make the boy moose go waaah

They’d been sitting there for hours, watching the unsuspecting Bobby go about his daily chores in silence. A pair of binoculars sat in Dean’s lap and a duffel bag waited in the backseat. Occasionally Dean’s hand ventured to a flask in his coat. 

While Dean’s eyes were fixed with predatory precision, Castiel’s kept wandering uncertainly to his companion. Castiel had accepted hours ago that no conversation would be had unless he started it, so with a brave inhale he said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

Dean’s predatory gaze shifted to Castiel at once, whose bravery flew from him like a flock of crows.

“I didn’t mean…” Castiel muttered. “I mean, I think I know what you’re worried about,” he tried again.

Dean looked at him coldly, but soon enough his gaze softened and he resumed watching Bobby. “I’m not worried.”

Castiel smiled slightly. It was a sad kind of smile. 

Dean took a measured sip from his flask.

“You know,” Castiel carried on, “when he gets here, it won’t really be him. I mean, it’ll be him, but…a different one. It won’t be the John who raised you. There’s a chance he wouldn’t even recognize you if he saw you.”

“I know,” Dean said tersely. He put his flask back and watched Bobby adding more leaves to a burn pile.

Castle’s smile faded along with the feeble conversation. He watched Dean’s hand rest instinctively on the chilly, padded steering wheel, but Castiel knew better than to try and take it now. 

“Dean.”

Something in his voice made Dean’s eyes leave Bobby. He looked at Castiel seriously.

“I…” Castiel hadn’t expected to get Dean’s attention, and now that he had it he found his words impossible to string together. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… I thought I’d never see you again. And when Jack sent me back after, well, everything, you wouldn’t…” Castiel took a deep breath, “I didn’t know how to talk to you. I asked Sam, but…”

“You talked to Sam?”

“Yes.”

Dean made a mildly interested noise, and Castiel knew that was a bad sign.

“Dean…what was I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, how about not talk about me to Sam behind my back?” Dean offered coolly.

Castiel’s heart sank. Dean took another sip from his flask. Castiel’s defeated gaze fell to Bobby, raking another heap of leaves onto his pile. Castiel contemplated the futile task of trying to capture every fallen leaf. He felt hopelessly lost and, somehow, more alien than ever.

Suddenly, a small figure came running around the house, catching Dean and Castiel’s attention at once. Dean grabbed his binoculars, but they never made it to his eyes. He’d know that child anywhere.

A young Sam Winchester dove into Bobby’s pile of leaves, creating an avalanche of orange and brown. Bobby shouted in annoyance, his voice muffled by the distance, but he was soon laughing. Sam had climbed out, leaves sticking out of his hair and his face flushed with adrenaline.

Dean couldn’t look away. His rigid expression was unwavering, but there was a warmth in his eyes that could have rivaled even the brightest summer day.

Dean was about to turn to Cas to make sure he was seeing this, but Dean didn’t get a chance. As if struck with inspiration, Castiel had thrown the door open and begun sneaking along the cars.

“Cas!” he hissed.

Too late. Castiel had disappeared into the maze of dully gleaming vehicles. Dean looked around in confusion, then raised the binoculars to his eyes.

“Damnit, Cas.” 

Dean saw something beige whip around the side of the house opposite Bobby and young Sam’s autumn revelry. Dean contemplated getting out and following Castiel, but he had a feeling he knew what Castiel was doing, and Castiel would be better adept at it than him. So he waited, his annoyance and fear tempered by occasional laughter from Sam carrying over the junkyard.

Castiel didn’t take long. He swooped back into the car after a few minutes, making Dean hit himself with the binoculars and swear again. Cheeks red from the cold, Castiel rejoined him in their makeshift hideout.

“Are you insane?” Dean mouthed.

“I…that’s rhetorical, right?” Castiel breathed. “Nevermind. I looked everywhere. It’s not in the house.”

The smallest flicker of hope in Dean’s eyes died. He took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said, sharing a look of mutual resignation with Castiel. Their list of places to look was getting dangerously short. If John Winchester had the pendant on his person, they might as well shoot themselves and call it a day.

Castiel raised his eyebrows at Dean, who suddenly realized Castiel was holding something–it was a slip of paper. Dean recognized Bobby’s messy scrawl at once.

“A shopping list?”

Castiel gestured to the top. “Today’s date. It’s 1992. At least we know that.”

Dean took the paper, staring at the little charcoal numbers like windows into his own mind. Castiel let go of the paper immediately.

“It’s November 25th,” Dean said.

Castiel looked at him.

“Thanksgiving.”

“Is that…bad?”

Dean snorted. That was a loaded question. “Not really,” he replied vaguely.

Something about that answer made Castiel feel like Dean was lying. Or maybe Castiel was just being paranoid. He couldn’t read Dean at all anymore. He sighed. He’d hoped for Dean’s sake that they wouldn’t come across something Dean wouldn’t want to relive. Maybe this really was just an ordinary, ‘not really bad’ Thanksgiving. They would soon find out, regardless.

Before Castiel could decide if he wanted to push the issue, the sound of a car engine made them freeze. There was no mistaking that engine. Once again, Dean didn’t bother with the binoculars. They saw the familiar gleam of metallic black as the Impala pulled up to the farmhouse. Engine purring, it came to a stop by the front porch. The driver’s door slammed, and John Winchester stepped out into the waning sunlight. 

He looked relatively young, possibly even half Dean’s current age, and he was carrying a large paper bag under his arm. John scanned the junkyard, eyes breezing past car after car until he spotted Bobby near the back of the house and made his way to him.

“What’s going on here?” John asked.

Sam and Bobby both turned to see him.

“Hi, Dad,” Sam said.

John raised a brow at the mess of leaves and the rake Bobby was leaning on. “Don’t tell me Sam made this mess,” he said gruffly.

Sam looked at the leaves stuck to his shoes.

“It’s fine,” Bobby said quickly. “We were just having some fun.”

“Uh-huh,” John eyed Sam. “Did you finish your homework?”

“No,” Sam mumbled.

John frowned at him.

“I’ll help him finish after we get these leaves back together,” Bobby said pacifyingly. Then quietly, under his breath, “It’s Thanksgiving, why don’t you give the boys some time off?”

John looked at him sternly. 

“What’s in the bag?” Bobby asked before John could argue the point. “Ammo?”

John adjusted the bag under his arm. “Yup. I want the boys to get some target practice in this weekend while I’m gone.”

“Uh-huh,” Bobby said, eying the Impala. “But you’re staying tonight, right?”

Sam looked up at his dad. He’d already taken the rake and had started putting the pile back together.

John eyed his youngest son hesitantly.

“C’mon,” Bobby said. “I’ve got two pies in the oven, and I’ve got that bird dethawed and ready to cook. Dean said he’d help. Sam, too. Stay. You could use a good meal.”

John looked exhausted.

Bobby eyed him firmly.

John sighed. “Alright. But I want your homework finished. Tonight,” he directed at Sam, who was smiling again. “And clean up this mess.” He gave Bobby a knowing look.

Bobby grinned.

“Where’s Dean?” John asked.

“Oh, I told him he could hang out with some of the boys from the neighborhood.”

John stared at him.

“Don’t worry, I told him to be back before sunset. You know he hit every mark today with the rifle? Beat your old record,” Bobby said smugly. “He’s earned it.”

“Alright,” John relented, “I’ll go put this inside.”

Their conversation trailed off, the echoes of which were carried on the wind over the junkyard and into the Oldsmobile where Dean and Castiel sat frozen in their seats. They didn’t dare speak for the entirety of John and Bobby’s conversation, and they maintained that silence as Bobby began helping Sam rake leaves. 

At last, they looked at each other. 

The warmth that had been in Dean’s eyes at the sight of Sam was gone. His expression had become mask-like, and there was an intensity that went beyond the mission at hand. But he also looked distinctly confused.

“Dean?” Castiel asked quietly.

Dean paused. “Sorry. I just…” His eyes lingered on the piece of paper sitting on the dashboard with Bobby’s handwritten date. “He didn’t stay for Thanksgiving. My dad, I mean. He said no. Sam was really upset….” Dean’s voice trailed off into a chilly mist. The confusion mixed with the juxtaposition of the two Johns was too much.

Castiel watched him sadly, knowing fully well he didn’t have the ability to help Dean. He knew seeing John, even a different John, would be hard on him, but it still hurt to see it.

“Okay,” Dean said as if finally processing what he’d just heard. “Good. That’s good,” he said more to himself than to Castiel. “That means the Impala will be here for a while. So we just have to wait until it’s dark, then hope the pendant is in there. We snag it, poof back home, and Sam can do his spell at sunrise.” He looked at Castiel for confirmation.

Castiel nodded. “Right.”

“All of this,” Dean sighed, “just to talk to Jack. I hope he picks up.”

A part of Castiel felt guilty that Sam and Dean were doing all of this just to satiate his own, personal desire, but he knew Sam and Dean wanted to talk to Jack just as much as Castiel did. They all had so many questions. 

So Dean and Castiel settled back in to watch Sam and Bobby. Castiel didn’t dare try and talk about anything but the mission, and even that he sensed was something Dean wasn’t keen on discussing. But it wasn’t Cas that spoke first this time.

“Hey,” Dean said, looking directly at Castiel. An idea came to him–an idea as sudden and reckless as Castiel’s idea to check the house while it was momentarily empty. “I have an idea. Come on.” 

And he was out of the door before Castiel could respond.

Castiel hurried after Dean as quickly as he could, ducking behind leaf-strewn cars until they reached the silence of the woods and were out of sight of the house. Distantly they could hear Sam and Bobby, still thankfully unaware of their presence.

“Dean? Where are we going?” Castiel whispered.

“It should be somewhere down here.”.

Dusk was swiftly approaching, and the woods were already bathed in a twilit mist. The ground was a cacophony of leaves and damp, autumnal detritus. It muffled their footsteps as Dean led Castiel down some invisible path. 

The bare limbs of atrophied trees cast foreboding silhouettes around them, but Dean trudged on. Castiel kept glancing back, hoping that Dean was working towards something, not away from it.

“It should be around here….” Dean stopped abruptly, making Castiel nearly walk into him.

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered.

When Castiel looked up, he saw they were standing at the brink of a large clearing in the woods. Bluish light shone over a knotted tree that lay fallen like a headstone. It was a beautiful, lonely place. But again, Dean looked confused. 

“I don’t…it’s gotta be here somewhere.” But he knew the moment he saw the bare clearing that what he was looking for wasn’t there. Not only wasn’t it there, it had never happened. And as he approached the tree, he began to understand.

“Dean,” an older Sam’s voice called to him from the churning surface of his own memories. It was the Sam that Dean had just left behind in the bunker; the one waiting for them to come home. It was as if Dean had stepped through the ethereal corporeity of this reality and straight into the bunker library from earlier that day. Sam was sitting at the table with an array of books opened in front of him. “Would you stop calling it that? It’s not time travel.”

Dean looked at the freshly opened beer in his right hand and a second, unopened bottle in his left. He passed it to Sam, who accepted it absentmindedly.

“Cas can’t time travel anymore,” Sam reminded him. “It’s too much on him. Besides, that wouldn’t even help us. You’re going to another timeline. Like, another universe.”

“Same thing,” Dean said.

“It’s not,” Sam insisted. “That’s the whole point. The pendant was destroyed in our universe. So we need to go to one where…where it wasn’t.”

They exchanged a quiet look, then Dean sighed and pulled one of the books on the table to him. It was their dad’s journal. Dean looked at the drawing of the delicate necklace adorning one of the first few pages of the journal. John had written beside it in capital letters: For Mary.

“Cas will find a universe where it survived the fire,” Sam said carefully. “Maybe one where she wasn’t wearing it at… at the time.”

Dean sipped his beer slowly.

“Hopefully he can find a universe that’s as similar to ours as possible, with that one exception. But even if he does, you need to be prepared,” he said, more seriously now. “We don’t know what kind of…butterfly effect that one change might have. For all we know, dad could be driving a minivan.”

Dean finally looked up from the drawing, his eyes narrowed. “How dare you.”

Sam smiled, but he went on. “I’m serious. Who knows if that John will make the same choices our dad made?”

“Aren’t they the same person?” Dean asked, not sure if that was a dumb question or not.

Sam clearly didn’t think it was dumb. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

They both looked back down at the drawing. If what Castiel said was true, the pendant should be a strong enough object for their spell. They weren’t sure why it was so powerful, but Dean would leave that to Sam to figure out. It was Dean’s, and Castiel’s, job to bring the pendant home. But despite all of their preparations, none of them ever discussed the most likely scenario should they find a universe with that pendant still in it—the scenario in which John carried it on his person at all times. They seemed to wordlessly agree that Dean would just have to deal with the other John the best he could.

As if that memory had happened right there in the forest, Dean’s eyes fell past the beer in his hand to the leaf-strewn, knotty surface of the fallen tree. Deaf to Castiel’s quiet inquiries, Dean reached out an empty hand to touch it. For a moment he feared the tree might not even be there at all, but then his fingertips felt rough, mossy bark. Dean sighed in defeat. 

“When Sam was little,” he finally explained, “we spent a whole summer at Bobby’s place. We made a fort here.” He could practically see the engravings he and Sam had made on that very spot over twenty years ago. “I thought, maybe…” But he knew the pendant wouldn’t be there. No matter how divergent this universe was, John would never let Dean or Sam leave something like that pendant lying around, even if they didn’t know what power it might have held.

Dean heard the leaves crunch behind him and knew Castiel was there. He could feel his warmth in the cool, autumn dusk. Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Dean. We need to go back,” he said gently.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go search the car.” He turned to face Castiel and, for a wild moment, he wanted to just run away with him in those woods. He wanted to say those magic words that would let them escape and never have to worry about spells or necklaces or any version of their past lives. They were so enticing, so comforting, those blue eyes like starlight in the near dark. But then Dean cleared his throat and looked away. 

“C’mon.”

Castiel watched him turn away and head back up towards the house. He was certain Dean was about to say something, but he’d been mistaken. He sighed and followed Dean.

The woods were truly dark now, but Dean didn’t dare turn on his flashlight. He didn’t need to at any rate. He followed a path from his memories, a path that both existed and didn’t exist, until he found the edge of this universe’s forest. He saw the junkyard, lined with skeletal cars like a graveyard, and the farmhouse in the distance, its lights beginning to glow brightly against a deep blue sky. The Impala was still there, looking as unreachable as the surface of the pale moon, but he barely had a chance to plot a stealthy route to it before a pair of footsteps made both Dean and Castiel spin around.

They reached for their weapons simultaneously, but Dean suddenly threw up a hand.

Two young boys were walking side by side along a sheltered path to the farmhouse. Castiel knew at once the brown-haired boy was Dean, but the darker-haired boy was a stranger to him. It was the adult Dean’s strangely rigid posture that made Castiel look twice at the scene. The boys were holding hands.

Castiel eyed his Dean in surprise, and although Dean’s expression had become mask-like again there was something else in his eyes; something mournful. Castiel and Dean ducked down in the brush to remain unseen as the boys two passed, silent as two owls in the night, until a voice made all four of the wayward travelers jump. 

“Dean Winchester!”

Both Deans froze.

John Winchester was marching towards him. He was like a lion in his fury, bearing down on the boys. They immediately dropped hands, but it was too late. They’d been caught at the edge of the tree line. 

The young Dean was not yet adept at hiding his fear, and the look of petrification on his face made Castiel’s heart ache. The older of the two Deans, stoic as he was, had closed his eyes.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” John roared. “Have you lost your mind?”

The young Dean tried to speak but nothing came out.

“Sir…” the other boy began, voice shaking.

“You!” John rounded on him. “Get out of here! Go home!”

The boy didn’t hesitate. Neither of the two Deans could blame him. He dashed back into the woods. As his footsteps retreated into silence, John turned to his eldest son.

“Inside! Now!”

Castiel watched as young Dean, who looked more like a child than ever before, followed in his father's footsteps back to the farmhouse. Castiel could tell John was saving his rage for when they reached the safety of Bobby’s house.

There was no intake of breath from either Castiel or the older Dean. They sat hunched in the brush, frozen in place. A wintry chill was creeping up Castiel’s neck.

“Dean,” he said consolingly.

Dean had opened his eyes and was staring at a single red leaf still attached to the bush. It hovered over its dead brothers on the ground, not alive, but dead yet. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Bobby’s front door open, then slam closed.

“Dean,” Castiel repeated, his voice barely audible now.

Suddenly, Dean moved. He darted out of the woods as quickly as if struck by lightning, leaving Castiel dumbstruck behind the bush. Castiel squinted, then tore after him towards the farmhouse.

“Dean!” Castiel whispered harshly, but he could barely keep up with him.

A desperate recklessness had overtaken Dean and he wasn’t bothering to avoid the view of the fast-approaching windows of Bobby’s kitchen. They could hear muffled yelling and smell something savory cooking in the oven. Stealth abandoned, all Castiel could do was mimic Dean as he threw himself down beneath a dogwood bush beside the front porch. 

Panting, Castiel stared at Dean in disbelief. He had no idea if they’d been seen, and he wasn’t even sure if they’d be properly concealed should someone walk outside. Dean, however, was calm. He raised a finger to his lips and Castiel realized they could hear every word John was saying through the open kitchen window. The sounds of Sam and Bobby’s conversation had stopped abruptly.

“What on Earth were you thinking?” John was yelling. “You were out there where anyone could see you! Are you out of your mind?”

Bobby wasn’t saying anything. Castiel could practically see him standing there in his kitchen, watching John’s rage with his hand on the young Sam’s shoulder.

“I did not raise you to act like this! Where did you get the nerve…?”

Castiel looked at his own Dean hidden in the shadows. He could see the young Dean there, on his face, trying and failing to remain impassive as his father yelled at him.

“You’re out there, walking around the woods at night with a complete stranger! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? I’ve told you a hundred times, you are not to go off with anyone, and I mean anyone, without me vetting them first! He could have been a shapeshifter! Or a ghoul! You jeopardized this entire family’s safety!”

“John…” Bobby attempted to interject. “I’ve checked that family before. They come here every summer.”

“Did you check their son? Recently?” John demanded.

Bobby’s silence was a definitive ‘no’.

John resumed. “I don't want to see you going off with anybody else without my direct approval. Do you understand me?”

After a moment in which the young Dean might have taken a shaky inhale of breath, there came a small reply, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” John said, his anger beginning to wane. “Now go get cleaned up and help Bobby with the meal.”

A tenuous silence followed, broken by small footsteps running up the stairs and the idle sounds of someone stirring a pot on the stove.

Uneasy conversation broke out as Bobby encouraged Sam to resume stirring the gravy. Dean wasn’t listening anymore. He looked numb. Even his eyes, now pink at the edges, looked frozen solid.

Castiel didn’t have the heart to say anything to him. He sat beside him in silence, wondering if it would help or hurt him to take Dean’s hand now.

“Why was Dean out there with that boy?” Sam asked Bobby quietly.

“Oh,” Bobby sighed. “You know, young people making dumb decisions trying to court other young people.” Then he said in a stage whisper, “Your dad doesn’t know anything about that.”

Silence followed this, but a chuckle from Bobby told Castiel that John had smiled. 

“Courting?” Sam asked. “Dad never courted.” 

“Oh, yes he did.” There was a smile in Bobby’s voice. “And I have tons of stories about it, don’t you worry.”

Sam giggled.

“Don’t,” John said warningly, but Castiel could tell the conversation had become lighthearted.

“Dean,” Castiel said gently. “We need to get out of here.”

His voice entered Dean’s consciousness as if from another world. He gazed out over the driveway, his eyes lingering on the Impala as he listened to his dad talk in the kitchen. 

“We need to leave,” Castiel said. 

Dean wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if the Impala looked like a slightly different shade of black than his own. The minor difference made his stomach ache.

“We can’t yet,” Castiel whispered as sympathetically as he could manage. “They can see it from the window. Dean, please.” 

Dean was barely aware of what he saying, but he gave Castiel a nod, and the two of them climbed out from under the bush as stealthily as they could.

The kitchen conversation gradually faded as they entered the maze of vehicles. It was cold now, the sun had taken all of the warmth across the horizon leaving an icy fog behind. Leaves crackled beneath their boots as they reached the Oldsmobile and climbed inside for what little warmth it provided.

It was quiet in the car. Castiel reached back to the duffel bag and pulled out some gloves and hats. He offered them to Dean first, who took them numbly. Castiel wasn’t sure Dean knew what he was taking. Sure enough, Dean didn't put the gloves on.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, despite being out of range of even the most alert hunter. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. Here was another instance in which Castiel wished Dean would tell him what to say.

This wasn’t the first time Castiel had seen John’s fury break over his eldest son; one of Castiel’s first assignments was to watch over their family afterall, but this time felt different. Castiel also knew what it was like to be rejected by a seemingly omnipotent father, but again this was different. Castiel would have given anything to have selected a different universe, or even just a different date. 

At last, Dean spoke. His face was red from the cold, but the waver in his voice was from a different chill. “It didn’t happen.”

Castiel watched him sadly. “Dean. It did happen. We were there. You can’t…” he paused, trying to control his own pain and frustration in seeing Dean outright repress what they had just seen. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t…”

“No,” Dean interrupted him. “It didn’t happen,” he repeated, this time looking directly at Castiel. 

Castiel squinted at him.

“Not to me. My dad wasn’t at Thanksgiving. My dad went hunting that night.” Dean explained.

Castiel blinked. He stared at the flush in Dean’s face from the cold, and the red in Dean’s eyes. He had never seen him look more defeated. “I don’t understand…”

Dean swallowed, feeling the gloves weakly with his shivering hands. “My dad never caught us. My dad…” he tried to go on, but his throat felt like it was slowly constricting, closing off his airways. He sniffed again, trying to brush off the cold that they had left outside the car. “My dad never found o…” he stopped himself, determined to use the right words. “I never told him.”

Castiel watched Dean wipe his face with trembling hands, blind to the gloves and hat in his lap, and Castiel finally understood. 

Dean never came out to his dad.

Castiel’s hands seemed to act of their own accord. He reached out and took Dean’s hand, steadying it in his warm grip. Dean exhaled, but he didn’t take his hand away. In fact, it seemed like it helped unblock his throat a little.

“I was so afraid, my whole life, of him finding out. I spent so many years…terrified.” He gave a weak smile and shook his head. He looked as young and scared as his younger counterpart standing on the forest’s edge. “I never told anyone. He died, never knowing. And all this time…”

“But, he was angry.”

Dean laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Yeah! He was pissed… because that kid could’ve been a shapeshifter. Because I didn’t introduce him first…” Dean’s laughter faded into the night, leaving Dean with an awful smile on his face. Fear had kept him stuck in place for so long that he no longer knew which way to turn.  Regret was rising out of him, overflowing, to the point where he no longer knew what was worse–if his father had had the same reaction as this John, or not. Because the truth was, he would never know, and that was the worst outcome of all.

As Castiel watched Dean’s sorrow unfold, he found words drifting into his head as if crossing some invisible border from his subconsciousness right into the air around him. They were simple and kind, yet they seemed to come from a deep undergrowth of certainty, and of shared sorrow. “Forgive yourself.”

Dean stared at him.

“You need to forgive yourself,” Castiel repeated. “Human relationships are fraught with peril, especially yours and your father’s. You’ve told me your father did the best he could. So did you.”

Dean didn’t say anything, he just held Castiel’s hand in the darkened car, staring at the wayward leaves stuck to the end of Castiel’s trenchcoat.

“He loved you.”

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes. Castiel felt the words flowing through him cease, so he stopped talking. He just held Dean’s hand for as long as Dean needed it.

They sat in silence for a long time, sharing each other’s company, and for the first time since the Empty had taken him, Castiel felt connected to Dean. Whenever Dean’s mind started ruminating, there was Castiel’s hand to ground him, and in an odd serendipity, Dean found himself taking solace in imagining the Thanksgiving dinner being enjoyed just a few yards away. The other Bobby, John, Dean, and Sam, all of them eating and enjoying each other’s company, and although Dead wasn’t there and would never be there, he was there. Somehow, through the ethereal mist that separated their lives, he prayed there was enough of a connection between him and the Dean in the farmhouse so that he could tell his counterpart to make the most of his time with his father, and everyone else for that matter. And then forgive yourself for the time missed.

Hours seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. At last, Castiel spoke. His voice sounded loud in the silence of the night. 

“That’s the last one.” 

The last light had gone out in the farmhouse and Castiel was looking at Dean. It was time to check the Impala.

It felt strange to let go of each other’s hands, it felt as if Dean had suddenly lost a limb, but Castiel stayed close as they crept out of the Oldsmobile and made their way back up to the house. It was well past midnight, and the only sound was that of a distant wind blowing through the trees. 

Castiel lingered behind as they reached the car, keeping an eye out while Dean approached the driver’s side. He felt around his coat pocket and withdrew a key. Would the universes converge here? He shared a glance with Castiel before making a silent prayer and inserting the key into the lock. 

Click.

The door opened for him like it always did. Dean opened it with a feeling of immense relief. A feeling that was mirrored on Castiel’s face. Dean gave him a wink, then ducked inside.

The Impala was nothing like the Oldsmobile they’d been hiding out in all day. Dean felt instantly at home. And yet, as he settled into the well-worn seat, little details began jumping out at him–a slightly different color steering wheel, the throttle a slightly different shape, and a single cassette tape that Dean didn’t recognize from his dad’s collection. Despite everything he had been through, demons, angels, shapeshifters, he had never encountered anything so odd as this.

Dean caught sight of his own face in the rearview mirror, pale and uncertain, and he forced his mind back into the mission. They needed the pendant. He began to search. He opened up panels, checked under the seats; he found quite a few odd trinkets but nothing remotely close to a necklace. He could see Castiel keeping guard outside, waiting for Dean to make the call. The pendant had to be there. He opened the glovebox, but it was filled with papers and more cassettes. Finally, he saw a latch to unlock the trunk that John must have installed as an extra measure of security. As he reached down to pull it, something silver glinted in the corner of his eye. His hand froze above the latch. Slowly, he lifted his hand beside the steering wheel. Tucked away but still visible was a silvery chain supporting a small, diamond-shaped pendant. 

Dean’s heart leaped. He gently unhooked it and watched it fall into his hand, smooth and glossy as water. His eyes feasted on it. The engraving had a cryptic elegance to it that his father’s drawing had failed to capture. For some reason, this made him smile. Though it was cold to the touch, he rubbed his thumb over it, imagining all the warmth stored inside. He supposed it was all his mother’s, since he knew at once that John would have never worn it after it was recovered from the fire. He couldn’t wear it–But he kept it close. Perhaps it had been his lucky charm, ready to go on the hunt that he chose not to take in favor of a Thanksgiving meal with his family, a decision that separated entire worlds. Somewhere, Dean thought Mary must be smiling.

Dean turned the pendant over his hand to examine the back, where something caught his eye. Tiny initials were scratched at the bottom: H.W.

Dean stared at it, and it came to him at once. “Henry,” he said aloud. 

Of course. This was John’s father’s pendant. He either gave it to John or John found it after Henry left. But Henry didn’t really leave his son, not on purpose anyway. That was yet another secret John never knew. Did this John know? Was this why the pendant was so powerful–it was a Men of Letters heirloom?

“Did you find it?” Castiel’s hoarse whisper broke Dean out of his thoughts.

“Hang on,” he muttered. 

Dean flipped the pendant over once more, then slipped it into his pocket. He started to get out of the car, but he paused. He knew the heartache this would cause John, but they didn’t have a choice. He could only hope John would understand.

Castiel watched expectantly as Dean got out of the car. Slowly, he pulled the chain out of his pocket just to show Cas. Relief flooded Castiel’s face. It seemed to unlock some of Dean’s own relief as well, allowing it to grace his features in return.

Carefully, Dean closed the Impala door and locked it. Not because John wouldn’t find out someone broke in, but out of respect. She was still Baby, after all. Just, someone else’s Baby.

Castiel smiled as Dean approached. “Thank g… well.” Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Any time.”

Castiel grinned back.

Castiel and Dean walked back towards the woods, side by side, basking in their shared victory. They didn’t have to confront John, and they’d be back in the bunker with the pendant before Dean knew it. He couldn’t wait to tell Sam what they’d seen, although, maybe not all of it. Not yet. Dean hadn’t even realized how hungry he was. Castiel stopped Dean at the tree line and held out his hand, ready to transport them back to their own universe.

“Hey!” A deep voice bellowed across the grounds, causing them to look around. “Don’t move!” 

Dean stared wide-eyed as John barreled towards them from the farmhouse, firearm and flashlight raised with uniform precision pointing at the place where Dean stood.

“Who are you? Don’t move!” 

“Dean!” Castiel urged, ducking into the foliage.

But Dean didn’t follow him. Instead, he turned towards his father and slowly raised his hands.

John stopped a few yards from Dean, ready to fire on him. “I said who are you? Answer me!” he bellowed.

“Okay, okay…” Dean squinted in the light.

“Your name!”

John lowered the flashlight slightly, and Dean was struck by how young he was. Dean hadn’t seen him this close up before, and he could’ve easily been half Dean’s age. Despite his age, however, he already had those tired, weary eyes that Dean knew so well. But it wasn’t this fact that struck Dean, it was the look on his father’s face—he looked like he was seeing a ghost.

Then, something clicked in Dean’s head. He could feel Castiel behind him, reaching out from his hiding place so Dean could take his hand, but Dean had been possessed by a need so strong that it commanded him entirely.

“John,” Dean said slowly, “I’m sorry.”

John gaped at the man he didn’t realize was his own son. The wind was picking up, blowing through the trees, but Dean was numb to the cold. He could see John’s hands trembling.

“I never meant to leave. I’m so sorry.” 

The words seemed to hit Dean as much as they hit John. John opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to demand Dean tell him his name, but no sound left his lips.

“Tell your sons you love them, okay?” Dean said seriously. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll never stop telling them.”

Slowly, Dean began to lower his arms. John’s finger rested on the trigger. John seemed frozen in shock, unable to do anything but point the gun at Dean. Dean lowered his arms completely and reached back. He smiled at his father’s stunned face one last time, then he felt Castiel’s hand clasp his own, and the universe around him blinked out of existence.

The trip between universes was just as unpleasant as it had been earlier that afternoon. Dean felt like he was being pulled through solid matter, and like the world around him was being pulled through his own body. He caught one last smell of damp, autumn forest, then he was standing on solid ground beside Castiel.

A sharp exhale and two large hands steadying him told him they had made it back to the bunker.

“Hey, hey!” Sam’s voice echoed around them.

Dean opened his eyes and, sure enough, he and Castiel were standing on the very spot they’d left—Beside the library table.

“You guys okay?” Sam asked, looking quickly between Dean and Castiel as he helped to steady them.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Dean said.

The bunker was warmly lit, the table was littered with books, and the beer bottles were still on the table where Dean had left them. For a moment he thought he saw the forest floor below them, but it was just some note cards scattered on the linoleum.

Castiel looked as windswept as Dean, but Castiel didn’t share Dean’s relief at being home. The moment he realized they were both safe, he rounded on Dean. “Why did you do that?” he demanded, taking Sam by surprise. “He could have shot you! What were you doing?”

Sam’s eyes widened in realization. “Who…” he started to ask, but one look at Dean’s guilty face confirmed his suspicion. “D…dad? You saw Dad? He almost shot you?”

“He wasn’t going to shoot me,” Dean said calmly.

“You don’t know that!” Castiel persisted. “He didn’t recognize you, Dean! He could have easily…”

“Exactly,” Dean said.

Castiel looked exasperated. 

“Cas… You don’t understand,” Dean said apologetically, “I had to. He thought…” He glanced heavily at Sam. “He thought I was his dad. He thought I was Henry.”

A heavy silence followed those words. Castiel and Sam both stared at him, dumbfounded.

“He deserved to hear those words. He… needed it.” Dean finished. His voice was quiet, but it seemed to fill the whole library. “I had to do it.” The conviction, and the grief, in Dean’s eyes seemed to have robbed Castiel of his anger. 

Castiel looked deflated. He stared at Dean with a pained expression.

“What…what happened?” Sam asked. He sounded so hesitant that had it not been for the pitch of his voice the words might have come from the younger Sam’s mouth.

Dean glanced at Castiel, but Castiel had looked away. Dean took a deep breath and began to tell Sam what happened. When he got to the part about seeing young Dean and the neighbor boy, however, Dean paused. When Sam looked at him, expecting the story to go on, Dean instead reached into his coat and pulled out the silvery pendant.

Sam stared at it in shock. “You got it!”

“Yeah, we got it,” Dean said.

He passed it to Sam who accepted it reverently, examining it much the same way Dean had in the Impala. Dean chanced another glance at Castiel, but Castiel still wouldn’t look at him.

Dean continued telling Sam what happened, but he skipped to the part where John caught them. He would tell Sam everything eventually, but he needed more time with what he’d seen. He was sure Sam would understand. Castiel didn’t acknowledge the gap at all.

When Dean finally told Sam what he’d said to their dad, Sam’s expression softened. It was like they were sharing the same thoughts. Sam smiled weakly, feeling the initials carved into the back of the pendant. Dean thought he saw something like pride in Sam’s eyes. Dean didn’t think he could handle saying much more about it, so he finished the story by saying, “So, that’s it.  We have everything we need for the spell.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, taking Dean’s cue to move on. “Yeah, first thing in the morning.” His voice was a little hoarse, but he was smiling. “If you guys are ready.”

Sam looked to Castiel, who seemed to come back to himself.

Castiel sighed. “Yes. I’ll need rest first.” Then he got up without further explanation and headed to his room.

Sam’s smile faded. Dean stared at the burnished amber light filtering through the empty beer bottles.

“So, I take it you guys didn’t talk much?” Sam asked, not really expecting an answer. Sure enough, he didn’t get one, so he took a risk and said, “Dean? I think you should take your own advice.”

Dean eyed him apprehensively, but he found that he was no longer mad about Castiel seeking out advice from Sam in secret, nor about Sam giving it. He felt like something had broken in him, but it wasn’t a painful feeling. He felt strangely present, and as if he were moving back and forth in time–witnessing the roots of a knotted tree spread throughout the universes, infecting one and in turn all the others with an ethereal mist. But a burn had started, breaking cycle after cycle to allow something new to grow.

Dean didn’t respond to Sam. Instead, he turned and headed down the hallway to find Castiel.

Castiel was removing his trenchcoat in one of the spare bedrooms. It had become something of a home for him. He laid it on the neatly made bed and sighed. He was so distracted by the dissonance ringing in his own head that he didn’t hear the knock on his door. He only noticed Dean was standing in the open doorway when he said his name. 

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Come in.”

Dean could tell Castiel was still upset with him, but he couldn’t blame him. “Cas, I’m sorry.”

Castiel glanced at him sheepishly. He looked like he was trying to restrain himself, but it wasn’t working. “You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t want you to be sorry.” He said. “I just wish you would talk to me.” 

Dean’s expression had become mask-like, but Castiel could tell he was thinking something through. Castiel waited.

At last, Dean spoke. his gentle words at odds with his stoic expression.

“I love you, too.”

Castiel froze. He stared at Dean in surprise. There was a long pause as the words seemed to reverberate through the space, and then Dean’s stoic expression faltered. He looked hesitant, vulnerable, but it was the very same look that made Castiel fall for Dean all those years ago.

“I should’ve said it right away.” Dean’s voice was fragile, and it startled him to hear it coming out of his own throat, but he pressed on. He had to. “I was just afraid something…bad would happen. I know that sounds stupid...”

“It’s not,” Castiel said. Of all the confusing things Dean had ever said to him, this was not one of them. Castiel understood. “It’s not stupid, Dean.”

Dean was more grateful for Castiel's assurance than he liked to realize. He was even more grateful when Castiel saved him from having to say anything else by walking up to him and taking him into an embrace.

Something Wicked This Way Cums

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Dean grumbled as Sam quietly closed the door behind them.

“Isn’t that my line?”

Dean eyed Sam, catching a quick grin before he turned away.

They were in a dimly lit foyer adorned with skeletons and flickering torches. Unlike the actual haunted house they just finished ghost-busting, this one was much more lively. Through a doorway to their left was a spacious living room full of people. Plastic bats hung from the ceiling, swaying over a dance floor, and everyone was dressed up as ghouls, mummies, and witches. A DJ was set up in the corner playing nonsense (as far as Dean was concerned), and in the other corner was a large cauldron overflowing with green fog, inside of which people were pulling out beers. The only ghosts in this haunted house were the ones hanging from doorframes. Dean smacked one as he followed Sam into the party.

They barely had a chance to orient themselves before Sam was beckoned by a group of people. Sam shot Dean a ‘ready-or-not’ look then began weaving through the crowd.

To Dean’s relief, this group of people was hanging out at a fully decorated and (more importantly) fully stocked bar. Sam’s face lit up as all of his old college friends greeted him with roars of approval.

As their eyes fell on Dean one of them asked, “Is this your brother?”

“Yeah, this is Dean,” Sam said.

Dean gave them an artificial smile, hiding a candy bar he’d swiped down his jeans pocket.

“Your older brother?” A blonde guy that was closer to Sam’s height asked.

One look at Dean told Sam this wasn’t the way to get Dean to like his old friends. Sam changed the subject.

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to meet Sam’s old college friends, they made him feel weirdly possessive, but seeing Sam so relaxed and cheerful made it all worthwhile. At least they all seemed normal. Aside from the costumes, of course. They’d gone all out dressing up as monsters and devils, some with full face make-up and plastic fangs. Sam and Dean were just in Batman and Superman shirts.

“Where are your glasses, Clark?” The bartender, who happened to be a pretty brunette, leaned over to chat with Sam.

Dean found his voice at last. “So, you guys were all classmates?” He interrupted, eying the girl doggedly.

“Yeah,” Sam grinned, pretending he didn’t notice, “Mr. Miller’s freshmen sociology class.”  

Soon they were all laughing and reminiscing. Dean discovered that one of Sam’s friends recently bought a motorcycle, and he was able to pass a good half hour explaining basic engine maintenance to him. And as annoying Sam’s brunette friend was, she made a mean Kentucky Mule.

At first, Dean was annoyed to find out their case was bringing them back to one of Sam’s old college haunts. Sam’s college excursion wasn’t something Dean liked to revisit, but if he was being honest with himself it was nice to feel included in that part of Sam’s life. He could have sat there listening to (and sharing) stories about his younger brother all night. That is, until he felt Sam’s fingers, shielded from view by the bar, casually slip through the belt loop of Dean’s jeans. Dean’s heart skipped a beat. That jerk. Sam wasn’t even looking at him but Dean could see a roguish glint in his eye, especially as Sam’s knuckles grazed the front of Dean’s jeans.

“I can’t believe you dressed up,” the bartender was talking to Sam again.

Sam took his hand back quickly.

“I mean, sort of.” She added.

‘Why did all his old friends have to be so attractive?’ Dean mused darkly.

“Hey, that’s dressing up for Sam,” someone else joked.

Sam was grinning again. “I said I’d dress up if he did.” He sipped his cocktail and eyed Dean.

‘That was a damn lie. The costumes were Sam’s idea...’ Dean cleared his throat, “Yeah, well, it suits you. Super-dork.” He retorted. He felt his cheeks beginning to flush, and he knew it wasn’t the alcohol.

Sam’s friends laughed and Sam smacked Dean’s Batman symbol. Dean flushed even more and actually choked on his drink.

“Is it too strong?” The way-too-pretty bartender asked.

Dean cleared his throat again, collecting himself. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him. “No, uh, it’s good. Hey, where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall...”

Dean grunted a ‘thanks’ and left with his drink.

Dean pushed his way through the crowd and opened the first door he found. Luckily it was indeed a bathroom. A very nice bathroom. The light nearly blinded him after all the colorful, flashing Halloween decorations.

He shut the door and set his drink down on the sink, taking deep, steadying breaths. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this, and Sam wasn’t making it any easier. That ballsy jerk. Dean needed to cool it. He was surrounded by Sam’s old friends. Total strangers. He could do this.

A sound tore him from his mantra, and he realized someone was opening the door.

“Occupied!” he shouted, but the next thing he knew a tall someone was sidling into the room behind him.

Dean glared at his brother in the mirror. “You’re a monster.”

The noise from the party was muffled once again as Sam shut the door. Sam licked his lips, hiding a mischievous smile. The bathroom was small, but not small enough to warrant Sam looping his arms around Dean’s waist from behind.

“I thought I was Super-Dork?” Sam smiled.

Dean grinned to himself. “You are.” But his grin faded as Sam kissed his neck. Dean’s eyes closed reflexively, and Sam snuck his hands beneath Dean’s shirt. Dean felt his brain go hazy, but it wasn’t from the drink. “That girl… she kept staring at me. I think she knows...”

“No,” Sam said, “she was staring at you because you’re hot.”

Dean huffed in amusement, but he was flushing more than ever. Sam kept kissing his neck, distracting him as he slowly lifted the Batman shirt up Dean’s stomach.

“You ready to give up yet?” Sam murmured.

“It’s only been an hour!” Dean said, but the realization made his head even hazier.

Dean had a few bruises on his abdomen from the recent ghost hunt. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, but as Sam pulled his shirt higher up his chest something silver gleamed in the light.

“You sure?” Sam asked coolly.

Dean swallowed.

Sam lifted Dean’s shirt to his collarbone and admired his reflection. A thin chain was draped over Dean’s ribs, connecting two small clamps attached to each of Dean’s nipples. Dean’s chest was flushed, and his nipples were taut and rosy-red. Sam brushed his thumb against the chain, pulling slightly on it, and Dean’s eyes fluttered.

“There’s no shame in it… giving up so early I mean.” Sam’s voice was casual, but his smile was more roguish than ever.

Dean managed his best scowl, which amounted to more or less than a grimace. “Shut up.”

He should have known Sam would come check on him in the bathroom. In truth, Dean had been thinking about jerking himself off in secret.

“Remember, we have to stay for three hours,” Sam said, running his thumb over the chain. Each link sent tiny vibrations to his nipples, which in turn sent electric waves down to his cock. “No jerking off…”

Dean eyed him mutinously.

“Hey, I said I’d make sure you enjoyed yourself tonight, didn’t I?”

Despite his look of displeasure, Dean couldn’t hide the heat rising in his voice. “I’ll tell you something you can do to make me ‘enjoy myself’...”

Sam smiled wickedly. It was the kind of smile that rarely graced his normally calm and calculated facade, and Dean loved it. Sam pulled lightly on the chain, maintaining the pressure, and Dean had to swallow a moan. The clamps squeezing his nipples sent shock waves of pleasure through his whole body. Afraid of the sounds that were sure to come out of him as Sam continued to tug on the chain, he reached over his shoulder and yanked Sam into a kiss. Sam didn’t mind at all.

Dean channeled his frustration and arousal into the kiss, nipping and fighting with Sam’s tongue. Soon they were making out in front of the mirror, and Sam was pressing Dean’s hips into the sink. Sam’s usual earthy taste was complemented by caramel and alcohol. But then Dean’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. Sam’s fingers had crept up the chain link by link, until he found a firm nipple and rubbed it between his fingertips. Sam took full advantage of Dean’s gasp and kissed him deeply, tasting the whiskey on the back of his tongue.

When Dean finally got his breath back he muttered, “You’re really gonna make me go out there with a hard-on, aren’t you?”

“It’s dark. No one will notice.” Sam replied swiftly, now pitching and feeling Dean’s sensitized nipple.

Dean gripped the sink ledge, willing himself not to reach down his own pants. He remembered when Sam discovered this particular weakness of his (Sam called it a kink), and he now knew he’d been right in being both aroused and afraid by that discovery. Sure enough, when Dean said he didn’t feel like joining Sam at the Halloween party, Sam found a way to make it more interesting.

It was a simple bet. If Dean could keep the clamps on for the whole party, no jerking off, then he could have Sam any way he wanted afterwards. Unable to turn down a challenge from his brother (and unwilling to admit he could be reduced to a puddle from nipple play alone) Dean agreed. But now, standing in front of the mirror with Sam toying with his trapped nipples, Dean was beginning to suspect this was Sam’s plan all along. Dean’s mind was mush, and all he could do was stand there and let the sensations torment his cock.

Sam kissed him lazily, drawing slow, maddening circles over the hardened peak of his nipple, while Dean felt all of his blood leave his brain. And when Sam snuck another hand around him to tweak his other nipple, Dean groaned through his teeth.

“Damnit, Sammy...”

Sam was enjoying it way too much, but so was Dean. Unable to take it, he turned in Sam’s arms, grabbed him by the hair (because two could play at the ‘kink’ game), and kissed him deeply. Sam responded immediately, pressing him against the sink and kissing back hotly.

“Is that a candy bar in your pocket or…” Sam mused.

“C’mon, let’s just… right here. Real quick...” Dean muttered.

But Sam kept tonguing him against the sink. “So you give up?” he asked, beginning to grope Dean’s chest with large, calloused hands.

A war was raging in Dean’s head, but before he could reply, Sam ducked down. Dean’s lips parted and as Sam’s wet, hot tongue met the smooth, metal clamps and the tender, pinkened nipple trapped between.

“You can have me right here, right now,” Sam murmured, “you just have to say it.”

“Goddammit, Sam!” Dean mouthed, his voice barely above a moan as Sam’s tongue swirled and sucked the willpower out of him.

Dean yanked Sam’s hair, as if holding onto a particularly vicious mechanical bull, but that only spurred Sam on more, nipping and sucking at Dean’s flushed nipples and tugging gently on the chain when his free hand. Dean had never been so turned on without a single touch to his cock. He was completely erect now, and he knew if he could just get those lips around his cock he’d only need a few good sucks. Hell, he could probably just rub himself through his pants.

Without realizing it, Dean had reached down the front of his jeans. He only noticed when Sam caught him by the wrist. Sam looked up at him with that wicked gleam in his eye, then licked the length of Dean’s finger.

“For fuck’s s…”

Sam chuckled, sucking on Dean’s finger. “You gotta say it, Dean. ‘I give up’.”

Dean was planning on caving. His brain had already decided for him, and it had even found the justification — Sam would give him an orgasm so great that he would never be able to live it down, but it would be totally worth it. Right? Who needed to win a stupid bet, anyway? But despite that rational (if he could call it that), he found himself muttering a hearty and defiant, “No.”

Dean looked almost surprised by it, but Sam didn’t. In fact, his smile widened.

Sam had always been the kinkier one. He could go for hours before getting off. Dean didn’t have that kind of patience, even though he liked to be the one in charge. But Dean was defiant, he was resilient, and if there was one thing he loved more than instant gratification it was all the wicked little things Sam did to make him break.

Sam stood up fully and slid Dean’s shirt back down, hiding the silver chain from view. Dean wanted to groan in resignation, but the idea of having Sam all to himself in the back of the Impala in two hours fortified him. And he could tell by the way Sam bit his lip that he was envisioning the same thing.

“You’re going to make me regret this party, aren’t you?” Dean glared at him.

“Definitely.” Sam stole a kiss, leaning knowingly into Dean’s erection. Dean kissed back, savoring it.

Sam broke away and patted Dean’s Batman signal again, feeling the chain beneath the t-shirt and Dean’s protruding nipples.

Dean flushed. “You are so getting it later.”

Sam gave him a look of innocence as he opened the bathroom door for him. Light spilled out into the dark party and the music resumed. Dean grabbed his drink off the sink, adjusted his pants not-so-subtly (Sam looked away tactfully), and walked right past him into the flickering Halloween lights.