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Chapter Text

Sam woke in a silent horror movie warehouse, tied to a chair and surrounded by floodlights.

The last he remembered, he’d been… he’d been…

He didn’t know.

His wrists and chest had been wound in so many strips of duct-tape it was difficult to pull in breath. No way was he tearing free. He checked whether he’d been left with any concealed weapons, or for a loose nail or sharp imperfection in the surface of the chair. No such luck, of course.

Nothing in sight told him where he might have been or who might have put him there. It was night, and the spotlights only extended so far, leaving most of the warehouse a murk of vague shapes and jagged outlines. Eventually he gave up straining against the gloom. He tried wriggling his way free, tried to tip the chair over backwards in the hopes of breaking it – even tried to hop-skip his way to the exit, taking the whole damn thing with him. But the chair was metal, solid and heavy as hell. His body was too weak to budge it more than a few inches, and all his exertions earned him was the suspicion that he had cracked ribs.

Time passed, and his memories remained absent. He let his head hang in exhaustion. Ominously, a tarp had been laid out beneath his chair, unfamiliar symbols written across it in blood.

He wondered if Dean was looking for him.

Eventually, the silence was broken by footsteps and the rattle of a door. Two sets: heavy, probably male. Sam shut his eyes and let his body go perfectly limp, evening out his breath as though he were sleeping.

The footsteps crackled over the tarp before coming to a halt.

‘Make sure he’s out,’ one of them grunted.

It took a monumental effort not to flinch as a pair of fingers snapped in his ear. ‘Didn’t twitch,’ said a second voice.

‘Might as well make sure he stays nice and sleepy.’ Alarm stirred in his gut at the thought of being drugged – again, he presumed – but the man’s next words were far worse. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Boss said no.’

‘The boss isn’t here.’ A hand fisted in Sam’s hair, and he fought to keep his face smooth as the man yanked, exposing his throat to the open air. ‘You know how long it’s been since I ate?’

‘Fine. Just a bite though.’

‘Wuss.’

It took a second to place the rasping sound that followed. Fangs.

Vampires.

Needle-sharp teeth grazed the side of his throat. A tongue darted out to taste his pulse-point. Sam’s eyes snapped open.

Flesh tore as he reared back and slammed his forehead into the vampire’s nose. The vamp stumbled back, cursing, and Sam barely had time to realise the second man was moving before a hand slammed into his cheek. The vampire’s unnatural strength succeeded where he had failed: the chair toppled over onto its side, cracking his head against the cement, and for a split-second he was blind. Twin, snarling shadows loomed over him, well and truly pissed.

The air cracked, once, twice, and one of the vampires crumpled with dual cavities in his chest.

He blinked as a dark figure burst out of the shadows, heavy blade flashing. Blood spurted, and Sam kicked out blindly; he must have hit the right person, because he heard the familiar shik of a head parting from its body. The first vampire launched himself back into the fray with a shriek, followed swiftly by a thud as he met his own end; and Sam twisted his neck up with a punch-drunk grin, heart still hammering, and searched for Dean’s familiar smirk.

He locked eyes with a young woman instead.

For a moment they stared at each other in mutual affront. She must have been about his age, maybe a year or two younger; her eyes were sharp and angry in a way that certainly reminded him of his brother, beneath heavy, dark makeup. She might have been young, but the heavy gun in her right hand was a serious piece of hardware, and the machete in her other solid and well-worn. Not the equipment of an amateur. Face mashed against the floor, Sam felt himself flush as her expression took a quick tour from startled to absolutely furious.

‘Hey.’ He coughed. His voice sounded feebler than he’d intended. The awkward angle of his chest put an uncomfortable strain on his ribs. ‘Thanks for the save. D’you… d’you think you could untie me?’

She levelled her gun at him instead. ‘Who the hell are you supposed to be?’

‘I’m a hunter.’ He did his best to hold his hands in surrender, taped to the chair as they were. ‘Like you. You can test me if you want.’

‘Oh – oh shit, you’re bleeding. Hang on-’

Bleeding. Yes. The neck of his shirt felt wet with it, his hair tacky where the warm liquid had crawled across the floor and soaked into the roots. The woman switched her gun for a pocket-knife and knelt beside him. Her eyes skittered strangely across his face as she sliced him free of his prison with clean, efficient strokes and let him collapse against the floor. He went to draw an unfettered breath and hacked instead, sudden pain shooting through his chest. If his ribs hadn’t been cracked before, they sure as hell were now.

Cloth tore, and he felt the woman press something against his neck. She grabbed one of his hands, cupping it firmly around the makeshift bandage. When he looked back up, the rest of her half-shredded flannel lay abandoned on the floor, and she was shrugging back into her jacket.

‘Hold that,’ she ordered. ‘I have a car out front – can you stand?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay.’ Her arms went under his, and together they hauled his body upright. It felt wrong, leaning so much weight on someone two-thirds his size. ‘Come on. I know someone who can help.’

‘Thank you. You didn’t have to-’

‘Just don’t die,’ she snapped.

The resemblance to Dean hit again, stronger. He wondered who she’d come here looking for. He hoped they were okay.

The two of them stumbled out a side door and into a dark, deserted street. There was a hairy moment where his vision blurred and his foot snagged on a gutter, but the woman dragged his weight back under control with a steely determination.

‘You didn’t tell me your name,’ he mumbled.

This close, he could see her face tighten and twist. She didn’t answer straight away, eyes fixed straight ahead.

‘Claire. Claire Novak.’

It was a good name. ‘Nice to meet you, Claire.’

She shot him a look that was halfway frightened and halfway pissed and propped him against a beat-up truck while she fished for her keys. The lock clicked, and he let her shove him into the passenger seat and bully him into locking the buckle in place. Red spots plinked down and soaked into the leg of his jeans as she hurried to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. The engine grumbled to life.

‘Keep the pressure on it,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t you dare die.’

‘Mm.’ He tried to tell her that he thought the blood-flow was slowing, but the world had started to tip sideways. His head throbbed. His chest ached. There was something important he had to ask her. ‘My brother… he should be here. Did you see my brother?’

‘Hang on, Sam,’ she ordered, gunning the accelerator.

It occurred to him, as he slipped away into darkness, that he’d never told her his name.

The accelerator kissed the floor as Claire roared through Sioux Falls’ dead night-time streets with Sam Winchester in her passenger seat.

She couldn’t help sneaking glances sideways, and every time she looked the same shot of adrenaline kicked through her chest. The hair was too short, shoulders too skinny, face too soft and narrow – but past her first, starving college student impression, past the ratty tee and gangly giraffe limbs…

The broad upturned nose, the set of the mouth, and the shape and shifting colour of his eyes were all perfectly Sam.

Claire couldn’t guess ages worth a damn, but he looked early twenties: too old to be Sam’s secret, long-lost kid. He could have been Dean’s. It was possible. There might have been a third brother that no-one ever spoke about.

But the timing was one hell of a coincidence.

The next time she looked her passenger was fully out, blood slipping freely down his collar. The first tinge of panic lanced through in her gut. Claire grit her teeth and took the next series of corners dangerously fast, flashing past the school and into suburbia.

She wished, more than anything, that Jody were in the car with her.

As if summoned, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it, launching the car across an intersection, through a red light, and down the familiar stretch of their home street before pulling to a screeching halt in the Sheriff’s drive.

Claire threw herself out of the car and around to the passenger side. She yanked the door open and caught Sam as he lolled outwards, held up by his seatbelt. The bandage had fallen to his lap, soaked crimson and nearly useless; she grabbed it anyway and looped it sloppily around his throat, wishing she’d stopped to do so back at the warehouse.

She had her silver knife in her pocket, holy water in a sports bottle in the door, and cold iron in the machete she’d thrown onto the back seat. He passed each test, and Claire let out a sigh – then shook her passenger by the shoulder until his eyes fluttered and he groaned.

‘Wake up.’ She shook him again, a lump lodged in her throat. ‘Wake the hell up.’

His eyes slid open. ‘Claire.’

The relief was so strong, she thought she might throw up. ‘Yeah. Come on, we gotta get inside.’

She got the buckle undone and steadied him as he tumbled out, locking her knees against the dead-weight. More or less upright, they dragged themselves up the drive.

It was one in the morning and the neighbours were almost certainly asleep, but Claire had an armful of Winchester and her keys were stuffed out of reach in her back pocket. ‘Alex!’ she hollered. ‘Open the door! Alex!’

A tense moment passed before the door swung inwards to reveal her sister, still in her scrubs, haloed by the light of the TV. Blurry eyes frowned down at them.

‘Someone had better be… oh.’

She saw the exact moment Alex saw – really saw – the man propped against her shoulder. Her sister’s jaw hit the floor.

‘Yeah,’ Claire said. ‘Get your stuff, he’s bleeding.’

‘Put him on the couch.’

Alex disappeared, and Claire pushed her way into the living room. She maneuvered Sam past the re-heated leftovers on the coffee table and lowered him onto the sofa – the new, easy to wipe-down leather one they’d gotten after the old couch got covered in bits of ghoul.

‘Where are we?’ Sam asked. She tried to give him space, but his hand bunched in the sleeve of her jacket. His half-open eyes tracked aimlessly across the ceiling, but his voice was fierce, and his grip was strong.

‘My place. That was my sister, Alex. She’s a nurse.’

His throat bobbed. After a moment his grip slackened, and he let go. ‘Thank you.’

Claire blew out a breath. ‘Thank me once you’ve stopped bleeding out.’

Alex barrelled back into the room before she could feel awkward, hospital-grade first-aid kit in hand. She dropped to her knees next to Claire, unlatched the kit and snapped latex gloves over the top of her scrubs, ever the professional.

‘What am I looking at?’

‘His throat got torn by a vamp. And a concussion, I think. He passed out on the way here.’

‘My ribs,’ Sam added. She felt Alex jump at the sound of his voice and grimaced in sympathy: it was all wrong, too high and nasal, without a spark of recognition. ‘I think they’re cracked.’

Claire had always envied Alex’s ability to compartmentalise. She watched her sister’s focus shift from Sam as family to Sam as a patient in an instant as she peeled back Claire’s bandage – the remnants of her second favourite flannel – and peered at the tear with sharp, professional movements. Blood dribbled sluggishly over her fingers, pattering against the sofa, until she clamped the fabric back in place.

‘Okay. Hold that,’ she ordered, calm as anything – and despite the wheeze of Sam’s breath, some of the tension in Claire’s chest finally began to wane. She grabbed the bandage as Alex fished out needle and thread.

The nurse hesitated, glancing at Sam. ‘You need painkillers?’

Sam shook his head, ashen-faced. They must have learned the dumbassery young. ‘Bourbon?’ Claire suggested.

He grinned. There was blood on his teeth.

‘Not likely.’ Alex brandished a bottle of anti-bacterial wash in one hand, and her wicked needle in the other. ‘Last chance for pills.’

‘Just do it,’ Sam grunted.

Her sister looked disappointed, but not surprised. ‘Hold him still.’

Claire wanted to ask how the hell she was supposed to do that. In the end, Sam did most of the work for her by passing right back out.

Diluted blood splashed over the floorboards as Alex cleaned the wound and set to work sewing flesh back together. She moved clinically, never pausing: needle in, needle out. At some point Claire realised that Patience had appeared beside them, tousle-haired and blinking away sleep in polka-dot pyjamas, swapping out soiled gauze for fresh.

Six neat stitches appeared altogether before Alex tied off the thread and started wiping down the surrounding skin. Claire, who had been hanging onto Sam’s shoulders in case he came too swinging, helped lever him up so that Alex could wrap the wound in pads and gauze. When that was done, the three of them maneuvered all six-feet-five-inches of Winchester so that he was lying comfortably across the couch with his ribs supported, before sprawling themselves across the cold, blood-stained floor.

Patience was the first to break the silence.

‘Okay. Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on now?’

‘I don’t know,’ Claire admitted. ‘I just… found him. At the warehouse, with a couple vamps.’

‘That’s Sam.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is this normal?’

‘Not even close,’ Alex supplied. ‘Witches, maybe?’

‘There were weird sigils all over the place. First time I’ve seen witches work with vampires, though.’ Claire let her head thunk back against the wall. ‘He didn’t even recognise me.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on his concussion.’ Alex sounded exhausted. Her dinner had gone cold on the coffee table. Claire wondered how long it had been since her sister had last slept. ‘Try to get him to drink some fluids. Other than that, there’s not much we can do.’

‘You need to call Jody,’ said Patience.

‘Oh, shoot.’ Claire fumbled for her phone. Four missed calls. Her stomach sank.

Alex snickered. ‘Did you miss check in?’

‘Just make sure he doesn’t die,’ Claire grumbled, levering herself upright and shambling towards the privacy of her room. As she left, she heard Patience muttering about needing new pyjamas – again. Claire hurried away before either woman could see her fond smile.

She shut her door, unlocked the phone and hit re-dial. It rang a grand total of once before the Sheriff answered, voice tinny and worried.

‘Claire? Where are you? Why didn’t you answer? ’

‘Hey, Jody.’ She slumped on the bed, ignoring the blood that smeared on the covers. Her muscles had cooled and seized. She’d be a wreck in the morning, but she found herself finally relaxing at the Sheriff’s familiar voice. ‘I’m home. It’s done, you can tell the station the tip was just a prank call.’

‘What happened?’

‘There were a couple of vamps holed up inside the warehouse. They had a blood-bag. I had to go in and get him before he got hurt.’

‘He okay?’

‘Alex is fixing him up now.’

‘Are you okay?’

Claire allowed herself a small smile. ‘Yeah, Jody, I’m fine.’

She heard Jody’s sigh of relief through the speaker. ‘You did good, Claire. I’ll head down for clean up once we’re done with the B and E here. Tell Patience and Alex I’ll be home soon.’

Claire worried at her lip, trying to figure out how to phrase the next part. ‘Before you go.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Just, the guy I found.’

‘You need a hand?’

‘Jody, it’s Sam.’

For a moment there was absolute, dead silence.

‘Oh, thank god.’

Claire blew out a huff of air. ‘Yeah. But he’s not… they did something to him.’

‘Is he alright?’

Claire let herself fall back against the mattress, ready to place this mess in her guardian’s hands – for long enough to get some sleep, anyway. ‘You’re gonna need to see this yourself.’

There was a pause. ‘I’m headed home now.’

‘See you soon.’

The call ended, and Claire lay back staring at the ceiling. The edges of her vision were blurring, now that the adrenaline of the night had well and truly crashed, and a laugh bubbled up inside of her – the sort that usually came out part sob. She battened it back down and thumbed to a different contact in her phone.

There was one other person she needed to call.

Chapter Text

Jody pulled into the drive with anxiety rattling through her bones.

She parked the squad car next to Claire’s truck and clambered out. The pick-up’s doors lolled open, bloody handprints daubing the windows and hood in a mirror of one too many crime scenes. She made a mental note to get it scrubbed before the neighbours roused in the morning, then ignored it. Her people were safe inside the house. An empty car meant nothing.

‘He’s not… they did something to him.’

Jody shivered.

The soft light and gentle murmur of voices spilling from under the door soothed some of her worry. She gave herself a moment to gather her courage, then unlocked it and cracked the wood open, easing herself inside.

Alex and Patience greeted her with matching, tired smiles. There was more blood dribbled over the hardwood and soaked into her daughters’ clothes, but not as much as she’d feared – and on the couch behind them she saw a bundle of blankets with a soft mop of hair peeking out from one end and a pair of jean-clad shins from the other, rising and falling ever so gently.

‘Hey,’ said Alex.

‘Hey, yourself.’ Jody locked the door behind her, breathing a sigh of relief at the simple action of shutting out the wider world. ‘Where’s Claire?’

‘In the shower, using up all the hot water,’ said Patience. ‘She’s pretty wrecked.’

‘And that’s...?’

‘Yeah.’ Alex was still wearing her uniform, Jody realised. It was going to need soaking. ‘He’s only been conscious a few times, though. We thought he might have a concussion, but he’s been pretty lucid, and he said he wasn’t nauseous. Lucky he’s got such a thick skull.’

‘He does have that.’ She slung her bag onto the nearest armchair, unhooked her holster and let it follow, and took a few hesitant steps forwards. Sam didn’t stir, and she had to remind herself that the girls wouldn’t be this calm were something badly wrong. ‘Claire said there was something else.’

‘It’s weird,’ Alex warned her. ‘You’re gonna have to see it yourself.’

Claire had used the same words.

Alex groaned as she stood and trudged over to her patient, and the Sheriff followed with trepidation. This close, there didn’t seem to be enough bulk filling out the space beneath the blanket, and her heart sank into her gut. It had been three weeks since Sam had vanished. Malnutrition could do a lot of damage to the body in that time.

She held her breath as Alex reached out and gingerly peeled the blanket back.

Jody’s first thought was that this was a mistake. A trick. It wasn’t Sam, and anger and despair flashed through her. Then the man shifted – and Jody rocked back, hand over mouth.

‘Impossible.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said. Her tone was carefully neutral. ‘But it’s not the weirdest thing we’ve seen.’

‘Does he...?’

‘He didn’t recognise any of us,’ said Patience.

‘Jesus.’

For a moment she floundered, swamped by the ramifications. But her girls were watching: and if she detached herself, if she let go of her personal stakes, then Alex was right. They’d seen weirder. Her mind flashed from the Kronos case – the one that she had, ironically, worked with Sam – to an alternate version of Bobby slipping through a portal from another world, and to a story dragged from a very drunk Dean, about a second go around at puberty and Hansel and Gretel’s witch.

There was precedent. There was lore. She could work with that. She took an unsteady breath. ‘But he’s okay, otherwise?’

Alex nodded. ‘He’ll have to rest up and drink plenty of orange juice, and I want to keep an eye on those stitches. Rib’s broken, too. But other than that, physically he’s fine.’

‘Okay.’ Jody took a step back. ‘You did good, Alex. Take the next shower and get some sleep, okay? I’ll clean all of this up.’

‘Thanks, Jody.’ She slunk away, head hanging low. Jody resolved not to wake her before noon.

‘This is so strange,’ Patience said in the quiet, once Alex was gone. ‘I’m half-sure I’m having some sort of vision.’

Jody smiled. Claire and Alex were used to the unexplainable: she felt a glow of pride at the way Patience had handled herself tonight. ‘I wish, kiddo.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘You should get some sleep, too. You’ve got school tomorrow. We’ll figure it all out in the morning, once Sam can tell us what he remembers.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Patience stood and stretched. ‘Oh. Claire said to tell you she called someone called Cas? He’ll be here sometime tomorrow.’

‘Well that’s… great.’

Patience gave her an odd look before she left, too; and then it was just Jody, alone with Sam’s unconscious form. She glanced at the blood spattering the floor and working its way into the couch and sighed, saying goodbye to a good night’s sleep. She was going to need bleach.

Castiel. That would be interesting.

She wasn’t angry Claire had called him, exactly. But a heads up, a chance to find her feet and get Sam settled, first: that would have been nice.

She knew of the angel, of course, from both Claire and the Winchesters, though she’d never met him. Her impression was more of a soldier than a hunter, of someone well-meaning but single-minded in protecting his charges. And he definitely considered the Winchesters his.

Jody lugged her extensive collection of cleaning products back into the living room and stood for a moment, looking down over the boy sleeping peacefully on her couch. It could have been so much worse, she thought grimly. Driving from the station she’d imagined all kinds of things – some memories of hunts gone bad, some straight from her own nightmares. Mutilation, possession, bewitchment, loss of faculty. The Sam in front of her was – more of less – whole and hale. This was a win.

And yet.

At a best guess, she would have placed him between twenty and twenty-three. A decade of memory, of life, gone. The was Sam pre-Apocalypse, pre-Man of Letters, pre the rise and fall of Heaven and Hell.

He had no idea what kind of world he’d just been pushed into. No idea how many people relied on him. Of the enemies that would hunt him down at the slightest hint of vulnerability.

No idea of the sheer weight behind the name Sam Winchester.

She was going to have to prepare herself for the moment when he looked at her and saw a stranger. Their Sam was gone, after all. The thought sat in her gut like a stone.

In the morning she’d convince him to stay. Sam had hunted his whole life – time travel wouldn’t be too difficult to sell. She’d deal with the rest as it came. And, most importantly, she wouldn’t let him vanish into the horizon with Castiel. Sam was her friend – her responsibility – too. She refused to be left on the outside this time, wondering if she could have made a difference. They’d fix this together.

That decided, Jody snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and got to work.

Sam’s ribs ached. His throat burned. The pain made it difficult to keep his face smooth and his breath even enough to pass for sleep.

The woman – Jody – pottered about nearby, water swilling and slopping against the floor. She was quiet as she worked: he could hear the shower running and the younger women murmuring down the hall. Eventually they went quiet, lights flicking off one by one. He heard the front door creak and Jody slip through it with her bucketful of sloshing water.

Alone, he let his eyes slip open.

Jody had left the kitchen light on. It cast strange shadows, like reaching hands, over a perfectly middle-class living area littered with phone-chargers and books and old newspapers in piles. The house felt innocent. It felt warm. Everything about this place and these people told him to drift away into sleep, and that he would wake safe and well in the morning.

If he hadn’t heard their conversation, he might have.

‘He didn’t recognise any of us.’

He’d never met these women in his life, he was sure – but back at the warehouse, Claire had known his name. His eyes darted around the space, taking everything in.

Alex’s medical kit, tidied away by the kitchen, was hefty enough to suggest she cleaned up after Claire’s hunts regularly. Jody had seemed equally unsurprised to find an injured stranger in her home, cleaning away the evidence with practiced efficiency. A family of hunters, then, or at least one well-aware of the supernatural, and competent enough to stay under the radar while hunting out of one grounded location.

The few photos in the room were proudly displayed: a smiling Alex in a college gown, certificate in hand, beside a woman he assumed was Jody; Claire, Alex and Patience lounging in the back of the pickup; the girls again, this time squished into the frame with a beaming, pony-tailed blonde. A happy family, on the surface at least.

If he strained his eyes further he could make out faint rune markings over doors and tucked behind furniture, but there was nothing inherently insidious about good luck charms or wardings. His eyes drifted over to the bag Jody had left on one of the armchairs, and his heart jumped into his throat.

A Sheriff’s badge gleamed dully on the clip of her belt.

This house belonged to a cop.

Finally, the recognition made sense. As quietly as possible, he sat up and slipped the blanket down off his legs, wincing as the movement pulled at his stitches and sent waves of dizziness through his head. Jody was out front. He’d have to go around back and hope the fence wasn’t too tall or rickety for his busted rib.

He hesitated, trying to remember where Claire had left her gun, and made it no further before the door slipped open again.

Sam froze as the woman from the photographs backed into the room, arms full of cleaning products and bloody rags. There was no time to lie back down and pretend he’d been sleeping. She shut the door and turned around, fumbling her load when she saw him.

One of the bottles slipped to the floor, bouncing away into the corner. ‘Sam,’ she said, strained. Her face made the same tense, pained expression he remembered from Claire in the warehouse, before smoothing out. ‘You’re awake. I… how are you feeling?’

‘How do you know my name?’

Jody paused, as though choosing her words cautiously. ‘That’s… kinda a long story. Alex says you need to rest – sure you don’t wanna leave this ‘til morning?’

Sam scowled. ‘I want to know what’s going on. Where am I?’

‘Sioux Falls,’ she said carefully, and relief crashed over him. ‘My name is Jody Mills. I’m the Sheriff here.’

‘How do you know me?’

‘What do you remember?’ Jody set down her burden and perched on the remaining free armchair. He recognised that posture, that tone – it was the good cop half of ‘good cop, bad cop’. ‘Do you know how you got here?’

A muscle popped in his jaw. She was blocking his path to the door, but it was still unlocked – if he moved quick enough he might be able to make it before she realised what was happening. ‘No. All I remember is waking up in that warehouse.’

‘Sam, what year is it?’

‘What – 2006. What does that have to do with anything?’

Jody leaned forwards. There was sadness in her eyes. ‘No, Sam. It’s 2018.’

Sam blinked. He must have heard wrong. ‘What?’

He tensed as Jody reached into her jacket, but she only drew out a mobile phone. She held it out, gesturing for him to take it, and her brow creased when he didn’t.

’Turn it on. Look at the date.’

It wasn’t like any phone he’d ever seen, and curiosity got the better of him; he reached out and accepted the device, turning it over in his hands with suspicion. It was smooth, with no hinge to reveal the keypad: just one blank, seamless screen.

‘Go on,’ Jody encouraged.

Self-conscious, he ran his fingers over the edges and found that it wasn’t entirely even. There were buttons along the side, and he pressed them one-by-one until the screen lit up with familiar, rural Sioux Falls scenery. Overlaid in slim, streamlined text was a date. September 22nd.

2018.

‘I don’t… understand.’

‘That’s okay. It’s a lot.’

Sam looked up sharply; the phone could have been fancy rich people technology, and the lock-screen could have been faked, but there was a stack of newspapers on the coffee table. Jody was inscrutable as he grabbed one and scanned the columns of text about unfamiliar events and unfamiliar people, searching for the date. And there it was. 2018.

None of which meant that she was telling the truth – but something was scratching at the edge of his memory. Something from before the warehouse. Him and Dean. They’d been tracking down Yellow Eyes. Azazel. Something… something had gone wrong.

The last thing he remembered… last he remembered…

Cold Oak.

The Special Children.

Jake Talley’s knife plunging into his back.

‘I died,’ he said with wonder. He threw off the blanket entirely and shrugged his way out of his jacket with feverish movements, ignoring the pain with as he pulled up the back of his shirt and felt for the entry wound, right above his spinal cord. Knotted scar-tissue greeted him. ‘I was in Cold Oak, and I died.’ He turned his eyes towards Jody’s, and found his horror mirrored there. ‘What happened to me?’

‘I don’t know what you’re remembering Sam, but whatever happened, you survived it.’

‘No,’ he said. White sparked at the edges of his vision, and he tasted bile at the back of his throat. Twelve years. ‘No, I remember dying, that’s the last thing I remember. And then I woke up in that warehouse. Someone – why would someone bring me back?’ A wave of panic hit him all over again. ‘Where’s my brother?’

Jody was standing, now, then kneeling. She was right in front of him. He thought he might have been in shock. ‘Sam, listen to me. You lived. You spent the next twelve years living. I met you on a hunt in 2009. You were twenty-six, and you were hunting with your brother. With Dean. Whatever you’re remembering, you lived through it.’

As quickly as the situation had begun to make sense, his understanding dissolved all over again. ‘Then why don’t I remember?’

‘I think you’ve been cursed. Made younger, for some reason. Or brought forward from the past. Either way, no-one’s been resurrected.’

‘Why?’

‘You’ve got a lot of enemies, Sam,’ Jody said gently. ‘Very powerful ones. Any one of them would be thrilled by the idea of having you out of the picture.’

‘Then why not just kill me?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘But if I had to guess – leverage. Insurance. As a distraction. Or maybe this is just meant to be some kind of joke at your expense. I’ll ask when I find the person who did it.’

‘Christo,’ he spat, hoping against hope.

Nothing. No black eyes. No howl of pain. Just Jody, looking at him as thought he’d hit her. ‘Wait here,’ she said, steely-eyed.

Without many other options, he let his head drop into his hands as she disappeared down the hall. Twelve years. It had to be a joke. He was in a coma. A screwed-up djinn dream. Azazel was playing games with him, seeing how quickly he would crack. But as much as he wanted to look at Jody and see a liar – a witch with a back pocket full of necromancy spells and an as yet undetermined scheme – her pain seemed all too real.

He heard footsteps and raised his head. Jody held out a photo-frame in a white-knuckled grip.

‘Take a look.’

He accepted it without fuss, holding it up to the meagre light, and nausea swooped through his stomach. He recognised the people in this photo easily enough. He was one of them.

So was Dean.

‘I guess you didn’t just meet us that once,’ he said numbly, trying not to look too hard or recognise too much of John in the men grinning up out of the frame, with their frown lines and stubble and tired eyes, seated across from Jody and her girls around the same dinner table he could see six feet from where he was sitting. He’d grown his hair out, he realised. He’d always wanted to do that, but Dad would have kicked his ass for looking like a hippie.

‘We can’t keep that picture out on display, what with the two of you being wanted criminals and all.’ Sam flinched, and Jody squeezed his shoulder. ‘Relax, kiddo. If I were going to arrest you, you’d already be sleeping in a cell. You and Dean have always had a place in my house.’

The last of his denial withered. ‘I… I need to call someone. His name’s Bobby, he lives in Sioux Falls. He can help us figure out what happened.’

Jody hesitated. ‘Bobby died, Sam,’ she said gently. ‘A few years ago. The salvage yard burned down. I’m so sorry.’

Her words hit like a baseball bat to the gut. Twelve years. He buried the hurt and pushed on. ‘Then my brother. Dean. You must have his number.’

The Sheriff’s face fell further, and Sam felt a hint of unease, a fluttering of doubt. ‘That’s not possible right now. Dean’s… he’s off the grid. But Claire’s called someone – a friend – who can explain everything to you better than I can. He’ll be here tomorrow. Just… wait ‘til he gets here before you make any decisions, okay? I swear that you’ll be safe.’

‘Fine,’ he said, eventually, and she smiled in relief.

‘Okay, then.’

He made himself smile back and wish her goodnight, made himself keep a smooth face until she’d turned off the light with final instructions on where to find water and the bathroom and gone to her own bed. Then, finally he let his thoughts begin to churn.

The future. The idea – if it was true – filled him with reluctant excitement: what technology had been invented, what new lore had been discovered, what events had he missed? But beyond that, something – something other than being kidnapped and cursed – felt wrong. When he’d mentioned Dean, Jody had looked afraid.

Grief for Bobby hit all over again. What if… what if Dean…?

That pathway led to madness. All he knew for sure was that Sheriff Jody Mills was hiding something. Tonight, he thought, he would do his best to sleep. Tomorrow, though…

Tomorrow he’d meet Jody’s mysterious friend and figure out what that something was.

The clock read three in the morning when the first, familiar shocks of pain woke him.

He tumbled off of the couch, stuffed the neck of his shirt into his mouth to muffle his cries, and clasped his head between his hands with his forehead to the floor as agony split his head down the middle. Dimly, he felt the first beads of blood trickle out over his lip, and then –

-light, blinding light-

-wings, half a dozen of them, golden and impossibly huge-

-eyes like the sun, an unfamiliar silhouette-

-two men, in a graveyard, one young and one older, one furious and one bored-

-and one of them was-

Dean.

Everything went dark again.

He levered himself up off of the floor on shaky arms and let his head fall back against the sofa, smearing away the blood on the back of his forearm. The first grey light of dawn was sneaking in through the blinds. Nothing stirred – the Mills household must have been too deeply asleep to hear him. He counted it as a blessing.

Despite the migraine after-shocks still ricocheting through his brain, Sam felt a tired smile spread across his face.

Dean was alive. And he needed Sam’s help.

Chapter Text

Morning broke, and with it arrived an angel, a Nephilim, and a flame-haired woman who seemed to have gotten lost on her way to the Ritz.

Jody took a moment to appreciate the absurdity, with a half-drunk coffee in hand and the flannel-patterned slippers Alex had bought her last Christmas on her feet, as the cosmically powered beings on her doorstep stared at her expectantly.

‘Are you Jody Mills?’ asked the angel of Thursday.

‘That’d be me.’ She waved cheerily over their shoulders at Mrs. Peterson across the street, wondering if she could sell the odd group to the neighbourhood as yet another set of cousins. Mrs. Peterson scowled and ducked back behind her hedges. ‘Castiel, right?’

‘That is correct.’

‘You’d all better come inside.’

She got a brusque nod from the angel, and a subdued, ‘Thank you very much,’ from young Jack, recognisable from the pictures Sam had shown her months ago. The woman, on the other hand, grabbed her hand as she passed and leaned in close, all bright eyes and shark-teeth behind a charming smile and Scottish lilt.

‘Rowena MacLeod, my dear, pleasure to meet you. I was so relieved to hear you’d found wee Samuel – where is the poor lad hiding?’

Jody recoiled despite herself. ‘He’s… around.’

‘Take us to him,’ Castiel demanded, but Rowena continued over the top of him, unfazed.

‘Yes, it’ll be a relief to see him safe and well,’ she said. ‘What a charming house you have – Castiel dear, stop hovering, take a seat, were you raised in a barn?’

She passed across the Devil’s Trap under the mat without incident, taking the angel’s arm and steering him towards the couch – but Jody got the feeling that Rowena MacLeod wasn’t any more human than her companions.

‘Well, thank you all for coming.’ Jody shut the door and paused, wondering what kind of hospitality one was supposed to offer the heavenly host. ‘There’s coffee in the percolator, if that’s your thing?’

‘I’m not allowed to have caffeine anymore,’ Jack said sadly.

‘Alrighty, then.’ She gathered her wits and seated herself. ‘Thanks for getting here so fast. Gotta say, this is all a bit outside of my area of expertise. Usually I’d call the boys, but…’

Three identical grimaces met the statement. ‘On the phone, Claire said you found Sam in a warehouse?’

‘Right up by the high school.’ Jack perked up at the mention of Sam’s name, she noticed, glancing around as though she might have secreted him in a cupboard. ‘Claire said there was a good deal of blood, and runes all over the place. I’m gonna take a look later today, before we have to scrub it – I was hoping you’d be able to translate.’

‘I will have a look.’

‘Hell of a co-incidence, him turning up in Sioux Falls.’

‘Unlikely.’ Castiel’s face twisted. ‘If we assume that Michael is behind this, and that he has access to Dean’s memories, then it is almost certainly a ruse.’

Alarm kicked through her. ‘You think it’s not Sam?’

‘I do not know. Michael’s monsters are sometimes immune to the usual tests.’

Jody shot to her feet. ‘You’re telling me this now?’

‘But an imposter is unlikely,’ he continued, before she could bolt for Claire’s room. ‘I do not know this version of him, but the archangel Michael of our world was a cunning strategist. He would pre-empt our assumption of a trap.’

‘Stop speaking in tongues, angel,’ said Rowena. ‘What he’s trying to say is that if the feathery bastard wants to distract us, it would be far cleverer to put the real Sam – our Sam – in very real danger.’

Jody’s eyes narrowed. Our Sam was an awfully bold claim from someone she’d never heard of. There was something off about the both of them – something tense and worried. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

Both of her guests hesitated, glances shifting between them. ‘Claire said that Sam was younger,’ Castiel said evenly.

‘Yeah.’

‘How much younger, exactly?’

‘He says he’s twenty-three,’ Jody said, wondering where he was headed. ‘Last thing he remembers he was-’ dying ‘-in some place called Cold Oak.’

The angel seemed to deflate, as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. ‘That is good. Better than it could have been.’

‘We’ve got an archangel on the loose and Sam’s suddenly a traumatised college student, but that’s a good thing?’

Rowena leaned across and patted Castiel’s knee, and suddenly it felt like Jody was in the interrogation room – only she was on the wrong side of the table, outside of the family looking in. She didn’t like it.

‘Sam has been through far worse than Cold Oak in his life,’ the angel said, weary. ‘Michael could have left him addicted to mind-altering stimulants, or suffering hallucinations of the Devil, or with his body falling apart on a sub-atomic level. I would say that this is among the optimal outcomes, yes.’

Jody let out a breath. ‘Well, when you put it like that.’

Her hands were shaking a little, she realised. She couldn’t place any of the events Castiel had mentioned. It was like a dull blow to the stomach. The boys had secrets upon secrets, pain underneath pain – she knew and understood that. Some things were hard to drag into the light. But whatever had happened – she could have helped.

‘Did he recognise you, or Claire, at all?’

‘No such luck. Neither of us knew him at that age. You two?’

‘Not for a few years,’ Rowena said delicately.

Damn. And probably intentional. ‘And there’s no-one else he might recognise?’

Castiel tilted his head, as though running through an invisible list. ‘Bobby, of course, but the one we have available barely knows Sam at all.’ He didn’t seem to notice her flinch. ‘Ellen and Jo died during the first apocalypse, and Rufus soon after. Meg was killed by Crowley, Sam thinks Mary long dead, and Dean is obviously out of the question.’

‘So… no.’

‘Not that I am aware of.’

‘Great.’ She thought back to her conversation with Sam the night before. He’d been suspicious and antsy from the word go, and she couldn’t say she blamed him – she’d hoped Castiel would give her some undeniable reason for him to stay. ‘I guess it’s up to us to convince him to stick around, then.’

The angel tilted his head as though she’d said something curious. ‘I was operating under the assumption that Sam would be returning to the bunker, where he will be most secure.’

Where he belongs went unsaid. Jody snorted and dug out her Sheriff voice. ‘He’s been through a hell of a shock, Castiel, and that’s the only reason he hadn’t bolted out the door yet. In Sam’s mind he’s just escaped one kidnapping attempt – how do you think he’s going to react to a strange man grabbing him and dragging him off to some underground lair?’

‘Sam’s underground lair.’

There was a pause. ‘I don’t think that came out how you intended, dearie.’

The angel bristled at his companion. ‘It’s our home.’

‘But he doesn’t know that,’ Jody cut in. ‘He doesn’t know us. He doesn’t trust us. He’s not our Sam, Castiel. Not yet. And, anyway, are you ready to be a single dad of two?’

‘Because you believe yourself capable of being an adequate mother of four, I suppose?’

‘I think I’d manage, yes.’

Castiel had the good grace – hah – to look repentant. ‘That was unkind. You are trying to help. Sam and Dean have always spoken of you as a respected ally – I apologise.’ The angel trailed off, and for a moment she saw the blind, human terror behind his bluster. He had been in a panic before receiving Claire’s call, she realised. ‘I have lost Dean,’ he said softly. ‘I have come very close to losing Jack. I will not – I cannot – lose Sam, too.’

’You won’t. None of us will.’ She pretended not to notice Rowena dabbing at the corner of her eye, unable to tell whether it was for show or not. ‘But Michael’s trashed the bunker before, and for the moment Sam feels comfortable here. If you don’t want him to take off, don’t freak him out. Let him get used to you at his own pace. And in the meantime, we stick together, get some takeout, and ward this house from top to bottom.’

The angel examined her for a moment, before squaring his shoulders; and she realised that, quite by accident, she’d done the best thing possible: given him a mission. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘That is acceptable, so long as we may remain here. Sam – our Sam – is the true expert in angelic warding, but I am, of course, proficient. I will have to write myself out of their power… do you have paint? I will try not to ruin the, ah, aesthetic of your home.’

‘Satanic symbols in the Sheriff’s house? Who’d have a problem with that?’ She smiled. ‘I should have some lying around.’

‘Get a pot for me too. You wouldn’t happen to have sage as well, would you? Perhaps a cat skull or two?’

She gave Rowena a funny look. ‘Sorry?’

‘A cat skull. Or two. Oh,’ the other woman exclaimed, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘We didn’t tell you why I’m here, did we? How rude. The three of us have been searching for Sam since he went missing, you see – Castiel called me in to do some of the heavy lifting.’ The angel side-eyed her dourly. ‘I’m a witch, dear.’

‘Oh,’ Jody said faintly. ‘Well. That oughta be helpful.’

’Oh, yes.’ Rowena smiled. ‘I intend to be. Now, how about you introduce us to young Sam?’

‘I’ll go get him,’ she said. Then: ‘Where’d Jack go?’

Two pairs of eyes burned into Sam with unabashed fascination.

Heat crawled up the back of his neck. Alex was dead to the world in the room next door – and according to Jody, likely would remain so until noon – but the two remaining sisters more than made up for her absence with the intensity of their stares, as though watching him fumble with Claire’s phone was the most entertainment they’d had all week.

It didn’t help that the touch-screen was far more responsive than any he’d encountered, and he kept accidentally clicking links or mashing three keys at once in an attempt to navigate yet another think-piece article on the sordid state of the 2018 political climate. But the irritation was worth it; the uniform sleekness and lightning load-times of each progressive webpage did more to convince him that he had, in fact, stumbled a decade into the future than any amount of convincing from Jody and her girls.

Sam huffed as he accidentally closed his browser for the third time. A stifled giggle answered him, and he scowled. It wasn’t his fault the only phones he’d ever been able to afford were flip-screen burners.

‘Do you have a problem?’ he demanded.

‘Sorry,’ said Claire. ‘Just, you’re usually the tech person around here. You know. Old you.’

His mind flipped back to the man in Jody’s photograph, with his crow’s feet and hunched shoulders, and he shifted uncomfortably. A seed of curiosity niggled in his gut despite himself. ‘You knew me pretty well, right?’

‘You’re literally the person who taught us how to scam credit companies and hack the government.’ She sniggered. ‘And now you’re like a grandma who can’t open her emails.’

The change between Claire today, now that she’d decided he was a friend, and the hunter he’d met the night before was stark. She was grinning, waiting for him to banter back, and he almost missed the open hostility. That at least had made sense. ‘I did?’

‘I didn’t want to scam anyone,’ said Patience. She was quieter than either of her sisters, he’d noticed, and more serious. Happier to give him space. ‘I don’t plan on spending my twenties in jail. But learning about traffic cameras and search algorithms was kinda fun.’

‘Dean calls them your nerd classes.’

Something curdled in his stomach. ‘Where is Dean? Jody won’t tell me.’

He’d tried to ask again soon after waking, over the most awkward sit-down breakfast of his life – orange juice and sugary cereal for him, the former heavenly, the latter a nightmare on his abused throat – but a car grumbling into the drive had cut him off, and Jody had shooed the three of them away into Claire’s room until she could be sure their guests were friendly.

Claire’s smile faded. He didn’t think he was supposed to see Patience nudge her in the ribs. ‘He’s out of the state,’ Claire said. The hesitation was barely there. She was a practiced liar. ‘Off the grid. He didn’t leave a way for us to get in contact with him, but he’ll pop up eventually. He always does.’

‘Me and him are still hunting?’

‘Of course,’ Claire said, so flippantly as to suggest that the very idea of an alternative was unthinkable, and that told him everything he needed to know about his future.

‘So, what’s the deal with this place?’ he asked, reaching for any possible distraction.

‘What deal?’

‘You. Jody. You all seem too old to be her kids.’

The two young women swapped looks. ‘We’re kinda adopted,’ said Patience.

‘Sometimes Jody comes across a bad hunt and a screw-up kid, and bam! That’s it. You’re hers now. No refunds.’ Claire’s eyes slid sideways. ‘No offence Patience. She’s not a screw-up,’ she added for his benefit.

‘Gee, thanks,’ Patience said dryly. There was a stilted awkwardness between the two of them, he decided. It made him wonder if one of the two was new to Jody’s little family. ‘I’m uh. I’m a psychic.’

Sam blinked. Patience grimaced and dropped her eyes.

‘Yeah, she’s a psychic.’ Claire frowned at him, daring him to object. ‘Alex was a vampire for a while. I took a turn at being a werewolf. What of it?’

He’d never heard of someone transitioning from monster back to human. ‘Nothing. Just… so this is, what, some kind of halfway home? A foster house for friendly freaks?’ There was a beat of silence, and he flushed. ‘I didn’t mean-’

‘It’s a good thing you look like hammered crap,’ Claire muttered. ‘No, say it like it is, Sam.’

‘No, that’s not what I…’ It was too late. The girls’ eyes had turned cold. ‘I was just wondering if Jody wanted me to stay so bad because this is monster rehab.’

‘Michael working some mojo on you doesn’t make you a monster, Sam,’ said Patience, and he frowned.

They didn’t know.

He opened his mouth to ask who Michael was supposed to be, but a clatter in the doorway cut him off. Grateful for the interruption, he turned, expecting to see that Jody had come to check up on them – but instead he found a boy hovering outside, staring at him as though the meaning of the universe was writ across his face. Sam startled, wondering just how many children Jody had managed to gather.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Claire demanded, dashing that particular idea.

Sam was out of his seat a fraction after the two women. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that a switch-knife had materialised in Claire’s hand, hidden against the line of her thigh. The young man in the doorway held up both hands, wide-eyed.

‘I’m Jack,’ he said, and both girls relaxed, easy as that.

‘Oh,’ said Claire with a studied nonchalance. ‘I guess Cas is here.’

‘He’s in the living room.’ Jack turned eagerly back to staring. His eyes flicked down to the thick white bandage swaddling Sam’s throat – there were still rust-stains against the skin of his collarbone that they hadn’t been able to completely scrub away. ‘Sam? Is that you?’

‘Uh. Yeah. That’s me.’ There was something curious about Jack – he held himself too stiffly, eyes to wide, head to the side like a bird. Sam gathered up a smile and held out his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Jack’s face scrunched together as though Sam had announced the sky was orange. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s nice to… meet you. Excuse me.’

Sam blinked, hand hanging in the empty air, as tears welled in the other man’s eyes and Jack turned and fled, his footsteps racing down the hallway. He let it fall back to his side and turned back to the sisters, nonplussed.

‘That’s Jack,’ said Patience. ‘He’s… kind of Castiel’s son.’

‘It’s a really long story,’ Claire added, as though the thought of it left a bad taste in her mouth. She tossed the knife onto the bedspread with a huff.

‘Don’t take it personally.’ Patience’s eyes were kind. ‘I don’t think they handled it very well when you disappeared. He’s probably just overwhelmed.’

Sam nodded, trying to parse through that information. Castiel must be Jody’s friend – he wondered if the name was Latin. ‘And Castiel is…?’

‘You’re best friend.’

‘Oh.’

‘And, for the record?’ Claire added. ‘Jody doesn’t want you to stay here ‘cos she thinks you might go off the reservation. She wants you to stay because you’re one of her best friends, too.’

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.

Sam poked his head around the doorframe, intending to follow Jack and apologise – but the other young man had vanished, and he found Jody standing in the corridor instead, flanked on either side by an unfamiliar face.

All three of them looked at him sharply. Sam gripped the doorframe as a familiar cycle of emotions crossed both strangers’ faces: recognition, disbelief, fear, followed by the same curious, intense determination that Jody radiated. It made him feel like something small, a stray pup scrounged out of a drain.

He didn’t like it.

‘Sam,’ the man said – choked – breathed.

‘I’ll go check on Jack,’ Jody muttered, brushing a hand across the man’s elbow in support before disappearing into the living room. Strangely, it felt like a keen loss.

There was a beat of silence. ‘You must be Castiel,’ Sam said. He tried out a smile. It sat crooked on his face.

‘Yes,’ the man said. His hands fluttered against his sides as though he wanted to reach out.

‘And, I’m sorry-’

‘Rowena, dearie. Rowena MacLeod. My, but aren’t you a sight.’

The Sam of this time would have been thirty-five; both Castiel and Rowena looked older than that. The man was tall, though shorter than Sam by a couple inches; the woman tiny. Both looked tired and serious, though they came across more as a pair of harried business-people than as hunters.

They weren’t what he might have imagined.

‘Perhaps we should talk more privately,’ said Castiel, gesturing towards Claire’s room. Sam glanced back and found the girls staring again. Patience grimaced, apologetic. Claire waved.

He turned back into the hall. ‘That might be a good idea.’

‘You can have my room,’ Claire called, brushing past him and beckoning for Patience to follow. ‘I’m starving.’

‘I’ve got school.’ Patience offered him a smile as she traipsed after her sister. ‘See you later, Sam. It was nice to meet you.’

‘Bye.’ He raised his hand in a little wave, but the two women were already gone, leaving him alone with Castiel and Rowena. He moved back into Claire’s room, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the two older hunters followed. It was difficult not to feel like he’d been summoned by his father for punishment.

The memory of John’s body on the hospital floor flashed through his mind. He grimaced as the longing for Dean intensified.

‘Are you well, Sam?’ Castiel asked. The words spilled out with the eagerness of a river. ‘Claire mentioned that you were injured-’

‘I’m fine. Just cuts and bruises. Thank you.’

‘Good. That is good. This must all be very strange.’

Sam huffed a laugh. ‘You have no idea. Jody said that you know where my brother is?’

Castiel hesitated. ‘That is… a very long story.’

‘That’s what people keep telling me.’

‘I think it might be best if you take this one, angel.’ Rowena glanced at him in amusement. ‘Some things never change, I see. I have something that’ll fix those bruises right up, Samuel. You boys chat while I fetch it out the car.’

He might have imagined it, but he thought that Castiel relaxed as she swept from the room. ‘How much has Jody explained to you?’ he asked.

‘Not much.’ Some of Sam’s frustration spilled into his voice. ‘It’s 2018. Dean’s… off somewhere. And something big and nasty used its mojo to trap future me in this me’s body… or there’s time travel involved, we’re not really sure-’

‘This is not an instance of time travel.’

Sam raised his brow.

‘I believe that I am familiar with the entity that cursed you. If his aim was to remove you from the equation, switching the two versions of you in time would be no more than a minor inconvenience to your future self. Michael knows this.’

‘Michael?’

‘Yes.’ Castiel hesitated. ‘The world is much changed since your time, Sam. Nothing is simple anymore. Dean is not missing of his own accord. He was taken.’

Fear swooped through his gut. ‘What?’

Castiel’s words came out haltingly, like he was taking great care in choosing how he told the story. ‘Michael is… a powerful and dangerous foe. Dean had something that he greatly desired, and to save you and Jack from a great evil, your brother agreed to give himself over to Michael’s service. You and I have been searching for a way to rescue Dean ever since. Three weeks ago, you contacted me to say that you had found a promising lead and intended to pursue it, and that was the last anyone heard from you… until Claire found you last night.’

Sam took a step back and let himself sit back on Claire’s bed with a thump, running a hand through his hair. His chest ached hollowly. His brother was gone. Dean wouldn’t be bursting in to save him this time. He wouldn’t be able to help Sam navigate this strange future or tell him who he could and couldn’t trust.

Sam was on his own.

‘So, what are we doing sitting around here?’ he said, looking up to find Castiel watching him with grating sympathy. ‘Did I say where this clue was? Let’s go find it ourselves.’

‘There is much you do not understand, Sam.’

‘So, explain it to me. I’ve been hunting since I was a kid. I can-’

‘You can do very little.’ Sam halted in his tracks, upright and halfway out the door. There was a deep timbre to Castiel’s voice, and it sent a shiver up his spine. Castiel’s eyes softened. ‘We have tried, Sam. You and me. You ran yourself ragged searching for a way to save Dean, and the only place it got you was here. Missing twelve years of your life, and all of the knowledge and experience that came with them. Everything you’re thinking of doing right now – you’ve already tried, Sam.’

The other man sounded entirely reasonable, and it made Sam unreasonably angry. ‘I’m not going to sit around here playing house with a bunch of strangers while my brother’s in trouble. If you really are my friend, you know that.’

‘Yes. I do.’ Castiel raised his eyes heavenward. ‘If there is one constant in this world, it is the stubbornness of Winchesters. But throwing ourselves into unnecessary danger will not save Dean.’ His face did something strange. ‘Jody is right. The best thing we can do to help your brother right now is find a way to restore what was taken from you. Perhaps you learned something that can help us, before you were cursed. Do you agree?’

Sam wavered on the spot for a moment. ‘Fine. But I want answers. No more half-truths.’

‘Very well.’ Castiel’s smile seemed genuinely fond. ‘I am very, very happy that you are safe, Sam. The last few weeks have been… difficult. I know you have no reason to trust us, but please know that you are among friends. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.’

‘Thanks,’ Sam said, and Castiel made an awkward, aborted movement, as though he wanted to reach for a hug. Instead he took a few steps backwards.

‘I told Jody that I would take a look at the warehouse where you were found. If you wanted to come with us-’

‘Sure.’ Sam forced a smile. ‘Just give me a moment? It’s kinda a lot to process.’

‘Of course, Sam. Take all the time you need. I will be in the living room.’ He hesitated for a few moments more, as though there was more he wanted to say, before turning and leaving.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, alone with the swirling dust motes, as the pressure of the other man’s expectant gaze lifted off of his chest. He sat back down on the bed, slowly this time, and picked up the knife that Claire had abandoned on the covers, turning it over in his hand. It was a good knife. Silver bladed. Solid. Polished to within an inch of its life.

He could see it, he realised. He could understand why he would have made these people a part of his life. The girls were snarky and tough and kind. Both Jody and Castiel seemed competent and considerate. They oozed concern for his welfare and relief at his presence in a way no one but Dean and Jess ever had. It would be so, so easy to believe them.

-eyes like the sun, an unfamiliar silhouette-

-two men, in a graveyard, one young and one older, one furious and one bored-

Sam shifted, pinching his nose against the beginnings of a migraine. It would be so easy to believe them.

The problem was, he didn’t.

They were lying to him about something. Too many people paused mid-way through speaking, like they were curating what he could and couldn’t know. Too many glances sent his way were half-filled with fear, a weight of expectation that he didn’t understand. Too many explanations didn’t make sense. Surely it would be too perfect for everyone he might recognise to be dead and gone. Dean was a stubborn bastard. He’d never taken orders from anyone but Dad. If he’d chosen to side with this Michael…

Who was to say he didn’t have a reason?

Sam wanted to trust these people - but he'd wanted to trust Ava, too. The only person he could believe without a doubt was his own future self, and that Sam, with far more knowledge at his disposal, hadn't seen fit to tell Patience or Claire about his powers. And if Sam couldn’t trust the information they gave him, then he was better off finding the answers for himself.

He closed his eyes, feeling the idea solidify and settle in his mind – and when he opened them, he was sure. He couldn’t stay here.

He slipped the knife into his pocket.

Standing, Sam glanced around the room. He picked up Claire’s phone and hid it in the other pocket, then eased the cupboard’s sliding door open. Bingo. Half a dozen guns were scattered haphazardly inside, and he picked up the same handsome handgun he’d seen her use the night before and slid it into his waistband. A box of bullets fit snuggly next to the knife, and a dark cap hid the worst of his bruises under its brim. There was a wallet on the bedside table – he fished out a couple of crumpled twenties and left the rest where it lay.

Finally, he zipped his jacket and turned up the collar, trusting the dark colour to hide the blood-stains and the bandage beneath, and gently opened the window.

His ribs moaned ominously as he slid through and landed outside, keeping himself low in the shadow of the house and out of sight of the other windows. It was the work of a moment to vault the back-fence and hurry through the next yard, out onto a wide-open street that stretched into the horizon, where the last of the claustrophobia finally lifted from his shoulders.

Sam stuck his hands in his pockets and began the slow trek out of town.

Chapter Text

The Mills’ house was lovely, Jack decided.

It was very different to the Bunker, he thought, watching Claire’s truck grumble to life and putter away with Patience behind the wheel. Open and airy in a way that made him want to burrow down into the earth and hide where he couldn’t be seen, of course: but there was no denying that it was homely and lived in, scattered with photos and memories and soft, pleasant things, in a way the Bunker simply couldn’t manage.

He thought he might have liked to visit for tea, perhaps – to arrive tucked behind Sam’s shoulder and watch that familiar, slow smile unfurl across his guardian’s face when Jody opened the door to greet them. Dean would crack a joke or two, and Castiel would smile indulgently, and Jack would feel happy, and safe, and loved.

‘Are you okay, Jack?’

He recognised the Sheriff’s voice and shifted to make space as she settled on the doorstep beside him. Jack opened his mouth to say that yes, of course he was: but his throat closed, and the words choked themselves off, and with a start he realised there were tears pouring over his cheeks. He didn’t remember them getting there.

‘I’m fine-’ he tried again, only to find himself sobbing desperately into the Sheriff’s shoulder.

‘Alright, then,’ she said, smoothing circles over his back with her hand. ‘That’s alright. Let it all out.’

‘He didn’t even recognise me.’ The words tumbled forth without permission. ‘Castiel said he’d be different, but I wanted – he was gone so long, and I thought he was – and now we’ve found him, and I should be happy, but it’s all wrong.’

‘I know.’ The Sheriff let him sit himself back up, waiting patiently while he scrubbed away the tears and tried to stop hiccupping. ‘But he’s here, Jack, and he’s safe. We can find a way to fix this. We just have to be patient a little while longer.’

Jack didn’t want to be patient. He wanted his Grace back, and the absence of it gnawed at his insides like a hunger. With his powers he could have placed a hand over Sam’s forehead and put everything back to normal in a heartbeat. He could have flown to Sam’s side when he first disappeared and smote Michael where he stood – but his powers were gone, and he was human and useless.

No. Sam was human, and he’d placed his body in front of the devil himself to keep Jack safe. Jack was simply weak.

‘He was always there for me.’

‘That’s kinda his thing, kiddo.’

‘But I wasn’t there for him.’ It was a cold, hard truth, one he hadn’t even dared voice to Castiel, and it felt good to finally let the words out. ‘After Michael took Dean. Castiel was always away searching, and Sam was so busy-’ the refugees, Nick, the search for Michael, there had always been something, ‘-and I told myself I didn’t want him to have to worry about me, too. But he was lonely, and the truth is I didn’t help because I felt guilty. And then he was gone.’

Jack had abandoned him. He hadn’t wanted to see Sam struggling, because then he would have had to acknowledge that it was his fault. He remembered Sam handing him the archangel blade like Jack was doing him a kindness, Jack’s father grinning over his shoulder; remembered the blankness of Sam’s face when Michael took Dean and left them standing in the church alone –

‘Hey.’ Sheriff Mill’s voice broke him out of the memories. ‘Jack. Listen to me. Are you listening?’

‘I – yes.’

‘Good. Sam loves you, Jack. With his whole heart. You’re his kid. And it’s not a child’s job to take care of their parent.’

‘But if I had my powers-’

‘Then Sam would still do everything he could to put you first. Trust me. Someone should have been there for the both of you, you’re right. But that wasn’t on you, Jack.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘You’re a lot like him, you know.’

Warmth bloomed in his chest. ‘I am?’

‘He was worried about how you were coping, too. He felt guilty about not spending enough time with you.’

‘But I’m fine.’

‘Yeah. That’s how Sam said he was doing, too.’

‘And we all know that was a load of bollocks.’

Jack startled at the new voice, and when he turned he found Rowena standing in the doorway with watchful eyes. Her usual languid smile seemed strained, but Jack grinned back anyway. He liked Rowena. She’d helped them escape the apocalypse world, after all – and she always knew how to make Sam laugh.

‘I was just fetching something from the car, if you don’t mind.’

Sheriff Mills stood and dusted off her pants, offering him her hand. ‘We were just heading back in, weren’t we Jack?’

He accepted the offering and let her pull him back to his feet, shuffling out of the way to let Rowena glide past. ‘Yes. Thank you, Sheriff Mills. I feel… better.’

Jody’s face turned serious. ‘It’s okay to be upset, Jack. But if it gets too much, you can come and talk to me, okay? Or Castiel, or whoever else you feel comfortable with.’

It was a dizzying display of kindness from a virtual stranger – but there was only one person Jack wanted to talk to, and despite the warm body sitting in Claire’s room, that person wasn’t here.

‘Well. Good talk.’ The Sheriff gestured towards the house. ‘Wanna help me dig out some paints and ruin the wallpaper?’

Despite the grey thoughts lingering in the back of his mind, Jack found that he meant it when he said yes.

As Rowena struggled to pull her suitcase from the back of the angel’s abomination of a car and set its weight on the pavement, shivering a little in the chilly morning air, she took a moment to appreciate the open, hideously suburban street around her, with no Bunker walls and no Winchester associates in sight.

‘Honestly, Samuel,’ she muttered. ‘You’d best be grateful when all of this is over.’

And he would be, wouldn’t he, Samuel bloody Winchester. Three weeks she’d spent in that cursed Bunker, trying to take more than a few steps towards the door – three dozen times she’d had her bags packed and gone marching for the exit, determined never again to mix herself in the affairs of archangels – and every time the memory of his damned face had halted her in her tracks, all scrunched up and hesitant and smiling, saying moronic Sam Winchester things like thank you, Rowena, and you didn’t have to, and I’m glad you’re here–

She took one last breath before wheeling the hulking weight back up the drive and lugging it over the doorstep. There was a notable absence of Jack and the other one, but she found the angel pacing all over the living room, wringing his hands as though he didn’t have thousands of years’ experience learning the art of patience.

‘How did he take it?’ she asked, setting the case on one of the armchairs. With a flick of her hand the bag unzipped itself and a tiny package shuddered out of its depths, zooming into her waiting hands.

‘Better than he might have.’ Castiel’s eyes narrowed as the hex-bag lit up with purple fire. ‘I could do that, you know.’

‘Oh, so you’ve told him you’re an angel?’

‘No, but-’

‘Then this will be easier for him to understand.’ The magic’s warmth faded from her veins, and the fire extinguished itself. ‘Don’t worry, Castiel. I’ll have our lad in tip-top shape in no time.’

‘Very well, then,’ he said grudgingly, as though she’d had need of his permission. Rowena rolled her eyes and strode towards the bedroom with a quip about the angel on the tip of her tongue, only to draw to a halt in the entryway.

‘Sam?’ she called. ‘Samuel?’

There was no reply. The room was empty.

‘Castiel?’ Where did you say Sam’s gone?’

‘He’s still in Claire’s room.’ The shoulder of his trench-coat brushed against her as the angel peered into the room, and she felt him stiffen. ‘He was just – he was right here.’

Rowena frowned. Nothing seemed out of place, beyond the ordinary mess of a young person’s bedroom. She turned back into the hall, noting the closed door beside her and the empty bathroom adjacent, and a little shiver ran up her spine. ‘Well, now he’s not.’

‘Search the house,’ Castiel said tersely, ducking past her. ‘Jack? Jody? Is Sam with you?’

‘What’s going on?’

A woman slouched through the hall and peered over Rowena’s shoulder in interest – young, blonde, half-eaten piece of toast in hand. Castiel’s Claire, at a guess.

Rowena fixed a smile on her face and flapped her hands. ‘Nothing to worry about, dear. Have you seen Sam?’

‘He was in here a few minutes ago.’ Her lips thinned, like she was trying not to smile. ‘Cas didn’t go all doom and gloom and scare him off, did he?’

Ah. A kindred spirit. ‘He better well bloody not have.’ Something inside the room caught her eye. ‘Was that window open before?’

‘No.’ The young woman frowned and pushed into the room, dropping to her knees and sweeping a hand over the bed’s duvet and across the floor beneath it. When she looked up, her face was pinched and uneasy. ‘My knife’s gone. I left it on the bed.’ As though struck by a thought, she lunged towards the bedside table, rummaging through the clutter. ‘No way – he didn’t – that little asshole –’

‘Words, dear.’

Rowena’s new friend glanced towards her, eyes blazing. ‘He took my phone.’

‘Took it?’ Rowena asked, voice pitching too high. ‘Took it as in…?’

‘As in took it. And I bet if I look in here…’ She picked up an ugly leather wallet and rifled through it, before huffing and tossing it onto the mattress. She almost looked impressed. ‘I had forty dollars in there. He’s done a runner.’

‘But why would he…’ Rowena trailed off. ‘That bloody angel.’

Despite the situation, Claire grinned, as though at a personal joke. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time Cas sent someone climbing out a window.’

‘Castiel, dearie?’ Rowena called with remarkable poise. ‘Could you come here for a minute?’

It took all of thirty seconds for the angel to appear, young Jack and the Sheriff crowding behind him with matching hopeful expressions.

‘You found him?’

‘The Winchesters,’ Rowena said very, very calmly, ‘are large, murderous, flannel-wearing hooligans.’

‘I don’t understand what relevance –’

‘So how is it that you’ve managed to lose one twice?’

‘Sam stole my shit and snuck out the window,’ Claire translated, looking tickled by the notion. She had a laptop open in front of her, keys clacking madly.

‘He what?’

Rowena closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose against the Sheriff’s outburst. Deep breaths, that was the ticket. ‘What did you say to him?’

‘I don’t know what you’re implying,’ the angel growled. ‘I explained the situation. I told him that he had been cursed, that he was among friends, and that Michael was the likely suspect behind his situation. I told him that Dean was under Michael’s control-’

‘What were your exact words?’

Castiel glowered at her. ‘I did not wish to burden him with the knowledge of Dean’s possession and explained that Dean agreed to serve Michael at great personal cost, to save Sam and Jack from harm. I told Sam that he was likely cursed in the course of attempting to save his brother from this servitude.’

Rowena stared, appalled. ‘We’re doomed. Utterly doomed.’

‘What do you mean?’ the Sheriff asked.

‘This meat-head,’ she explained, taking great care to use small words, ‘just told a Winchester that we’re on the opposite side to his brother.’

‘That is not what I said.’

‘That’s exactly what you said, angel dearest.’ Rowena paused to let the magnitude of their situation sink in, taking in the sea of dumbstruck expressions, before tucking a few stray hairs behind her ear and smoothing down the front of her pantsuit. Deep breaths. ‘Well. Not to worry. If you still have some of his blood from last night, Sheriff, I should be able to track him with a spell. And I suppose we’ll just have to kidnap him for real this time.’

‘Don’t bother.’ The baby Sheriff, Claire, grinned up at them. ‘With the spell, not with the kidnapping. The dumbass took my phone, and Jody put a tracking app on it when she thought I wasn’t looking. He’s heading out towards the industrial end of town – moving pretty fast, too, I think he must have stolen a car.’

‘I know where he’s heading,’ Jody said grimly. ‘If we leave now, we won’t be too far behind.’

‘Well,’ Rowena sniffed, nodding in approval. ‘Good to know someone around here isn’t entirely incompetent.’

‘Careful, Rowena.’

She flashed the angel a smile. ‘I always am.’

‘If you two are done,’ the Sheriff interrupted, ‘I’ll tell the office I won’t be in today, and we can take the squad car.’

‘I’m coming too,’ Claire announced, bouncing with excitement, and Rowena ignored the bickering that started up between mother and daughter in favour of being the first the sweep out towards the car.

I swear, Samuel, she thought to herself, determined to claim shotgun before the angel, the things I do for you.

If you get yourself killed and leave me alone with this lot, I will never, ever forgive you.

It struck Sam as ironic that he’d lost most of his homes to fire.

First the place in Lawrence, though he barely remembered it before it had been rebuilt. Then the apartment he’d shared with Jess. And now, this.

The ruins of Bobby’s house felt abandoned, like they hadn’t been touched by human hands in years. The rusted chassis in the auto-yard were still stacked in piles, but the weeds had slowly choked them, and the wildlife had used the innards for snug dens. The house was little more than a collapsed firepit. Rain and sun had rotted the charred remnants into an unassuming hillock claimed by creeping grasses: a few unburnt beams, stretching upwards like caved ribs, were the only traces that it had ever been a home at all.

Sam sat where he thought the front door might have been, in the same spot he’d fallen after parking his stolen Honda and tumbling out its door. If he shut his eyes, he could imagine that he was shaded under the arch of it, listening to Bobby putter about with his books, yelling at someone down the phoneline.

When he opened them, all he saw was twisted metal and a crow or two, and the sun beating down over it all.

A twisted little laugh crawled out of his chest. He wished he’d brought a bottle of spirits, to tip into the dirt. ‘I hope you gave them hell, old man.’

‘Oh, he did.’

Sam whipped the gun out of his waistband and shot to his feet in an instant, sighting down the barrel. The intruder didn’t so much as flinch, standing in the dust in a pastel three-piece suit, hands in his pockets like he’d just left the office on a pleasant morning jaunt. Sam dashed the tears from his cheek with a frown.

‘Whoever you are,’ he said, ‘I’ve had a crappy morning, and I’m not in the mood.’

‘I can’t say I blame you. Not every day a young man finds himself in the future.’

The man’s voice had an amused lilt, as though he were commenting on the weather, and Sam’s brows lowered. He cocked the gun.

‘What do you think of this particular future, Sam?’ the man asked. He seemed genuinely intrigued. ‘Is it what you were expecting?’

‘How the hell do you know who I am?’

‘I suppose you’re rather sick of strangers knowing you, at this point. It’s not likely to stop, unfortunately. You’re something of a celebrity in our circles.’

‘And I suppose you’re another friend I’m supposed to trust?’ Sam sneered. ‘Did Castiel send you?’

A chuckle. ‘Oh, hardly. I have to thank you for abandoning that group of twits – they were rather in the way. And, no, we’ve never met. Though I’m something of a fan.’

Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want, then?’

‘Oh, so many things.’

Between one blink and the next the man’s eyes shifted from unassuming hazel to murky crimson, and Sam fired three shots into his chest.

‘Omnus immundus spiritus-’

The man gestured sharply, and the gun went flying into the dirt in the same instant Sam’s voice died to a gurgle. With a snarl he launched himself into a tackle, but the man vanished, and Sam hit the dirt hard. He shook himself off and spun back to his feet in time to see the crossroads demon make a complicated flourish with his hand – and the next time Sam tried to move, he found his feet rooted to the earth.

Voiceless and trapped, Sam glared at the demon as it considered him.

‘That wasn’t very nice. This was new,’ the demon admonished, brushing off the bullet-holes in his suit-jacket. ‘Let me introduce myself. You may call me Kip.’ He paused – and deflated when Sam didn’t react. ‘You don’t have to fear me, Sam. Right now, all I want is to talk.’

Sam did his best to convey the depths of his doubt.

‘Well, would you rather be kept in the dark, like Castiel and your other little friends want so badly?’ Sam hesitated, and the demon smiled. ‘They don’t give a damn what happens to you, dear boy. You’re just an obstacle to getting their Sam back. You’ve figured that out, haven’t you?’

He thought back to Jody’s warm concern and the girl’s comradery, and even Castiel’s stilted kindness, and he tried to keep his chin high. But the demon’s smile broadened, and the doubts came creeping back in.

‘They do say that you’re the smart one.’ The demon gestured to the wrecked house around them. ‘My predecessor had a great admiration for the man that lived in this house. Singer, wasn’t it? Of course, after he died Crowley was quite delighted to torture him in the Pit – but he admired him all the same.’ He quirked an eye at Sam’s trembling fury and waved a hand, and the vice around Sam’s throat disappeared. ‘Yes? Did you have something to say?’

‘You’re lying,’ Sam spat. ‘Bobby wouldn’t have gone to Hell.’

‘It’s amazing, the strings that can be pulled when a soul causes enough trouble.’ The demon shrugged. ‘Regardless, he didn’t stay very long. I never paid much attention to Hell’s grand plans, you understand, but when you stole into the Pit to rescue an innocent soul from torment – the armies of Heaven would have struggled with such a feat! Now that, that was a story! That made me want to learn more about the great Sam Winchester.’

Sam tugged against the bonds holding him in place. ‘Sure. Humans can’t enter Hell.’

‘Oh, no, plenty have gotten in. It’s usually getting out that’s the tricky part, and you managed that quite nicely.’ Kip smiled. It was an unsettling sight. ‘I found people to tell me all of the stories, your whole long life, and I was impressed. And that is the reason you’re here, Sam.’

Sam wet his lips. Kip’s control coated his limbs like molten glass, slippery and shifting – he’d never been able to feel demonic power as a physical presence, before. If he concentrated, he could nudge at it. He could search the surface for its flaws.

‘Castiel said that someone called Michael did this to me.’

Kip snorted, flapping his hands. ‘He would think that. Angels. They’ve all got their noses so far in the air, they never see the things swarming under their boots.’

Sam abandoned his bonds. ‘What?’

‘They didn’t tell you? Your Castiel is no more human than I am.’

‘Angels are real?’ Sam breathed.

The demon frowned. ‘They’re nothing to get starry-eyed over. Their side wanted to wipe you humans out even more than we did, not so long ago. Have they explained things to you, Sam? The whole sorry state of the world? Do you even know who Michael is?’

His silence spoke for itself.

‘Dear lad. You have no idea the world you’re in, do you? I suppose it’s my fault. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in Hell by now. Contractors, you know?’ The demon sighed. ‘Michael is Heaven’s top brass. The old archangel himself, resurrected and on a power trip to end all others. The biggest bad on planet Earth, with your brother neatly under his thumb.’

Demon’s lied, and this tale was easy to brush aside. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You don’t have to,’ said Kip, ‘you’ll find out for yourself soon enough, when you go running off after Dean. Which brings us to my offer.’

‘I don’t want anything,’ Sam grit out, ‘from a demon.’

‘I understand your experiences with my kind, Sam, but if I’d wanted to harm you I would have done it when my demons dragged you before me on your knees. I didn’t bring you back to this age for fun. Hell is dying. We haven’t had a stable ruler since Azazel died, and the current chaos in the pit is… excessive.’

‘Good.’

‘Not so much. No ruler means no rules, you see, which means demons crawling all over the earth doing whatever they please.’

‘I don’t see what that has to do with me.’

‘Don’t you? You were Azazel’s heir, Sam. His true, chosen heir.’

Sam recoiled. You were my favourite, Sammy.

‘That old plan died with Azazel, the first time around. You renounced your powers and settled for letting yourself be bossed about by your band of merry men, let yourself be beaten down, over and over again – but you were meant to be a king, Sam! And I can help you become one, here, now, when Hell needs you most!’

‘I’ll tell you the same thing I told Yellow Eyes,’ said Sam, keeping his voice carefully even. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow. ‘Pass.’

‘I thought you might say that.’ Kip looked disappointed, but not surprised. ‘But you should think about my offer. You could do great things in Hell, Sam. You could give the demons a purpose, stop innocent souls like your Bobby from ending up on the rack. And, who knows. Maybe with the legions of Hell under your command, you could truly challenge Michael for your brother’s freedom.’

‘I said pass,’ Sam growled.

‘Well.’ Kip sighed. ‘I didn’t expect it to be an easy sell, and company’s calling. Do me a favour. When your so-called friends try to give you all the years of your life back – consider whether you actually want the memories they try to stuff back in.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Hell is a nasty place, my boy, and I’m the closest thing to a ruler is currently has. I’ve seen all the horrors the Pit has to offer.’ The demon’s mouth twisted, and Sam thought he looked truly disturbed. ‘But there are some torments even I can’t imagine.’

‘Thanks for the advice.’

‘I suppose,’ said Kip, a thoughtful gleam in his eye, ‘that I could simply take you with me. Show you your domain.’

‘You could try,’ Sam replied, as he wedged his power into the cracks of Kip’s shackles and shattered the demon’s hold over him like glass.

The demon’s eyes blew wide as Sam threw out a hand, and he felt a rush of adrenaline as Kip flew backwards into a wooden beam and tumbled to the dirt like a sack of potatoes. The demon scrambled to his feet and stumbled backwards, matching Sam’s advance step for step.

‘Well,’ he stammered. ‘I see that I’m out of time. Consider my offer. I’ll be seeing you, Sam.’

Before Sam could reach out and grab him, the demon was simply gone.

Sam blew out a breath, staring at the empty space. ‘Freaking demons,’ he muttered.

He cracked his neck to the side, letting the rush of power recede. It left him feeling wrung-out and weak, sinus aching, ribs throbbing, like he’d run a marathon. Tiredly, he wandered over to the discarded gun and tucked it back into his waistband, before shading his eyes to take in Bobby’s place one last time.

He needed to get out of Sioux Falls, he realised. There was nothing for him here. He could find his way back into anonymity, hunker down, and figure out which way was left, and which was right in this nightmare future. Past that, he had no plan. Angels and demons and kings he’d figure out later, after a bottle of Jack and a proper breakdown.

Or, maybe, he needed to head back to Jody’s and demand answers, now that he knew which questions to ask.

He shut his eyes and rubbed a hand over his forehead against the growing ache, torn between two choices; which is why he didn’t see anything coming when a heavy weight crashed into the side of his head and sent him flying.

Sam hit the dirt and tumbled, end over end, before coming to a halt with his limbs splayed. He gasped for air and touched shaky hands to the side of his head, stomach rebelling when they came away sticky. Suddenly the sun was darker than it should have been, and as it darkened further two faces appeared to shade him.

‘What did you do?’ Jack shrieked.

‘I don’t know! He’s a demon!’ Claire yelled back, brandishing a wooden plank. Thoughts as thick as treacle, Sam got an elbow planted in the dust and tried to push himself upright, groaning with the effort. The younger hunters stared down at him in horror.

‘Claire-?’ he managed, before the plank smashed back into his skull and he was lost.