Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dean was freaking out.

In just three days it would be his 25th birthday…again! He just couldn't go through another change. Not again! Things were just starting to get good. And now he was at risk of losing everything. Again!

"What about Ancient Sumarian Rituals? The Sumarians were smart. They've got to know something that'll help!"

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation as Dean stopped pacing to hover over his shoulder. 

"I've read that book from cover to cover eight times in the past month, Dean. There's nothing useful there."

That sounded a bit more harsh than Sam intended. He was trying to be patient with Dean, knowing that Dean had just reasons for his mood.

"What about Placating the Furies?"

"Nothing."

"Assuaging the Aztecs?"

"Zilch."

"Vengeful Girlfriends and Vengeful Spirits?"

"Nada. Not even a memory loss spell."

"A Homemaker's Guide to Pagan Practices?"

"Dean! I've read all the books in this library at least twice. I'm telling you, there's nothing in them that can break your curse."

One's patience could only go so far. Sam would never say it aloud but Dean really was grating his nerves.

Dean scratched at his face with both hands. Something he did only when he was super anxious. Red streaks began to form. 

Sam studied his brother's face. His youthful green eyes looked older, saddled with purple bags from having not slept in about three days. Dean's hair was a mess from him running his hands through his hair so often. A few times, Sam even caught Dean pulling at his hair. Sam wondered if possibly Dean might have given himself a few bald patches. He looked awful! 

To the rest of the world, Dean seemed no different than the average college graduate but on days like these, Sam had no problem believing that the man he was staring at was actually closer to fifty than the young man the world believed him to be. Despite not having any of his memories from his previous life Dean still moved as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulder. Especially when he was stressed. Indeed, Dean was an old soul and day by day it became more evident in his eyes.

For the past three months, Sam and Dean had been on a non-stop research marathon. Every waking moment they had was dedicated to researching. They had even moved back into the Men of Letters bunker to accommodate their new schedules. They hardly went out anymore. Dean’s freckles were stark in contrast to his now pale skin. 

At this point, Sam had completely lost track of all the books they had read. The fact that Dean was even willing to dedicate himself to books and reading was telling enough as to how pressing the situation was. Even in his new life, Dean still had a disdain for reading. He never read more than necessary unless it was a comic book or a dirty magazine… If you could call a magazine with barely any words reading.

There were no words to express what Dean was feeling. Stressed? Frightened? Worried? Panicked? All those words pertained but didn’t quite encapsulate the existential dread and horror that Dean felt constantly. Over twenty years of research and they were still no closer to an answer now than they were then. Somewhere, in the back of Sam's mind, a niggling voice told him to give up. Their efforts were futile. But every time Sam worked up the courage to confront his brother he lost it with just one gaze into his brother's eyes.

In Dean's eyes Sam saw his own desperation and helplessness. In one glance Sam saw that both he and Dean had been thinking the same thing and the pain from the very thought of admitting defeat was enough to break Sam's heart. He couldn't bear watching his brother's heart break. Not again. Sam would fight until the very last minute and soldier on. How did that song go again? “It’s not over ‘til it’s over.”

"Look. How about we take a break. Neither of us have eaten anything for the day."

Dean stormed across the room and hauled another worn, leather bound book from the shelves. Almost as big and thick as his torso, a quiet thud resounded throughout the room when Dean threw the book down on the table. Dean plopped down and began to read, ignoring Sam. 

Another new pattern that emerged that further emphasized the press for time. Dean never wanted to hear about anything that didn’t pertain to research anymore. Every day he would push his body as far as it could go until he passed out from exhaustion. Reasoning with Dean was a challenge in its own rite.

“Dean! You need a break.”

Sam got up and rushed over to his brother. He gently sat on the table and closed the book, prying it away from his brother.

“I can’t stop, Sam! I can’t slow down either! There’s gotta be something in one of these books! There just has to be!” A strange catch in Dean’s voice. He was almost on the verge of tears. Exhaustion. Frustration. Desperation. Sam heard a growl from Dean’s stomach. Hunger.

“How about we take a short drive to that new Diner downtown. We haven’t gone outside in weeks. Some fresh air would do us both some good. Maybe–”

“No, Sam!” Dean said, more agitated than he had intended to sound. “I need to stay here. I don’t have any time to waste. I need to–”

“You need to sleep! And eat!” Sam sniffed. “And bathe!”

On a good day, Dean wore scruff well but now he was fully wooly. He looked sickly and undernourished. Barely able to keep himself up. Sam had no idea how he managed to carry on. Sheer determination. If Dean were to keep on going this way, he wouldn’t have to worry about being an infant in a few days.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself, Dean. At the rate you’re going you might even make it to your next birthday!”

One look at Dean and Sam knew he had said the wrong thing.

Stillness. Silence for a moment that lasted far too long. 

Wordlessly, Dean got up and left. Sam resisted the urge to follow. Instead he headed for the kitchen and began to prepare lunch for him and Dean. Dean could deny it all he wanted but he was hungry. Eventually he’d need to eat. 

“Knock-knock!” Sam jest as he entered Dean’s bedroom carrying a tray of food. The door was open so it was just a formality. “I made your favorite. Extra onions, breaded so it’s extra crispy.” 

Sam cringed inwardly. He knew he was coming off too sweet but he couldn’t help it. Even now at forty-six years old he still felt the urge to make his brother smile whenever he was making up with him. He needed to know that Dean wasn’t mad at him. Dean now being twenty-four didn’t change anything. It didn’t help that Sam raised Dean this time, whenever they fought, it always took Sam back to their first childhood together. Dean was still his big brother. A fact that made raising a teenage Dean very difficult. But somehow they survived. 

Dean propped himself up on the bed as he hasted to tuck away his journal. Sam would never admit it but he thought it was a little cute how Dean was still so shy about admitting he owned a journal despite Sam’s assurance that it was nothing to be shy or embarrassed about. 

“Oh, I was just…ah…reading some more.” Dean nodded as though he thought that would convince Sam. As though Sam didn’t see that pink pom-pom pen tucked into his journal. 

“Yeah…sure…I’ve got some pie too if you want any.”

“Cherry?” It may have been cliched but cherry was Dean’s favorite pie. 

“You know it!”

“I’ll have some of that too, if you don’t mind.”

Sam hesitated. He contemplated if he should say anything. Noting the fresh clothes Dean was wearing, he surmised that Dean had taken a shower while he prepared lunch. All without asking. No…Dean wasn’t a child…yet. But even as an adult he had a tendency to become petulant when he was on the brink and emotionally drained. And these days the brink was where Dean often resided. Though a bath did help and food helped sleep was what Dean really needed. Should Sam push?

“Maybe after you eat…”

“I know, Dad.” Dean let out an exaggerated yawn. “Sleep.” 

Sam could tell sleep was the last thing Dean wanted to do. He was only going along to make Sam happy. The two brothers had that in common. “Sorry” was hard to say so they apologized with their actions. 

“Good. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” Sam laughed, deciding to play into the role. The cheek was to keep it from being too sappy. “Want me to kiss you good night too?”

Sam sat on the bed and ran his hand through Dean’s hair, stopping to get a good look at Dean’s face. Sometimes, through that sharp angular jawline of an adult man, Sam still saw Dean’s little rounded cherub face from infancy. Sometimes he saw the toothless grin of an older child anxiously awaiting the tooth fairy. Though he had no biological children of his own, years of raising Dean had altered their bond. Sometimes Dean felt more like a son to Sam than a brother. After those years of diapers, and a few trips to the ER for stitches and broken bones, he might as well be.

And just like any other parent, Sam only wanted to make his son happy and protect him. He hated seeing Dean in such turmoil. If he could take Dean’s place and bear the curse instead, he would in a heartbeat. 

They had tried a Trading Places spell before. The ingredients burst into flames and it sent Dean into a seizure that lasted five minutes. An overnight stay in the hospital and a few visits with a specialist to ensure everything was okay and Sam decided never again. He couldn’t risk losing Dean due to recklessness. After that, Sam had been hesitant to try any spells without careful research and consideration. Whatever spell was casted on Dean would need an equally skilled sorcerer to undo. The thing is, Sam hadn’t been able to find anyone who fit the description. 

“You’re getting weird there, Sammy,” Dean said, sounding exactly like an embarrassed teenager. 

Sam held back a smirk. Even in this life, he still took to calling him Sammy. Sam knew for a fact that Dean had no memories of his previous life so maybe it was just something ingrained in his personality. 

Dean glared at Sam. He often caught Sam looking at him in that adoring fatherly way so knew what Sam was thinking. He loved Sam but like any kid, he just wanted his dad to know he was okay. That he wasn’t that five year old kid who cried for a half an hour after taking a nasty spill off his bike. He had loved the hour long snuggle fest that followed after but grown men didn’t hug their fathers for hours unend. But Sam kept looking at him like that’s just what might happen any moment now.

“Seriously, I'm trying to eat here. We can have the Full House moment later.”

Sam smiled in embarrassment as he removed his hand. “I guess I’ll go get you that pie then.” Then he left.

Okay, so a nap did help. But Dean would never admit that to Sam. Refreshed and mentally clearer, Dean was ready to go for another round of research. He hauled on his faded jeans (Dean always preferred to sleep in boxers.) and was just about to don a plaid shirt before Sam came bursting into his room.

“Dean! We’ve got a lead! Hurry!” And then Sam was gone before Dean could respond. Dean could hear random cluttering from down the hall. It sounded like Sam was in the armory.  

Dean buttoned his shirt as quickly as he could and grabbed his boots before moving on to pack his own duffle with hunting equipment. 

“What have we got?” 

Sam and Dean were donned in crisp suits and ties. Sam dressed in a navy suit and muted red tie, Dean dressed in a black suit and black tie. They had decided to go with the FBI schtick. Their usual hunting gear was safely secured in the trunk of the Impala. 

Sam was driving and that sometimes bothered Dean. Sam said it was because the Impala used to belong to Dean and he loved her so much. Called her ‘Baby’. Of course, Dean couldn’t drive her for several years and by time he was old enough to do so he had gotten used to Sam being the driver. Most of the time. 

“Just spoke to Garth. He said his sources have been reporting a mysterious redhead showing up at the Locust Motel not too far from here.”

"How is old Garth and Deanna doing these days?"

Deanna was Garth's daughter, born a year after his twin sons. Garth said she was named after an aunt but old Dean wasn't convinced. In his new life, Dean and Deanna were friends. Deanna was a toyboy growing up and one of the few people who could ever hit Dean hard enough to make him cry.

"Oh, Deanna's fine. Just had a baby. Garth's over the moon. Glad to relinquish his name to be called Grandpa." Sam chuckled at the last part. Garth being Garth was now insisting everyone called him Grandpa so there wasn't a mix up between him and his new grandson.

"I don't care what anyone says, I'm not calling him Grandpa."

Garth wasn't really on the hunting scene anymore, having retired to take care of his wife and kids but he still kept his contacts. When Sam had told him he was looking for Rowena for Dean, Garth volunteered his services before even being asked.

“How certain are we on this lead? Can’t afford another dud.” Dean kept his voice neutral as he looked out the window. Afraid to let Sam know just how optimistic their first lead in months made him. He couldn’t afford to get his hopes up just to break his heart again. 

“The contact is very confident in this. Petite redhead, unremarkable and quiet.”

“Nothing to go by, Sammy.”

“Yeah, well get this. A few people in town have been reporting missing time.”

“What’d you mean missing time?”

“I mean they’ve been reporting remembering doing one task and having huge gaps in their memory. Almost like waking up. But they’re in a new place doing a new thing and they have no idea how they got there.”

“And do they have a history of seizures?” Dean had learnt from that one time he had a seizure that epileptics sometimes forgot the time around their seizures. 

“I highly doubt twenty people in such a small town could all have a seizure at the exact same time and lose the exact same amount of time. Four hours.”

“Yeah…not like there’s a convention in town or something.”

“Exactly. And get this, they’re all married, in their middle age and they all woke up with a cut in their left ring fingers.”

“Yep. Definitely witchcraft.” Dean’s heart fluttered. He felt so close to an answer but could he allow himself to hope? He looked over to see Sam containing a slight smirk. He could tell Sam felt the same way too. Cautiously optimistic. “What do you think ole Rowena’s up to this time?”

“Dunno but we’re about to find out.”

Thirty minutes later Sam and Dean pulled up to the Locust Motel. The Locust Motel, despite what the name implied, was actually not a runned-down, bug infested death trap. The name stemmed from a locust swarm that plagued the area back in the twenties. A sunshine yellow country ranch with white trimming, the Locust Motel was more like a bed and breakfast than a motel. It was located about ten minutes outside of town and surrounded by an open plane of grass that led to the forest that boarded the outskirts of town. It was actually quite swanky, known to host minor celebrities and politicians hoping for a temporary and secluded retreat in rural America. 

What would Rowena be doing here?

“Welcome to the Locust Motel, home of America’s Heart. How may I help you today?” Sam was amazed how the young man in front of him managed to say that so sarcastically and yet so monotone at the same time.

“Ah…yes, Max?” Sam quickly glanced at the man’s name tag. “We’re hoping you can help us locate someone who’s supposed to be staying at your establishment. Rowena MacLeod.”

Sam and Dean flashed their fake FBI badges at Max who fidgeted slightly as he read them. Sam’s badge indicated he was a man named Thomas Walters while Dean’s badge indicated he was a named Jacob Anderson. Dean protested his name, saying it was too boring. He wanted to be called James Hetfiled like the lead singer of Metallica but Sam shot that down. Dean had gotten the idea one night after Sam had told him about his old life and how they’d use the names of rock musicians as aliases when they were on a case. Dean, much like his old self, insisted it made things exciting but Sam argued it was dangerous and risky and wouldn’t fly in the modern internet savvy age. They argued back and forth but Sam won the debate when he pulled out the “expert” card. Dean with no memory was more like an apprentice. 

“Oh yes! She’s in room twelve in the North Wing.” Max smiled slightly. His tone, cheerful and forced. Suddenly he was interested in being helpful. Sam guessed he probably wanted to ensure they left without any major incident. Giving his age, Sam guessed Max was probably carrying pot or some kind of recreational drug.  “Just follow that hall and make a right.” Max pointed.

Dean chuckled in his head at the exchange. It was important for him to maintain a serious façade on the outside but he always found it amusing to watch people fall for him being a federal agent. Anyone who knew Dean would know such a notion was absurd. Dean was known as the resident bad boy in his high school. He often skipped classes and even got into a fight with one of his teachers. Sam had to go down to the school so many times that the staff there joked about giving him a parking spot. Dean was amazed that he somehow managed to graduate. Sam had told him that in his old life Dean had dropped out of high school, not because of his attitude but because of all the hunting trips their father had taken him on. Dean always loved hunting more than studying so he dropped out as soon as he could to pursue his passion.

Sam and Dean found themselves outside of room twelve. On the way there, Sam had agreed to let Dean lead since this was about him. But before Dean could knock on the door it opened up.

“I’ve been wondering when you two would show up.”

Dean clenched his jaw as he just stood there. So many thoughts raced through his mind, paralyzing him. He always wondered what he would do when he came face to face with Rowena. The witch who had cursed him. Guess now he knew. Nothing but stand there like an idiot.

“Well! Come on in! Handsome as you two are, the other guests may start getting the wrong impression.” Rowena sauntered off as Sam gave a gentle nudge to get Dean to move forward. 

Rowena poured herself a glass of wine and took a sip. “Can I interest you two in anything? Wine? Gin? You are old enough to drink, right Junior?” Rowena winked at Dean.

The nonchalance of Rowena was really starting to aggravate Dean. How could she just stand there and smile? She had no idea what he had been through because of the curse. So many people dream of being a child again. But they always imagine that with their current memories and adult wisdom. Dean only felt awkward and alone growing up. He was a child in every way, mentally and physically but something deep inside him always felt a yearning. Like there was more he should be doing. Something more he should be. This made him anxious and confused. Sometimes even angry. And he had lived that way until a few years ago when Sam had told him about the truth of what had happened to him.

The news that Dean had lived before was a bombshell. The lies that Sam had told him “to protect Dean '' and “give him a good childhood” sent Dean reeling. Sam had told Dean that he was his guardian because his parents had died in a car crash shortly after he was “born”. He had told Dean he was a surprise baby their mom had conceived later in life. Up until he learnt the truth, Dean had spent his whole life wondering how things would be if his parents were still alive. Indeed, both his parents were dead now but to learn he actually did know his parents and forgot them. It hurt. And seeing his old hunting associates just jarred him further.

“What the fuck did you do to me!” Dean had decided on anger. He had every right to be angry. After all these years he deserved an answer. He knew better than to raise a hand against a woman but he wasn’t afraid to use any amount of foul language that he damn well near pleased. 

“Me? I’ve done nothing. I’ll take it that you’re good then?” Rowena plopped onto a couch and crossed her legs. She showed no sign of fear for her personal safety.

“Of course you did this to me!” The last thing Dean wanted to do was play mind games with a witch. “Call me in twenty-five years. You should be well out of diapers by then?” Dean did air quotes on that last part. “Sound familiar to you?” Dean asked sarcastically?

“Well of course, my dear. But I didn’t curse you. I was just messing with you back then.” Rowena smiled at them as though she expected them to get the punchline of a joke she just told. 

“Look here, witch! I don’t have the time for your bullshit so–”

Sam tugged the back of Dean’s jacket, cutting him off. “What do you mean you didn’t curse Dean?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Sammy? She’s lying.” Dean raked Rowena with a disdainful scorn.

Sam glanced down into Rowena’s hand and noticed she was holding a hex bag. And suddenly a memory flashed in his mind. “No, Dean. I don’t think she is. I just remembered something from the night you came home.”

Dean took his hands out of his pocket and relaxed a bit. Sam knew Dean was armed with a knife and a gun. Dean was probably prepared to kill Rowena if he didn’t get the answer he wanted. Sam knew he only had a few moments to act before things turned for the ugly.

“Explain, Sammy.” Dean really didn't want to chit chat. If Rowena wasn't willing to answer him, he would kill her. At least he could get some satisfaction before becoming a baby again.

“On the night you came home saying you were cursed. There wasn’t a hex bag.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I asked you for it so we could burn it. And you said there wasn’t any.” Sam licked his lips. His mouth was getting dry though he hardly spoke. 

“A deaging spell with the effects like what Dean went through would require a ritual. A complicated one at that with hard to find ingredients. And, it would be fast acting. It’s not something that would hold like a simple hex," said Rowena matter-of-factly.

“I know that now. But after Dean had said there were no chants or rituals, I figured I’d ask just in case. I had never heard about a deaging hex but my knowledge of witchcraft was extremely limited at the time.”

“Where are you going with this, Sammy? We all know that Rowena is an apt witch. She has many skills. For all we know, she knows more crafts than we know exist.”

“Well all of that is true. I do know things that can make your head spin but I’m afraid you credit me with more than I can do. There is no secret art. Your brother speaks the truth. You are cursed but I was not the one who cursed you.”

Okay, now it was Sam’s turn to be confused. 

“What do you mean? How can you know he’s cursed but not who cursed him?”

“It’s simple. The night I spoke to you. I knew you had been cursed because I sensed the magic in you.” 

Rowena stopped to ponder if she should continue. That night she had last spoken to Dean, she had said what she had to mess with his head. He had foiled one of her schemes and she was going to hex him but before she could she had noticed the familiar pull of a magic, similar to the presence of several supernatural beings she had worked with in the past so she took a deeper look at Dean. And she saw it. Buried deep within Dean, possibly where his soul was located, a little nugget of magic sitting on his life line. 

“The magic I sensed that night is still with you. I don’t know if I should feel sorry for you or happy for you. Many people dream of immortality. Though, immortality through a closed loop lifespan is new to me. It’s sorta genius in a wicked way. Talk about a cursed blessing.”

“W-w-w-wait! Hold up! Immortality?” Dean wasn't sure he had heard right. Sam neither.

“Your life line is looped. There isn’t a beginning or an end.”

“I’m sorry, life line? I’m still not getting this.” And if there was one thing Sam didn’t like it was not understanding what was being said to him.

Rowena rolled her eyes as she proceeded to explain the life line to Sam and Dean. She felt very much like a teacher lecturing her students. 

"The life line, for lack of a better word, is one of the threads," Rowena did air quotes on the word, threads, "that tethers a soul to a physical form. The soul itself is an intangible, ethereal entity that persists even after death. The life line determines how long a soul  inhabits a physical form. Whenever the life line ended, so did the mortal life of the being."

"So it's like the story of Fates? Where one sister cuts the string and a person dies?" Dean remembered reading about the Fates. One sister measured the thread that was one's life. The other weaved it. The last sister cut it when a person's life was over.

"This is the fact of the universe upon which the story of the Greek Fates was based, yes."

Dean couldn't help but to smile with pride for being right. He imagined it was the same feeling the nerds felt whenever they answered a question correctly.

"There are other factors that determine how long a soul can inhabit a physical form, other factors that can be manipulated to alter one’s mortality but the life line is a major feature and extremely delicate."

"How does this prove that you didn't curse me?" Dean was back to being suspicious of Rowena. "How do you know so much if you didn't have a hand in cursing me?"

“That night, I understood, whoever altered your life line, Dean, was wielding some serious magic, far beyond my pay grade. Primordial magic.”

"Primordial magic like the magic used in the creation?" Sam chimed in.

"Yes"

"Am I to believe God cursed me?"

"While God is the primary wielder of primordial magic, he isn't the only being who can use it. Also, this doesn't seem like his handy work. You see, God is awfully poetic and your curse is just…messy."

“Are you saying Dean turned into a baby…will turn into a baby because he’s immortal?” Sam changed the topic. His mind was bouncing all over the place. Not even a half an hour in and so much information was being dumped.

This was making no sense. It sounded absurd. And Sam and Dean hunted cryptids and monsters most of humanity thought didn't exist! None of the books Sam and Dean had read contained any of this.

“Yep. Imagine having a song on heavy rotation. You listen to it then it finishes then it starts over. Again and again and again and again… Boyo here is like that.” Rowena took another sip of her wine. 

Sam massaged his temples, he was starting to get a headache. 

Dean looked like he was about to puke. He wasn’t sure if he was understanding what he was hearing. All he wanted was to find Rowena to reverse the curse and now he was back to square one. Actually, he was further back than square one because now he had even more questions and no answer. 

“So unless I’m able to errr….change the song I’m going to keep turning into a baby forever?”

“Well I’m impressed. Not only have you grown up since the last time I’ve seen you. You’ve also seemed to have grown smarter too.”

“I’m still having a hard time following this. You’re immortal and you don’t turn into a baby.”

Rowena flinched ever so slightly but quickly collected herself before either men could sense they had thrown her. Her being immortal was a well guarded secret. Very few people knew and she liked it that way. But of course, Sam-freaking-Winchester with his library for a brain would know. 

“Yes. I am immortal,” said Rowena as though nothing was wrong. Guess the cat was out of the bag now. “But my immortality was gained in a different way. You see, I gain my immortality by stealing time."

Sam and Dean passed glances, indicating they both were creeped out by what Rowena just said but she had said it so calmly and casually, sounding almost gleeful. Dean contemplated if maybe he should kill Rowena anyway. If her stealing time was hurting people then she needed to be stopped. 

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt anyone,” said Rowena, as though she was reading Dean’s mind. “The time I steal comes from the past. You see humans, even witches like myself,” Rowena placed her hand on her chest and rolled her eyes. “Have to live life linearly but that doesn't mean that time is only linear. Some beings can travel through time but even for a sorcerer time travel is incredibly difficult. Nearly impossible. Once a moment passes that’s it. It’s gone. It’s been lived. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“You steal people’s past?” Sam answered. Dean looked as though he was trying to remember his name. He was so lost. 

“Bingo. I steal time from people’s past. In fact, that’s why I am here. I just performed the renewal ritual to get more time. You might have heard.”

“Those people with missing time?”

“Yes, the ritual sometimes causes short term memory loss.”

“But why married people?” The conversation was going a bit off topic but Sam was genuinely intrigued. None of the books he read talked about this stuff. Rowena was a treasure trove of new information. With all Sam had learned about witchcraft these past few years, sorcery was beginning to look more and more tempting. He understood the appeal that lured people into becoming witches and warlocks. 

“One of the other effects of the ritual can be extreme forgetfulness to the point of loss of identity. So I perform an auxiliary spell before doing the ritual. I tie the person to their significant other to minimize the loss of identity. I have standards. I don’t seek to hurt those who didn’t hurt me first.” That last part came out as though Rowena was offended though no one had said anything.

“Would I be able to continue living as an adult if I did this ritual thing you do?”

Rowena paused for a moment. She wasn’t pensive or anything. She just enjoyed the dramatics. She had seen way more than she had revealed. She knew enough on Psychomancy to write a book. In fact, she had written a book. Rare, and previewed only to the ones she favored.

“No. You see, you don’t have a fate line. The line that determines how you die.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something but at this point Rowena was way ahead of him.

“Dean doesn’t have an official death. Every person that is born has a predetermined way to die. The ritual I perform just extends my life. It doesn’t change how I will die, just when. But without a fate line, Dean doesn’t have a death.”

“So you’re saying the fate line is like a train ticket. If you don’t have one, you can’t ride the train?” Dean’s brain was back online. He still looked pale and faintish but he was more willing to participate in the conversation again.

“Precisely. I don’t know how it’s possible but you are living without one. I don’t even know if you were born with one. To be honest, it gives me the heebie jeebies thinking about the being that could do that to a mortal and why.”

“I can’t die to escape my fate because dying isn’t in my fate.” Dean spoke aloud in hopes that he was wrong. His stomach dropped when no one corrected him. 

Rowena actually shivered. What only started as cheek meant to psyche out an enemy, led her down a road she did not want to go. She was starting to feel as though she had said way more than enough. 

“Now if you two fellows don’t mind. I need to leave.” Rowena pulled out her suitcases and started to pack her things. She tried to play it cool but she was doing her best to stave off a full blown panic attack. She needed to get out of here. Away from the Winchesters. Whoever messed with Dean was more powerful than she could ever dream to be and if they were mad at Dean, they probably wouldn’t care about collateral damage. 

BOOM!

No sooner had Rowena pulled out her second suitcase than a giant hole had been blown through the wall between her room and the outside. The entire window was gone. Some ceiling fixtures were on the ground, the rest were still barely hanging by a thin cord, sparking from their live wires. 

“Dean Winchester, I have come to end your life. Avoid any attempt to resist and I will make your death swift.” A gravelly, monotone voice rang out through the dust cloud. Dean could barely see anything but it sounded like it was coming closer, towards him. Instinctively, Dean pulled out his knife. Even though he couldn’t die he’d be damned if he let just anyone or anything even attempt to take his life without a fight. Dean felt Sam shift behind him, indicating that he too had pulled out his knife. They were now back to back, circling around each other. They still had zero visibility. 

Dean felt the air in front him stir and he swiped. He missed. He squinted, desperate to see something in front of him. Suddenly he jerked his head to the left. He caught a glimpse of the hand that almost grabbed his neck. 

Dean broke away from Sam in a roll and pulled out his gun. He fired three shots in the direction of the hand. He didn’t know if they had made an impact but he didn’t have to wait. The dust was now settled enough for Dean to see. His attacker was a male, a little shorter than him and coming towards him again. 

He moved lightning fast. One minute he was on the other side of the room, the next he was right in front Dean’s face, poised to stab him.

Dean slammed the attacker’s hand away but that did not cause him to drop the knife. The attacker didn’t even flinch in pain. He came at Dean again. This time Dean was ready. Dean dodged his attack and countered with his own fist. He punched the unknown assailant right in the face.

CRACK!

Dean stumbled back in agony. He didn’t know how many bones he had just broken but he knew he had to have broken a few. The attacker just stood there, unfazed. His blue eyes just as still and unreactive as though nothing had happened. 

Sam, picking up on Dean’s failure, tried to intervene. He fired five shots at the attacker, they all landed but the attacker still did not flinch. Damn, most of their equipment was still in the trunk of Baby. Sam tossed some holy water onto the stranger, the only other weapon he was currently armed with. The bullets only put holes in his clothes and the holy water did absolutely nothing. 

Sam knew they were dealing with something supernatural but he had no idea what. At least they knew it wasn’t demonic based on the lack of a reaction to the holy water. The attacker didn’t say anything besides that one warning. His swift moves and super strength, armored skin meant he could be a whole host of supernatural beings. 

But neither Sam nor Dean had time to figure out just what the attacker was. Quicker than the blink of an eye, the attacker was on Dean again. This time he put Dean in an iron grip chokehold. Before Sam could react, the stranger stabbed Dean square in the chest. 

“No!” Sam shouted in disbelief. Dean collapsed to the ground, not breathing. Not moving. Dean was dead. Sam’s heart was beating fast. He couldn’t believe it. He ran to stab the attacker himself but the attacker just grabbed his arm and subdued him. 

“I have no qualms with you, Sam Winchester. Stand down and I will let you live.”

How did this attacker know their name? Sam went underground with Dean to raise him, they had only recently gotten back into hunting the past few years. And they didn’t amass a big enough reputation to be infamous amongst creatures.

“You killed my brother! I can’t let you go.” Sam struggled against the stranger but his grip was tight. It was like being sandwiched between rocks. 

“He needed to die. It was ordained by God himself.”  

Before another word could be spoken Dean started to cough. He sat up on his side. He felt a bit tired. Weak, but otherwise fine. Dean’s memories started to come back to him. He was stabbed. He remembered the cold feeling as the life drained out of him but the life never fully went away. Then everything went black. It was quite strange, like existing and not existing at the same time. Next thing he knew, he was awake and alive again. 

Frantically, Dean checked his body. He felt totally fine. Normal, even. No soreness or discomfort in his chest. He didn’t even have any dry blood on his body or clothes. Had it not been for the hole in his shirt, he wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was stabbed. 

“I don’t– I don’t understand.” The stranger said, utter confusion in his voice. His face twisted in disbelief. “This is an Enochian blade. It should be able to kill anything. Especially a human.”

The stranger went off on a rant in a language Sam did not recognise. He seemed not to care about Dean or Sam anymore as he shouted to the sky. 

“Just my luck. I get the being with mental health issues to come after me.”

The stranger rushed towards Dean. Dean took a step back and braced for another fight. The being got him that one time but he wouldn’t get him again so easily.

“You should be dead. Why aren’t you dead,” the stranger demanded.

“Well tough luck for you buddy.” Dean coughed again. “I just found out I was immortal. Could have told you you were wasting your time if you had just used the damn front door!”

“The Enochian blade would kill even immortal humans.” 

“Not if they don’t have a fate line.” Dean said smugly. What’s the use of being cursed with immortality if it didn’t come in handy at some point?

“No fate…That makes no sense.” The stranger went off into another rant in that strange language once again. 

He turned his back again. This time Sam did not hesitate. He rushed the stranger and attempted to stab him in the back. His knife broke. The angel turned but only continued to mumble to himself. It sounded like he was trying to talk to someone. He stretched a hand and Sam was blasted to the other end of the room. 

Dean was now strong enough to stand. He joined Sam on the other side of the room. He noticed that at this point, Rowena was gone. He had no idea when she had disappeared. Probably better she wasn’t here. Besides stabbing Dean, the stranger hadn’t done anything to harm anyone.  Dean had no idea how long that would last before the stranger decided to go on a rampage. 

Dean looked up to find the stranger gazing at him. He looked as though he was peering deep into Dean’s soul. His crystal blue eyes now had a strange unearthly glow behind him. Dean had never seen something so beautiful in his life. He wanted to stare into them forever.

But then Dean had caught himself. 

“First you stabbed me, now you’re looking at me like you’re gonna jump me any moment. You’re kinda freaking me out here, perv. Least you can do is take a girl out for dinner first.” This was hella awkward.

“There are no girls here. And why would I need to take them outside to eat,” asked the stranger in full sincerity.

“I see sarcasm is not your strong suit so I’ll make it clear. Quit looking at me like that!”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare. It’s just your soul. It’s interesting.”

Dean blushed. Dean had come across a creature so honest and direct. 

Great. Was this going to happen whenever he meets a supernatural being?

“Yeah, yeah. I know. My life line is in a loop and my fate line doesn’t exist. I’m an enigma.”

“If you know then you should know why that is.” The angel sounded hopeful. Like even he didn’t know the answer and wanted to know. “I tried to ask God but he said to ask you.”

“Are you shitting me? God? Like the guy on the cloud with the beard?”

“Well, God doesn’t live on a cloud but he does have a beard,” said the stranger so matter of factly.

For some reason, when Dean learnt that vampires existed, he was cool with it. It only made sense then, that werewolves also existed since according to pop culture they were mortal enemies. But God existing? That took the cake.  Was someone pranking Dean right now?

“I just learnt all of this today. Someone cursed me and I don’t know who, when, where or how.”

Sam coughed to clear his throat. “Ah, who are you?”

“I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord,” the angel said, monotonely.

“Of course you are,” Dean muttered incredulously. 

“Everything okay in here,” a new voice asked. 

Sam and Dean turned to face the newcomers. Castiel, Dean noticed, shifted to a defensive position. To the untrained eye, he looked as rigid as he had looked at this time but Dean was a hunter. He saw the fighting stance masked as aloofness. 

Or maybe angels were just strange. At least this one was. Who wore a trench coat in summer anyway?

Two average looking men poked their heads through the hole in the wall. Dark hair, dark eyes, medium built, they looked like farmhands that worked on the nearby ranches. They looked around, wordlessly, accessing the damage. 

“Man, it looks like a bomb went off in here,” the second man said, his eyes still darting around the room.  

Possibly, Sam thought, they might have heard the commotion and came to check out. Castiel did enter with a bang. 

“Ah..yeah... We’ve got this under control,” Sam reassured, hoping the two men didn’t question any further. 

“Don’t look like nothing,” the shorter of the men looked expectantly at Sam. 

A pause for a moment. 

The two strange men fidgeted, clenching their hands open and close. One man licked his lips, a devious smile plastered on his face. The other was more restrained but barely. Everything about their aura spelled trouble. Sam didn’t like it at all. He sensed Dean shift and knew that Dean felt the same way. 

Castiel was the one to break the tension, jumping into action immediately without having said a word. One minute he was standing next to Dean, the next he was on top of the taller man, with his Enochian blade to the man’s throat. 

Angel of the Lord, my ass. 

Dean had always pictured angels as gentle creatures who spoke softly and aided the meek. Castiel, the angel standing in front of him, was nothing but ruthless. Dean marveled at his fighting prowess as Castiel blocked every incoming hit. The stranger was just as impressive, countering all of Castiel’s blows. They were evenly matched. Striking each with blows so fast that Dean hardly caught them. It looked like something out of the Matrix.

Dean didn’t get to watch for too long before the second stranger started for him. Sam fired a shot but that did not deter the stranger. Dean braced himself. 

They definitely aren’t farmhands.  

First Rowena, then Castiel now whatever the hell these two were…Was it Free Balloon Day at the museum or something? 

Dean had had his fill of the strange and eerie for the day but the day seemed like it just didn’t want to end. 

The stranger matched Dean fist for fist. After seeing his companion match Castiel, Dean had no doubt this man could take him out if he wanted to. He was toying with Dean. The cruel glimmer in his eyes told Dean that the stranger planned to draw this out as long as it entertained him.

The man stepped back and flexed his neck. His head bent back and when he had faced Dean again he was transformed. He no longer looked human. His mouth was wide and took up half his face. His jaw unhinged like a snake to reveal rows of serrated teeth. And then the stranger morphed into Dean and started at Dean again. 

What the hell are these guys?

Dean had never seen anything like them before. 

Sam pounced on the Dean clone before he could attack Dean again. They rolled and began fighting. Legs and arms entangled to the point where Dean couldn’t tell where Sam’s limbs began and clone Dean’s ended.  At the same time the farmhand knocked Castiel’s Enochian blade from his hand. Things still looked fairly even between Castiel and the stranger so Dean went to help his brother. 

Dean pulled his clone off of Sam and began to punch him. Sam quickly got up off the floor and proceeded to stab the stranger. He didn’t react. He didn’t bleed. It was as though he was invulnerable. The stranger turned around and punched Sam, knocking him to the ground. It hurt and would probably leave a bruise. 

The farmhand knocked Castiel to the ground and headed towards Dean. Castiel rolled on the floor and struggled to get up. That last punch had knocked the wind out of him. Dean would now have to face the two unknown creatures by himself, armed with nothing but a half empty gun and a knife. 

Dean always did like a challenge. 

As the farmhand came towards him, Dean feinted to the right and made a mad dash for Castiel’s Enochian blade that had slid a few feet away from him.

He wasn’t using it so Dean might as well.

“That’s right, come and get some.” Now that Dean knew he couldn’t die, he had every intention to exploit that fact. Sam had done so much to protect him over these years, he was happy he could finally return the favor. 

Dean tackled the farmhand and body slammed him to the ground. Then he turned to deliver a swift kick to the solar plexus of his clone. Dean jumped on top of the farmhand and moved to stab him with the Enochian blade. The farmhand grabbed onto Dean’s hand to prevent Dean from stabbing him. The farmhand’s  grip was so tight, Dean felt as though he would snap his wrist. 

As Dean glared into the eyes of the farmhand he saw something undefinable. Deep and dark, pure dread filled Dean. He didn’t know how he knew but as he stared into the farmhand’s eyes, Dean knew he was dealing with something ancient. Primordial. And evil. 

“Dean, move!” Sam and Castiel were back up. Dean moved away from the farmhand just in time to dodge a beam of light that shot out of Castiel’s hands. It missed the farmhand as well. 

Sam used the distraction to have a go at the Dean clone again. This time he was more prepared. He managed to grab the Dean clone by the collar and slam him into a nearby wall. At this point, it was pretty obvious to Sam that the guys they were dealing with were not going to go down with a simple kick or punch. But Sam was hoping that if they could incapacitate them long enough, it would give him and Dean a chance to escape. The Dean reached up to Sam’s collar and flipped him around, pinning him to the wall. 

“Dean! Behind you,” Sam yelled.

The farmhand stood behind Dean. His head was unhinged. He was poised to take a bite out of Dean. 

Dean pivoted to the left and stabbed the farmhand with the Enochian blade. It dropped to the ground, unconscious. 

Castiel blasted the other creature with his angel mojo and that one went crashing to the ground. 

Sam released a sigh of relief and sat up. For a moment, he thought he really was done for. He had never fought a creature so strong. 

“What the fuck!”

Sam, Dean and Castiel turned to face Max who had finally decided to show up to the ruckus. Good thing he was lazy, any sooner and he might have been caught in the fray. 

“We need to leave. Those things won’t stay down for long.” said Castiel, ignoring Max’s outrage. 

Neither Dean nor Sam needed to be told twice. It was a helluva day and they wanted nothing more than to get back to the bunker. The day wasn't fruitful in the way they had hoped but they had learned more than they had ever learned from those months of research. Sam, especially, needed time to mull over everything he had heard and seen today. 

Neither Dean nor Sam had realized that Castiel had said, “we.”