Chuck's hand writing scrawled across the pages, haphazard like it had been written in a hurry.
Castiel propped himself up against the headboard, his eyes half closed. "What does it say?" he asked.
"What does it say, Castiel asked, as he propped himself against the bed head, too stubborn to lie down again," Dean read aloud.
Castiel looked over at Dean unconvinced.
"Well close enough," Dean said with a hint of a smile. "It's about us, in this room, reading Chuck's pages."
Dean kept reading, glancing across at Castiel when he came across a section where Chuck described how the angel was carefully measuring his breaths, trying not to move as pain shot up and down his body. Castiel just glared back at him, so Dean went back to reading.
"Huh," he said absently.
He sat on the bed next to Castiel and handed him the last page, tapping the final paragraph with his finger. Castiel read it out loud.
"Dean and Castiel stood outside the pizzeria, a soft breeze ruffled the angel's tan coat. Water dripped from the awning, as the city seemed to breathe a sigh of relief after the abated thunderstorm."
Castiel turned the page over, looking to see if there was any more written, but the next page was blank.
"I know that pizza place. It's in Chicago," Dean said.
"Chicago?"
"It's where Death is. Or will be. Tomorrow."
"That's when you met him, last time I mean?" Castiel asked.
"Yeah."
Dean stood up and started pacing. It was a six hour drive to Chicago. He couldn't help the thought that seeing as they had ended up back here, maybe he could do something to change what happened. He picked up the newspaper he had discarded earlier and idly flipped through it. Skimming headlines about all the signs of the apocalypse, though the rest of the world didn’t realise that was what they were.
He sighed and tossed it aside. The whole plan to trap Lucifer in Hell by sacrificing Sam had been a crap idea. He wasn't sure if he could change that though. Had there really been another way to stop the damn devil from torching the world? In all the time he'd had to think about that choice, he had never come up with any other way it could have gone down.
He glanced back at Castiel, whose eyes were closed and face drawn in pain. Maybe there was something else he could change. Though he had no idea how.
Dean looked out the window watching as the sun set. He briefly closed his eyes, making a decision. They would go to Chicago, just like Chuck had seen, and maybe he could find a way to stop Castiel from going through with his deal with Crowley. Maybe Dean could talk to the Castiel from this time. He would have to come up with an argument that would be more convincing than the one he had given a few days ago.
Even as he made the decision, a part of him fought against it. He glanced behind him as Castiel stirred again, trying to push aside the feeling of guilt he didn't want to understand, convincing himself stopping Castiel was the only thing to do. Castiel's plan to stop Raphael was a bad one. He held onto that thought, conveniently ignoring the fact that he didn't have a better one.
"We'll need a car if were gonna get to Chicago," Dean said looking back to Castiel. "I'll be back soon."
Part 2 HERE...