Chapter Text
2029
Sam Winchester sighed and ran a hand down his tired face. Feeling the length of his grey flecked beard, he made a mental note to break out the trimmers before he ended up looking like a yeti. He discarded the heavy tome he’d been reading onto the table in the bunker’s library, deciding to call time on research for today. Besides, the lore on Djinn and their various representations in different cultures wasn’t needed urgently for a hunt, Sam was just looking to expand his knowledge, well aware how a random sliver of lore could save lives.
He sat back in his chair and took in the silence of the bunker. Having spent years building up a network of American hunters, enough to constitute a small army, the bunker was usually a hive of activity. Quiet moments like this, were very few and far between. Sometimes a hunter would comment that the ‘Chief’ never got any peace. In reply, he would usually crack some sort of joke about wishing he could kick them all out, drawing a few laughs from the hunters who didn’t know him so well… others new better. In truth, he hated it when the bunker was quiet. It just reminded him of a time when the place only had a handful of residents. In the silence, he was reminded of what he’d lost, of who he’d lost. He felt that familiar ache in his chest when he thought of his brother. Although it had been ten years since Dean had gone missing, the ache hadn’t lessened. He’d just learnt to live with the Dean shaped hole in his life.
Feeling guilty at the thought, he straightened up in his chair and picked up his tablet. He swiped through his folders, opening the one labelled ‘Dean.’ It contained all the information he had on his brother’s disappearance, which wasn't much. Maybe if he looked through it one more time he would spot something that he’d missed? His finger hovered over a video file - the last time he’d seen his brother. Resisting the urge to play it, he put the tablet down with a sigh. If he was ever going to find out what happened to Dean, it wasn’t going to be from the pitifully small collection of evidence that he had analysed thousands of times already, and watching that video would only tug at the despair he kept tightly locked up. He would never give up on his brother, but any fresh leads had dried up years ago. He had nothing to go on.
Castiel had left no stone unturned in heaven, confirming Duma's insistence that Dean wasn't there and every demon they had captured and ‘questioned’ over the years had claimed that he wasn’t in hell either. Demons weren't exactly trustworthy sources, but Sam’s gut told him they had no reason to lie. Despite repeatedly trying to summon Billie, she had eluded all his attempts to make direct contact. However, he had, at least, pissed Death off enough to warrant a visit from Jessica the reaper. According to Jessica, Billie denied any knowledge as to the 'fate of Dean Winchester' and had stated that she had much more important issues, of a cosmic scale, to deal with than 'one lost little Winchester.' Jessica had genuinely seemed to sympathise with Sam and had answered his multitude of questions as best she could.
'What about the watch you were keeping on us?' The surveillance on the Winchesters had been relaxed when Michael was contained. 'Could Dean be in the Empty?' No, no one had 'tossed' Dean out into the Empty. 'What about Dean's books?' A second's hesitation, then a sombre expression, 'They've all gone blank, Sam.'
So, they didn’t know where Dean was or whether he was alive or dead. He was just gone.
With a resigned sigh, Sam ran a hand through his hair, and shook away the thoughts that were guaranteed to drive him crazy. In fact, they had done so on more than one occasion over the years. He resolved to find himself a strong cup of coffee and to have a quick scan through the hunter check-ins before he went digging through the leftovers in the fridge for some dinner.
Maybe later he’d call Cass and see how he and Jack were getting on with their ghoul hunt. He knew he didn’t really need to know how they were getting on – Cass had only texted him an hour ago – but it helped to talk to Cass when thoughts of Dean threatened to overwhelm him. The angel had always remained steadfast in his belief that one day they would find him. Castiel’s devotion to the search for Dean had propped Sam up on more than one occasion, when Sam was in danger of completely losing hope. Once, during one of his low points, he had asked Cass how he managed to remain so confident, how he managed to ‘keep the faith.’ Cass took a moment, before quietly replying, “I have to believe because… because I can’t bring myself to imagine the alternative.” Sam stared into those piercing blue eyes and knew that sentence was loaded with so much more than Cass was willing to admit.
Light footsteps broke the silence, shaking Sam out of his reverie, as the only other person in the bunker entered the library. Claire flashed Sam a bright smile. “Hey Sam, I’m heading out to help on that werewolf case over in Louisiana.”
Claire was one of the few hunters who never called him Chief and he was grateful for it. She had grown so much in the time that Sam had known her. She was no longer the rage filled teen that Castiel had begged for help with all those years ago. Claire was now a young woman and an amazing hunter, well known for her cool head when the shit hit the fan. She often spent time at the bunker, helping out with training and research, but she was always eager to get back on the road and onto the next hunt. Dean would be so proud of her and everything that she had become. Sam smiled sadly.
He stared up at her from his seat. “You keep those kids in check. Make sure Jayden doesn’t do anything stupid.” He said, thinking of one of the newer, headstrong hunters who’d gotten himself into a few scrapes already.
“Don’t worry old man, I can handle Jayden.” She said with a raise of her right eyebrow and a smirk. “I just put on a fresh pot of coffee and there’s some leftover curry in the fridge.”
Sam had to smile at how well she knew his habits. “Thanks.” He replied.
Claire slung her weapons bag on her shoulder and studied him for a moment. “You should take the night off, get out. Go see a movie or whatever. Do something normal. Get rid of that face.” she said, gesturing at him with her finger.
He raised his eyebrows, “That face?”
She folded her arms, cocking her head at an angle. “The Dean face.” She said knowingly. She continued before Sam had a chance to compose himself and deny it. “Sitting around here all by yourself thinking morose thoughts about your brother ain’t going to bring him back and you know it.” She strode out of the library and headed up the stairs, calling out behind her. “And call Jody! She's starting to think you've disappeared too!” And with the loud bang of bunker’s door shutting, she was gone.
Sam shook his head, biting the corner of his lip. There were few people who could talk to Sam so lightly and so brazenly about his brother and get away with it. He’d said as much to her once and she’d simply shrugged and replied “it’s a gift.” Maybe it was because he knew how hard she’d taken Dean’s loss and that the light-hearted comments were a way of masking the pain she felt. A classic Dean move.
Claire had a point, though. Maybe he should do something normal. He picked up his tablet again and started looking up what was on at the local cinema. It would be good to put his mind on pause and 'check out' for a couple of hours.
The silence of the library was broken again by the creaking hinges of the bunker’s door. “Forget something?” Sam absently called out whilst scrolling through the cinema listings. He heard the sharp scrape of heels on metal, which was definitively not Claire. He looked up to see a familiar petite red head descending the stairs. Sam frowned in surprise at the unexpected visitor, rising out of his chair. Over the years Rowena had proven herself to be a loyal and fearsome ally in the fight against all things evil. She had saved his life on more than one occasion, but their friendship had been frosty for years.
It was Sam’s fault. When Dean had first disappeared, he had let his emotions rule in his search for his brother, jumping to conclusions and making accusations that had damaged more than a few friendships. Rowena had been the worst. He had accused the witch of being somehow involved with Dean's disappearance. Rowena, who had stayed by his side for months and tried to do everything she could to find Dean, who had been surprisingly supportive and, at times, a shoulder to cry on. The ensuing argument had been explosive, to put it mildly.
He had later apologised. She had quietly accepted his apology, without a hint of the usual self-righteousness and drama that he was expecting. However, their friendship had never been the same. Now, she hardly ever came to the bunker. Rowena always came through when asked, but only stayed as long as necessary to help with a case, nothing more. He counted himself lucky that she had stuck around at all after what he had said to her. Hell, he was lucky Rowena hadn't burnt him to a crisp where he stood.
Given their strained relationship, Rowena showing up out of the blue couldn’t mean good news. The solemn expression on her face, as she made her way across the war room, only deepened Sam’s suspicions and gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Hey Rowena.” he greeted.
Rowena paused at the threshold to the library, “Hello Samuel.”
“What’s up? I wasn’t expecting you.” he said lightly, hoping he sounded neutral, and that his statement didn't come across as a glaring reflection on the state of their non-friendship.
She walked into the library, coming to a stop across the table from Sam. Rowena looked down at the open books littering the table and traced a finger across the pages. “We need to have a wee talk,” she began, looking anywhere but at Sam, “and… you’re not going to like what I’m about to say.”
Sam tensed, gripping the back of his chair. “What, Rowena?” He couldn’t help the clipped tone to his voice, his patience already wearing thin with Rowena’s typical theatrics. But then it hit him – the fidgeting and lack of eye contact - Rowena wasn’t drawing this out for dramatic effect, she was genuinely afraid. Sam didn’t think there was a place lower than the pit of his stomach, but he’d just found it.
Rowena took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say, and finally looked at Sam, fixing him with a piercing gaze.
“It’s about Dean.”
---
2019
It was the early hours of the morning when the impala rumbled onto the gravel driveway outside Donna’s cabin, the first glow of dawn appearing on the horizon. The three Winchesters trudged wearily through the door, voices raised.
“We’re just worried about you, Dean.” Sam implored as he followed his brother into the cabin, trailed quietly by their mother. Mary had chosen the wise move of keeping silent when the conversation grew heated. Sam continued, “You’ve not been acting yourself. We just want to know what’s going on.”
“What’s going on?” Dean felt himself snap and whirled around. “What’s going on is that there’s this pounding in my head and it. Never. Stops.” He motioned a hand to his forehead. “What’s going on is there’s a freakin’ archangel up here and he is fighting hard and I can’t let my guard down, not even for a second! So I’m sorry if I’ve not been my usual, charming, wise-cracking self. What did you expect? That everything was just business as usual?! Whiskey and strippers all round?!”
“Dean -”
“Sam just stop, okay?” Dean sighed, feeling the anger drain out of him as quickly as it had come, and as an afterthought, slight embarrassment about mentioning strippers in front of his mom. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the headache he could feel brewing behind his eyes, that was only partially caused by an angry archangel. “Look, I get it." He said, opening his eyes and looking at Sam. "I know you’re concerned, but you’re suffocating me here man. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to share. I just…” he raised a hand and then let it drop, exhaling slowly, running out of steam “I’m just tired.” He said, looking between Sam and his Mom.
Mary still couldn’t help the feeling that there was something more going on, but she could see the pleading look in Dean’s eyes, and jumped in before Sam got any ideas about pressing the matter. Sam was fighting a losing battle and it was time to call a time out before he pushed his brother too far. “Okay, it’s been a long night and we all need some shut eye.” She declared, glancing between her two boys. Dean’s shoulders slumped in relief at the change of subject. “Let’s get some sleep and we can talk later when we’re all feeling a bit more… rested.”
Sam hesitated, but after a glare from Mary, he conceded. “Yeah. Okay.” He sighed. Trying to talk to Dean about how strangely he’d been acting, when they’d been up all night dealing with Nick and the demon from the Enochian puzzle box, had not been one of his smartest moves. He should have known it would backfire. Getting Dean to talk was like drawing blood from a stone the best of times. He’d just been so desperate to make sure his brother was okay.
Dean made his way back towards the door. “I’m going to get some air.” He threw over his shoulder as he grabbed hold of the handle and stalked outside.
Sam watched Dean walk out and took a deep breath, his cheeks puffing as he slowly blew it out. He turned to look at his Mom, “Well, that went well.” he stated flatly, gesturing towards the rapidly closing door.
Mary sighed, “Sam, you know how he can be. He’ll talk eventually.”
“I hope so.” He replied tiredly.
-----
Once out of sight, Dean dropped onto the wooden bench outside the cabin, burying his head in his hands. He breathed in the cool early morning air in deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He hadn’t meant to lose it at Sam, but he was overwhelmed, and he’d panicked when Sam started questioning him. He’d felt backed into a corner and had responded automatically with the default Dean Winchester setting – anger.
He knew the minute Sam appeared at the cabin that night that he hadn’t fooled him. He should never have given him that damn hug at the bunker. It had been a moment of pure weakness. He’d needed to embrace his brother one last time before… he glanced over at the workshop, icy fear settling over him as he thought about the Ma'lak box inside and what he was about to do.
As if on cue, Michael renewed his attack on the fridge door and the banging in Dean’s head caused his vision to go blurry. He tensed, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds, willing the noise and the spiking pain to the back of his mind. He could feel the door giving, bit by bit. He knew now that he had to go, that if he spent much more time with Sam and Mom he would break. He had to stay strong. He had to end it right.
-----
Sam woke at midday, shrugging his arms out of his sleeping bag on the floor and stretching his aching muscles. He'd slept in worse places but having a home in the bunker, with his own bed, had been a luxury he'd gotten used to over the past few years. I'm going soft. He mused groggily. He opened his eyes and glanced over to where he'd last seen his sleeping brother slumped on the couch, only to find it empty. He sat up and looked around blearily, hoping that Dean was busy brewing some coffee. The cabin was quiet - no smells of freshly brewed coffee and no sign of Dean. He wriggled out of his sleeping bag and padded over towards the kitchen. That's when he noticed the piece of paper on the table...
I just need a bit of time on my own, to get my head straight. Don't worry, I'll keep in touch.
Clutching the note, Sam headed straight for the door and looked outside. The impala was gone.
Shit.