Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean calls Kevin a couple days after the whole thing with heaven kidnapping him to translate some tablet, and as promised, he was returned to his home. Uneasily, Kevin explains that the angel Naomi wiped his mother’s memory-- she doesn’t remember Kevin going missing, and she doesn’t remember the Winchesters explaining her son’s prophethood to her. The angels insisted it’s better this way. Safer for everyone. They all but threatened him to maintain her ignorance.

They’d wiped Kevin’s memory too, a little bit. He remembers heaven. Remembers having to translate something. Has no idea what he was translating.

This, too, is supposedly for his own safety.

Castiel brushes off their questions when Dean finally gets a hold of him. Says he’s going to remain as Kevin’s protector. That it’s actually an order from heaven-- they’re giving him a second chance. He’s charged to make sure Crowley and his demons do not interfere with the prophet.

Sam, Jess, and Dean wait around Montana for another week before Jo calls to tell them she broke her leg on the hunt. She’s out of commission for the better part of two months-- the vague soul rescue plan will have to be put on hold.

So the Winchesters hunt. And they wait.

“Don’t werewolves ever question whether it’s cliche to be all out of control and murderous?” Sam asks as Jess unlocks the lakehouse one night in December.

“Ha. I guess not.” She shifts her weight between her feet as she pushes the door open, a little chilly even though California never gets all that cold.

The lakehouse is just how they left it, though they’ve been gone for a couple months. One thing Jess has always liked about her family’s vacation house is it always smells the same, like pine and a little bit of lavender. She takes a moment to breathe it in, pulling her jacket closer around herself-- it’s no warmer inside than outside.

(i should put a fire on down here, jess thinks. maybe one in the library too. just to warm the place up.)

“You think we got any butterflies?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Jess confirms. “I’ll grab you one. Can I look at it?”

“It ain’t that bad,” Dean dismisses, but he lets his sister in law fuss over the scratch on his right forearm anyway.

“I looks kind of deep,” she comments as Sam locks the door behind them. “Maybe you should let Sam stitch you up. Or get Cas to come.”

“Cas is busy,” Dean says. “Butterfly’s fine.”

“We should clean it, at least.” She heads for the first aid kit with its alcohol wipes and butterfly bandaids.

She hears the boys talking as she roots around the meager medical supplies; Sam mentioning Jo might be healed by now, that he should call and check. Dean making a wholly unrelated remark about how at least this gash isn’t going to ruin any of his tattoos, at least it’s on the blank arm.

Jess shivers a little. It’s almost like the air in the small downstairs bathroom is colder for having been caught between walls. As soon as she gets Dean patched up, she’ll make a fire.

“You sure you don’t want a couple stitches?” Sam asks as Jess comes back into the living room.

“Marriage has made you soft. I’ve had way worse. I can handle it, I’m tough.”

Jess rolls her eyes a little at Dean’s macho man bullshit as she unwraps the alcohol wipe. “Hold still,” she instructs as she starts cleaning the werewolf scratch, wiping off the dried blood. Tough guy cringes a little at the sting of the rubbing alcohol.

(at least we were only a couple hours away. it would suck to have to drive with a ripped up arm for any longer.)

“Do we have any booze?” Dean asks.

“I’ll check,” Sam says. He heads into the kitchen.

Jess carefully lays two butterfly bandages over the scratch, holding the skin together so it can heal easier and scar less. She wads up their wrappers with the spent alcohol wipe and its wrapper. “All set.”

(i wonder what time it is. i’m so tired. i just want to shower and curl up in a normal non-motel bed and listen to sam’s loud sleep breathing.)

Unluckily for her, she’d been in the splash zone when the werewolf had slashed its claws at Dean. Some of his blood has been hanging out in her hair for three hours now, and she’s impatient to wash it out.

“No booze,” Sam calls from the kitchen.

“Dammit,” Dean huffs. “Not even beer?”

“Nope. We need a grocery run tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna make coffee, then,” Dean huffs. “I gotta tweak on something.”

“If you got all the vitamins and nutrients you need, you wouldn’t feel that way,” Sam says, almost snotty.

Jess rolls her eyes again, following Dean into the kitchen, where Sam is filling up his reusable water bottle from the dispenser on the fridge door. She sets her hand on his shoulder and stands on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. “I’m going up to bed.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a sec,” he says.

“You two are fuckin’ disgusting.” Dean makes a face, reaching for the bag of coffee grounds.

“Grow up,” Sam instructs.

“No.”

Jess leaves, half-amused by their obnoxious brother antics, and heads upstairs to shower.

In the morning, the boys head off to restock on ammo and other boring things in Dean’s car, and Jess drives the Cav to the nearest Target halfway to Sacramento to do some grocery shopping and buy some new clothes. She’d ended up throwing away a bunch of stuff while she was hunting on her own a few months back. It had been easier and faster than stopping at a laundromat to do laundry.

She listens to some Greenday as she drives, singing along quietly, only half glad to have a little time to herself. She and Sam had been kind of inseparable since Cas fixed her soul, both of them just happy to be back together- she hasn’t really been alone for more than an hour or so since then.

But the constant togetherness has also kind of makes her start to miss him, already, even as she pulls into the Target parking lot less than two hours after parting ways with him.

(is that stupid or romantic? she wonders as she heads into the store, grabbing a red shopping cart. probably both. i don’t know. i just love him.)

Maybe they’ve become a little codependent.

She takes her time wandering the store, tossing frozen fruit and frozen vegetables and frozen veggie burger patties into the cart to start off. Frozen groceries are the best bet, she’s discovered over the past few years-- she and the boys end up on the road in a moments’ notice, sometimes, or Cas comes and yanks them somewhere. This way, they don’t come home to a fridge full of rotten produce.

She goes through the rest of the crowdfunded shopping list, her own loopy handwriting, Sam’s neat script, and Dean’s all-caps scrawl. Checks items off as she drops them into the cart. Tortillas, beer, cheese, eggs, bread, hamburger buns, ground beef, pickles, bacon, kale, almond milk, rice cakes, dish soap, deodorant for everybody, toothpaste, toilet paper, dryer sheets, more butterfly bandages since the last two from the first aid kit are on Dean’s arm. With the list completed, she picks out a new pair of jeans and a few new shirts for herself, a shirt for Sam, a candle she doesn’t need, and a throw blanket she definitely doesn’t need.

(it’s not a target run unless you buy at least two things you don’t need.)

Anyway, the candle and the blanket will make the library cozier.

She loads the groceries into the Cav, shutting the trunk before heading off to put the shopping cart back. She half-considers texting Sam, but she doesn’t really have anything to say to him.

(just that i’m either pathetic or romantic and i want to be in the same room as him again.)

He’ll like the shirt she picked out for him, probably. It’s a plaid flannel-- that’s a good bet for him-- shades of blue and tan. He looks good in blue.

She’s trying to imagine how it will look on him when she turns around and sees him.

She blinks.

It’s not him. It’s him-- but his hair is too long, and his shoulders are a little hunched up, like he’s trying to keep people from noticing how tall he is. He hasn’t held himself like that in a while. He’s wearing a white and light tan striped button down shirt she doesn’t recognize, and a brown Carhartt jacket she’s never seen before. The jeans and white sneakers are normal, but then again, jeans and white sneakers aren’t usually very distinctive.

She blinks again.

He stares back at her, standing maybe five feet away, a really weird look on his face. His eyebrows are raised and mashed together, his lips barely hang open, and--

(is he crying?)

“Jess,” he finally says, his voice coming out small and broken.

“Sam?” She asks slowly. Her heart is thudding heavy, hitting against her chest. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket just for the sake of moving. But then he moves too, coming toward her, and she lets him pull her into a desperate hug. His long arms slide around her uneasily, as if they don’t know where to settle. Like he’s out of practice. One of his hands ends up on her back, the other on her hair. She can feel his pulse against her, riling, slamming as fast as her own or maybe faster. Her mind goes blank. All she knows is that something is off.

Eventually, he pulls away. Looks her over again. She watches his eyes move.

“You… you can’t be real,” he says, half-nervous, half sad. He shakes his head once. “This is some… sick joke.”

“I’m real,” she says uncomfortably. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“I saw you from over there, I was at that FedEx Kinko’s--” he gestures to the strip mall to the left of the Target-- “I thought you… must just be someone that looks like… her… but…” he trails off, a tear sliding down from his left eye. He wipes it aside quickly. Sniffles a little.

(he’s not my sam.)

Not that she didn’t know that before, but she hadn’t quite wrapped her head around it. Now, looking at him, parsing his confusing words, she’s certain that her Sam is still off buying ammo with Dean, or maybe driving home in the Impala. And this guy in front of her is someone else altogether.

(shifter? she wonders. no, why is he crying and acting like i’m--)

(fuck.)

(time travel, or… no it can’t be because he wouldn’t be crying and i don’t remember his hair ever looking like that. and he looks young so he isn’t from the future.)

The books.

(gabriel, maybe, trying to pull another stupid prank on us? making the book characters come to life?)

“Come with me,” she says quietly, reaching for him, taking his hand. It feels just like her Sam’s hand. But she forces herself to pull away from it after a second-- figures she shouldn’t hold the hand of some man who isn’t her husband, even if he kind of is, or something.

He comes with her without protesting. Lets her lead him to the space between the Cav and the car she’d parked next to, for some semblance of privacy.

“Sam, did the yellow eyed demon kill me back in 2005?” She asks him quietly.

He swallows hard. Nods, his heavy hazels still on her, drinking her image in thirstily. “How did you come back, Jess? How long have you been back?”

“I didn’t come back,” she tells him, shaking her head, biting her lip for a second.

(is this like when zachariah sent dean to another dimension? but then again, cas said he didn’t think it was real. did they send me somewhere?)

“What do you mean, you didn’t come back?” Sam asks her, frowning hard. “I saw you. On the ceiling. You were dead, Jess. And now you’re standing in front of me.”

Her spine freezes over, as it always does when this topic comes up, and she wants nothing more than to reach for him again. But he’s not her Sam. So she keeps her hands to herself.

“I never made it to the ceiling. Because you came home in time. And the demon just sort of left,” she says. She reaches for her hair, pushing it off her face--

“That’s the ring I was going to buy,” he says, his eyes widening as they land on it.

She looks at her left hand. A double silver band twisted together, a cushion-cut diamond in the middle. The stone could probably use a polish.

“Jess, where did you get that?” He pushes.

“You gave it to me when we got married,” she answers, confusion slamming her heart beat even faster. “Or… my… version of you. I think you’re… I mean, you’re not my Sam.”

He looks a little hurt. She immediately backtracks.

“I mean-- I just think you’re a different version of the same person, or something,” she amends. “You’re clearly Sam. I can tell you’re Sam. I don’t think you’re a shifter or anything. I think… um…”

“The angels?” He asks quietly.

She nods. “Yeah. Maybe Zachariah. Um, what can you tell me about your… world?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s different,” he says, sighing, the same half-exhale half-sigh Jess’ Sam is always doing.

“Okay. Well… I guess… I’m different,” she says with an uncomfortable shrug. “Do you still have Dean?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam says like it’s obvious. “Since he got back from hell, anyway.”

“Yeah, a couple years ago.”

Sam shakes his head, frowning. “A couple weeks ago.”

“What year is it?”

“2008.”

She exhales slowly. “I’m a couple years ahead of you.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

(the books in the library closet. carver edlund and his god-awful writing. is this?)

“Wait, uh, so I’m dead,” she says. “And you and Dean hunt together. And… you sleep with monsters.”

Sam’s eyes go wide, half-embarrassed, half-appalled. He takes a step back. “Jess, I--”

“It’s okay,” she reassures, mentally kicking herself for being insensitive. It’s just that she was too disoriented not to bring it up-- it’s one of the only things that popped into her head. “If I’m dead, you can… have sex with whoever you want, I guess. Um, anyway, Dean isn’t Ben’s dad, right?”

“Ben?” Sam just looks confused now, but then his mind moves a little, and he realizes what she’s talking about. “You mean his ex-girlfriend Lisa’s son? No, of course Dean isn’t his father.”

“Okay. So you’re the Sam from the books,” she says.

“What books?”

“The Supernatural books. We found them a while back. They were about you and Dean-- but a ton of the details were wrong. So someone… made the books come to life.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam says. “I’m not a book character.”

She pushes her hair back again, unsure of what to do. “Where’s your brother?”

“Motel,” Sam says with a shrug. “He dropped me off so I could make us new badges.”

“Let’s go get him,” she decides. “And I’ll take you two back to my house. And we’ll figure this out. Okay?”

“Yeah,” fake Sam says, nodding, his damp eyes implying that he’d follow her anywhere. “Let’s go.”

After a brief and confused conversation with a slightly younger, clean-shaven, tattoo-less version of Dean, the fake Winchester brothers follow Jess to the lakehouse. As they drive, Jess wonders if this is maybe not the smartest thing she’s ever done. Leading maybe-Sam and maybe-Dean right to her home, and all, when she has no idea what’s going on. She could be walking right into a trap.

(that’s not a shifter or anything, though. that’s sam. just not quite my sam. but he’s still a sam. so maybe it’ll be okay.)

She isn’t as convinced about fake Dean. Without the tattoo sleeve and the short beard, he looks too different from the Dean she knows. But then again, she doesn't know real Dean as intimately as she knows real Sam. So she wouldn't quite be able to tell. And this other Dean still has the same gold amulet on the leather cord and the same silver ring, so that counts for something. Right?

(this is confusing and weird. i’m confusing myself. i really really hope the boys are home by the time i get there.)

She glances in her rear view mirror. Takes in the Impala. Not the Impala she’s used to-- but an identical match, same plates and all. She’s never seen another car like that in her life. Most people don’t have a habit of driving vintage muscle cars on the regular; most people wouldn’t know how to keep one in as perfect of a condition as Dean Winchester keeps his.

(both dean winchesters, i guess, she amends in her mind. at least the car is a good sign, right?)

When she makes the turn off the main road toward the lakehouse, she’s relieved to see her Dean’s version of the Impala is in its place. She pulls up next to it. The second fake Impala pulls up behind the Cav.

She gets out. Grabs some of the grocery bags-- the frozen stuff. Fake Sam is out of the fake Impala almost immediately, and catching up to her. “Let me help you.”

“Uh, thanks,” she says awkwardly, watching him take up the rest of the grocery bags. He follows her to the door. She fumbles with the key, and a moment later, gets it unlocked. His brother stands a few feet away, his face drawn in skepticism, his blank-slate arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ve been here,” fake Sam says. “The lakehouse.”

“Yeah. My parents’ vacation home,” she says. She leads him through the mud room. Into the main part of the house.

“Are they here?” Sam asks. “Your parents?”

Her chest contracts a little. She pulls air into her lungs before answering. “No. They’re not. Um, they’re dead.”

“Oh,” he says, surprised. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. Makes her way into the kitchen. Sets her grocery bag down.

Sam-- her Sam-- comes in from the deck. Grins at her a little bit. She's relieved to see him-- relieved he's still here, that he hasn't been replaced by this other Sam. She closes the space between them, setting herself up next to him as if to remind other Sam that she belongs to this Sam. He looks the way he’s supposed to, with his shorter hair and barely-there stubble and clothes she recognizes, a plain white tee shirt with a brown and blue plaid shirt over it, unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

She watches her husband’s eyes catch on the two men behind her-- other Sam and other Dean-- and his face falls.

“Sam, uh, there’s something weird going on,” she says before he can react. “This is… um… you. I guess.”

“Me,” he repeats, setting a cautious hand on her back. “Stay over there, fellas,” he asserts.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” other Sam says pleadingly. “I wouldn’t… I’d never…”

“Listen, you gotta tell us what the hell is going on around here,” other Dean pipes up. “So start yapping. Why do you look like my brother, but you ain’t my brother?”

“Why do you look like my brother?” Sam counters.

Normal Dean walks in just then, coming down from the stairs, probably attracted by the too-many-voices coming from the kitchen. He stops short in the doorway. Takes in the two men standing a few feet away from his brother and sister in law.

(this is so goddamn weird, jess thinks, her eyes trailing between her brother in law and the other version of him.)

“Whoa,” other Dean says quietly. He blinks. Rubs his hand over his mouth, just like normal Dean does. “You… you got some ink.”

Dean glances down at his tattooed arm for a second before looking back at his counterpart. “Why the fuck do you look like me?”

Other Dean almost seems surprised to hear the word ‘fuck’. He blinks a few times, his thick bronze eyelashes fluttering.

“Um, Dean, I think they’re from the books,” Jess pipes up. “You know, the Supernatural books? Carver Edlund?”

“The ones where Sam’s all fucked up and you’re dead?” Dean asks.

She nods.

“They’re fictional characters brought to life?” Sam asks.

“We aren't fictional characters,” other Sam argues, notably ignoring the comment about him being fucked up. “We’re real.”

“Yeah, you three are the ones not makin’ a lick of sense ‘round here,” other Dean adds.

“Look, nobody’s going to hurt anyone, right?” Jess asks diplomatically.

The two Sams nod emphatically. The two Deans each give the same noncommittal shrug.

(this is really fucking weird.)

“Uh, so let’s all sit down, and let’s talk about this,” Jess goes on once she regains her footing. She puts the perishable groceries away really quick, shoving the whole shopping bags into the fridge and freezer to deal with later.

“And we should probably call Bobby,” Dean adds.

“I was just gonna say that,” other Dean says uncomfortably.

“That’s smart,” Sam says. “We can see which Bobby picks up. Our Bobby or yours.”

“I was just going to say that,” other Sam says quietly.

The five of them sit down around the lakehouse dining table.

“So you’re the joker from those stupid books,” Dean begins, scratching at his short beard, giving his double a onceover. “No kid, no tats.”

“No Ash,” Sam adds.

“Ash?” other Dean asks, making a face. “You mean Ash from the roadhouse?”

Dean nods.

“Yeah, you’re straight,” Jess says.

“Of course I’m friggin’ straight,” other Dean says loudly. “What is this, Brokeback Mountain?”

(okay, so maybe he isn’t straight. just repressed.)

His brother glances at him, making a half-confused face.

Dean half-chuckles. “Not quite, man.”

“And what did you say about a kid? Do you have a kid?” Other Dean demands.

“Yeah. Ben,” Dean says with a shrug.

Other Dean’s face changes. His eyebrows fall downward, his lips barely part. He blinks a few times before speaking. “Ben, Lisa’s son?”

“Yeah, me and Lisa’s kid,” Dean says.

“Wow.” Other Dean rubs at his lips again, looking away.

“So me being alive isn’t the only difference,” Jess concludes.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ great, I’m feeling real comfy looking at myself,” Dean grumbles.

“Fuck,” other Dean says, as if he’s testing the word. He looks toward his brother. “Dude, I think I haven’t been able to say that word.”

“People all have their own lexical habits,” other Sam says diplomatically. “You have other vocal tics. You say son of a bitch and stuff.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, I think I couldn’t say ‘fuck’,” other Dean insists. “I never even thought to say it. I say friggin’. Who says friggin’?”

“You,” his brother says patiently.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to say ‘fuck’?” Sam asks, confused. “What, like some… cosmic entity… is censoring your language?”

(great. yeah. let’s get cosmic entities involved, jess thinks uncomfortably.)

Sam seems to pick up on her discomfort. He leans closer to her, draping his long arm over the back of her chair.

“You two are married, right?” Other Sam asks quietly, noticing the shift, noticing the silver ring on his left hand now that it’s in view.

“Yeah,” Jess confirms.

“So you just… didn’t die. You survived Azazel’s attack. And you married me. Him.”

Jess nods, her chest tightening a little bit, filling with sadness for this other version of Sam. This version who lost her.

(she sees the scene of her death again, how it was supposed to happen-- how it did happen, in this other universe, or whatever. sees the fire eating through her skin and searing pain into her paralyzed form as she drips burning blood, as she dies from smoke inhalation. as she dies confused and alone and terrified.)

(azazel, she realizes. yellow eyes had a name.)

Without meaning to, she reaches for Sam, her Sam. Moving like a little kid, she takes an uneasy handful of the side of his plaid shirt.

(cry about it later, she tells herself, or don’t because that’s stupid and it was so long ago and you’re fine.)

She forces herself to relax her hand. The fabric of Sam’s shirt falls back down easily.

“Yeah, man,” Sam confirms, unbothered by his wife’s clinginess.

“And you… hunt,” other Sam asks Jess.

She nods again. “Since that night in 2005. Yeah.”

He half-sighs, half-scoffs, a familiar exhale of disbelief.

“This is all real friggin’ fascinating,” other Dean cuts in, “but what I wanna know is, who tossed us into this dimension? Rod Serling? The feathers upstairs?”

“Could be,” other Sam sighs. Regular Sam and Dean nod their agreement.

“Let’s call Bobby, like you said. Uh, like I said,” other Dean suggests, taking his cell phone out of his pocket. “See who's Bobby picks up. See what he thinks.”

“Yeah, you do that, I’m gonna call Cas,” Dean says, reaching for his own phone.

“Cas? As in, Castiel? The angel? Why are you calling him?” other Dean asks.

“Uh, long story,” Dean says a little sheepishly.

“I’ll be right back,” Jess says, fumbling with her chair, leaving the group. She heads for the stairs. Her feet move quickly, but unsteadily.

It’s quiet upstairs, and she regards the pool table in the hall for a second, taking in the neat triangle of pool balls, the rack of pool cues, the little stain on the green felt from when her father spilled his glass of merlot several years ago.

(they might be alive in the other world, she thinks. my parents. because… i’m the reason they died here. and if i’m dead in that other world… they’re probably alive. yellow eyes wouldn’t have set their house on fire. wouldn’t have any reason to kill them.)

The thought burns her eyes a little.

“Jess?”

She turns. She hadn’t heard her husband coming up the stairs, over the sound of her own thoughts. She wipes at her eyes quickly. “Yeah.”

“You okay?” He asks, coming toward her, wrapping his arms around her.

She leans into his chest for a moment. Closes her eyes against him. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking too much. Um, I just came up here to grab the books. To show them. They should probably… see them.”

She’s fumbling her words clumsily, and it’s just an excuse. She’d left the table because it was overwhelming and she was making herself sad and she needed to stop looking at the wilted version of the man she’s spent the past decade loving.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Sam says. She can feel his voice vibrate from his chest. She always liked that feeling. “I mean, this might actually be the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to us. And that’s saying a lot.” He half-chuckles.

“No kidding.”

“That guy, he gives me the creeps. The other me.”

“I think he’s just sad,” she says slowly, her heart breaking for him all over again. Maybe he isn’t her Sam, but he’s a Sam, and one time he had a Jess who loved him.

“Seems like he has a lot of reason to be,” Sam says quietly. He presses a kiss to the top of her head before he lets go of her. He catches her hand instead, and leads her to the library to grab a couple of the books.

Bobby and Cas had both answered their phones-- normal Bobby and normal Cas, as far as anyone can tell. It’s just the Winchester brothers who are transplanted.

Once the five of them get that settled, Dean slips away. Grabs a beer and takes it outside, even though it’s on the chilly side. And he checks the time really quick before making another phone call.

It rings.

“C’mon, buddy,” he says under his breath. He feels strangely calm about the whole thing. Maybe as a defense mechanism. Maybe considering the possibility that he’s in a world where his kid has a different father is too much, so his brain is shutting that line of thinking off until it can confirm or deny.

Or it could be worse than that. Maybe Ben was sucked into another dimension too.

But then, he answers, his voice a little tiny bit deeper than last time they spoke. “Hi, Dad.”

‘Dad’. Just what he’d wanted to hear.

Dean exhales, realizing he was holding his breath. “Hey, kiddo. Just checking in. You doing okay?”

“Um, yeah,” Ben answers. “I just got home from school.”

“Good. Great.”

“What’s going on, Dad?”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Yes, there is,” Ben insists. “You’re using your something’s-going-on voice.”

“I don’t have a something’s-going-on voice,” Dean argues. “Just got the one voice.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, buddy, nothing’s going on. Nothing you gotta worry about. Is it a crime for a guy to want to make sure his son’s doing okay?”

“Without a reason to think he isn’t? Maybe.”

“You’re getting too smart. You gotta stop it,” Dean instructs.

“You want me to be dumb?” Ben’s voice cracks a little.

“Yeah, maybe. Might make my job easier. I gotta go, buddy. I’m in the middle of somethin’. Thanks for picking up.”

“Okay,” Ben says uneasily. “Bye.”

“Bye.” Dean hangs up. Drops his phone into his jeans pocket. Takes a deep swig of beer.

Good. The only thing changing right now is Ben’s voice. The only thing he has to worry about here is his kid growing up.

He heads back inside.

The alternate versions of Sam and Dean call Ellen and J0. The Ellen and Jo that pick up are the normal Harvelles, though, the Ellen whose soul is on Crowley’s list, the Jo whose broken leg is still stuck in a cast for another few days, whose ex-demon girlfriend is taking care of her. As far as any of the various Winchesters can tell, it was just Sam and Dean who were transplanted.

So Jess sets up fresh bedding in the two extra rooms (one with a queen bed, the other with the bunk bed) and everyone just sort of eats dinner together, unsure of what else to do.

It’s weird watching the two sets of brothers. Weird especially to have the alternative version of Sam around. Mopey Sam, as she’s kind of starting to call him in her head. Kicked puppy Sam. Other Sam.

The other Dean isn’t quite so uncanny to her. They’re easy to tell apart, what with normal Dean’s armful of tattoos and beard, and other Dean’s clean shaven face and bare arm. But the two Deans move the exact same, eat the exact same, talk almost the exact same. Normal Dean just has a slightly dirtier mouth. Maybe talks a little more than his counterpart.

After dinner, with the two Deans comparing notes over a few beers, Jess heads into the kitchen to help Sam (her Sam) with the dishes. Mostly because looking at other Sam, kicked puppy Sam, mopey Sam, kind of bums her out.

(if i were in his place, if sam had died in a terrible traumatic way and left me alone, i’d probably be worse off than he is, she thinks glumly. even with the thing about sleeping with monsters and the demon blood and all that. i’d probably be so devastated, i wouldn’t be able to do anything or talk to anyone. even years later.)

Sam glances up from the sink when she comes up behind him. Offers her a small smile. Wordlessly, she helps him finish loading the dishwasher.

“We should probably figure out a way to get them back to their normal universe, right?” Sam asks as he starts the dishwasher.

“Yeah, probably.” Jess tucks her hair behind her ears. “Bobby said he’d read up on it, right? I don’t really know what else we should do.”

“Yeah. I’d say we ask Cas, but he’s acting weird lately. I think he’s kinda caught up in the whole Kevin thing.”

Jess nods.

“I think I’m going to go do some reading too,” Sam goes on. “See if there’s anything in the library that might help us.”

“Yeah. Good idea. I’ll be up in a minute.”

He nods, smiling at her again a little bit, and kisses her cheek before leaving the room.

She watches him go.

(i should talk to him, she thinks. other sam. maybe he can give me some kind of insight about how he and his brother ended up in the wrong universe. maybe we can figure out how to get them back. or maybe we really should get cas to come over here. i’m kind of surprised he didn’t just come on his own when dean told him what was going on.)

“Jess?”

She hadn’t heard anyone come into the kitchen. She looks toward the voice to see which Sam it is.

Not her Sam. Other Sam. He’s standing with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, his shoulders all hunched in bad posture.

“Yeah,” she says, offering him a smile, mostly because she knows how messed up his life is and she feels bad for him.

“Um, can I talk to you for a minute?” He asks. “Alone?”

“Yeah. Sure. Let’s go on the deck,” she suggests.

He nods, and follows her out. The two of them sit down.

She’d grabbed her denim jacket on the way out, and she pulls it on, putting her hands in the pockets to keep them warm against the late December evening. A breeze pulls through the trees. She shivers a little. Wishes the Sam sitting in the chair next to her was her Sam, so she could lean closer and leech some of his body heat.

“I remember you teaching me to swim right there,” other Sam says quietly, pointing to the beach, half-concealed through the trees. “Did that… happen in this world too?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, smiling a little at the memory. “Summer after freshman year of college.”

“Right.” A fraction of a smile flits over his face, and she gets the idea that this is about the most he ever smiles-- just a little bit, just for a second. That it always falls quickly. “And, uh… the wine in the mugs, with tea bags on the table in case your parents caught us…”

“Yeah. Talking all night at the picnic table. Right over there.”

He nods. Rubs at his mouth, the way Dean always does. His eyes are a little glassy.

She looks away. Studies her sneakers.

“Jess, I miss you so much,” other Sam confesses. The words carry unshed tears that damn near break her heart. “I think about you all the time. I have dreams about you. That… that guy in there, the other version of me… he’s so fucking lucky.”

(what do i even say to him? he’s not my sam. and i’m not his jess. his jess was probably different in a bunch of ways, like my sam is different from him. and she’s been dead for years.)

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“Does he know how lucky he is?”

The question almost makes her tear up, but she swallows hard to prevent it, and finds a fallen leaf on the table next to her to rip up to occupy her hands. “I… I think we both do.”

“I hope he does.”

(i’m not so sure he’s as lucky as you think he is, she can’t help but think, remembering her litany of mistakes and ugly moments and betrayals.)

Instead of thinking of something good to say, she asks the question that’s been on her mind for the past few hours. “Are my parents alive? In your world?”

“As far as I know, yeah,” Sam answers quietly. “I haven’t seen them since your funeral. They were devastated.”

She nods a few times. Tries not to picture it. Her mother sobbing. Her parents looking over her casket. Closed, to conceal the charred remains of their only child.

“They died a few weeks after I was supposed to,” she tells him. “Back in 2005. The house burned down and they died in the fire. Yellow Eyes did it. Um, Azazel.”

“How did you survive that night?” Sam asks.

“Um…”

(she really, really doesn’t want to relive it. wishes her sam were here with her, if she has to.)

“The demon cut me open telekinetically. And then I started sliding up the wall-- I couldn’t move. But then Sam came home. And I fell down the wall, and I could move again, and the demon just sort of left.” She fumbles with her shirt. Pulls it up just high enough to show him the angry pink scar across her stomach, which is probably a little paler and a little less toned than the college age Jess he remembers. “I got away with just this.”

“So if I… if I was a few minutes earlier that night…” Sam says quietly.

“You couldn’t have known. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done,” Jess comforts as she straightens her shirt back down. “Your Jess, I mean, if she’s… me.. she wouldn’t blame you. It’s not your fault. I don’t know what exactly the differences are, between me and her, but… I’m pretty sure she loved you. A lot.”

“Yeah, she did,” Sam says, wiping tears off his face. He swallows hard. “And I think she’d be pretty disappointed with how I turned out.” He laughs uncomfortably, half-crying.

(jess knows how he turned out, thanks to the books. the demon blood, the thing with ruby. she knows he’s not doing very well. knows he’s at a low point.)

“I’m really sorry, Sam,” she settles for saying.

He shrugs. “I guess it makes sense that there’d be a universe where I still have you. Where I’m happy. Is he… happy? Your Sam?”

“I think so. Yeah. He’s had a rough year, but things are good now.”

“Rough how?”

“It’s a really long story,” Jess sighs. “He was in a coma for a while. And then we were separated for a few months after he woke up because of some… stuff… I had to take care of. And I was kind of messed up. But then I found and killed what I was hunting, and Cas fixed me, and we’ve been back together ever since. So… maybe he wasn’t happy there, for a while. But I think he’s happy again now.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Almost a year. Our first anniversary is next month.”

(a lot has happened over the past year. a lot seems to happen every year, but this past year especially. the night dean admitted he had feelings for cas and i went kind of insane, that was less than a year ago, she realizes. the apocalypse thing. the trials. that was less than a year ago.)

“Well, I’m happy for him, I guess,” Sam says. “And unbelievably jealous.”

Jess laughs a little.

“This is probably really weird for you,” he adds. “Being around a worse-off version of your, um, husband.”

“I think it’s weird for all of us. But we’re going to figure everything out. And get you guys back to your world.”

He nods, frowning a little, and she wonders if he even wants to go back.

Jess barely sleeps that night, tucked up against her Sam, trying not to think about the other Sam sleeping in the next room over, trying not to think about the other universe in which she’s dead and her parents aren’t.

(i thought the supernatural book series was some freaky thing we were just never going to have an answer for, she thinks around three in the morning, after waking up from a brief doze. but now they’re here. and it’s real.)

She remembers being in college and one of her professors talking about the multiverse theory. Saying there might be an infinite number of universes, all parallel, similar but different. That if you can imagine it, it’s real somewhere. She’d thought it sounded kind of silly at the time. Kind of overly-philosophical, and too dissimilar to reality to have any merit at all. But apparently it was true all along. Or something.

(maybe something is just messing with us. angels or demons or something. either way, i don’t like it.)

She gets a little more uneasy sleep, but a few hours later she still wakes up before Sam. She stays put until his eyes flit open and he reaches for her.

“I think we should send them to Bobby’s,” he murmurs into her neck. “The other versions of me and my brother.”

“Why?” She asks, running her hand over the warm skin of his arm.

“They’ll be safe there. He can help them find a way back to their own world. We can get back to figuring out a solution for Ellen, now that Jo is healing up.”

He’d said the other Sam kind of gave him the creeps. Maybe he’s just trying to get rid of him.

Jess kind of doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah, that might be the best idea,” she agrees.

Alternate Sam and Dean agree too, when Sam suggests staying at Bobby’s. And when they call Bobby about it, he’s on board, too.

(of course he is. he always has his doors open.)

Other Sam and Dean know exactly how to get to his place, since their Bobby has the same address, and they head out after breakfast. And Jess and Sam go back to trying to figure out who Crowley was when he was human.

Jess and the boys meet up with Jo and Ruby a couple days later, and the five of them do a summoning ritual to trap one of Crowley’s hench demons in a devil’s trap. A couple gallons of holy water later, and the team comes to the disappointing conclusion that the demon doesn’t know Crowley’s human name. Nor does the second one they kidnap and trap. Nor the third.

“This clearly isn’t working,” Ruby says as they walk away from exorcising the last demon. “Not like I thought it would.”

“Don’t be a bitch, babe,” Jo chastises.

The two of them share a look, and a little smile, and Jess comes to the slightly confused conclusion that this is flirting to them.

“Yeah, we clearly need a different plan,” Sam agrees. “You guys got any ideas?”

“I exhausted all my ideas when Dean’s head was on the chopping block,” Jess says.

“Same goes,” Dean agrees.

“We have nine years to figure it out.” Jo shrugs, lacing her fingers through Ruby’s. “We’ll get there.”

Sam nods a few times.

“But I already have a lead on a case in Nebraska,” Ruby says. “So I think we’re going to head there and take care of that. This one needs to get her sea legs back.”

“Okay,” Dean says. “Call if you get any ideas, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Jo agrees, and the Winchesters head back to California.

(that was a waste of a week, jess thinks as she gets ready for bed once they get home. but whatever. i guess ellen has a long time left.)

She gets lost in thought, and muscle memory takes over, and she ends up brushing her teeth for a long time. Wondering if something new will crop up to tether her to the supernatural as soon as Ellen is safe and the alternate versions of Sam and Dean are back in their own dimension.

(it’ll be something. it’s always something, with us.)

Bobby didn’t have any ideas about how to send them back. Cas had barely answered Dean’s call-- had just said he’d let them know if he comes up with a solution. He hadn’t even seemed all that concerned about the situation.

(i guess there are three things, jess mulls over. ellen’s soul, sending fake sam and dean back to their own dimension, and figuring out why cas is acting so weird.)

She spits toothpaste into the sink and rinses her tooth brush off.

Since there were a few more books she and Sam hadn’t yet poured over, they take up post in the library the next morning and kill a few hours on that chore. But Jess gets restless, so she finds more active chores to do-- cleans the kitchen, cleans the bathrooms, strips the two empty guest rooms to wash the bedding.

She’s dusting off the mantle above the fireplace when the back door nudges open. A quick glance over her shoulder tells her it’s just Dean, so she turns back to what she’s doing.

“Hey, Jess,” he says, sounding a little surprised. “Guess you and Sam decided to come after all. Are you feeling any better?”

“Huh?” She sets the dust cloth down and turns to face her brother in law-- just in time to watch his green eyes widen in confusion and maybe nervousness as he regards her.

“Whoa, you… look skinny,” he says weirdly. "Are you okay?"

She blinks.

“What?”

“You look skinny,” he repeats.

She blinks again, trying to decipher his odd comments, trying to figure out why he’s concerned about if she looks skinny or not. She looks down at her body-- in leggings and a tee shirt that fits her completely regularly, she looks about as normal as she figures she possibly could look. She hasn’t lost weight. Especially not since the last time she saw Dean, which was only a couple hours ago.

"Okay," she says slowly.

“Seriously, what’s going on, are you okay?” Dean persists.

“I’m fine. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she half-laughs.

“No, I don’t get it… how did you…” he gestures vaguely.

She catches sight of something on his left hand that doesn’t belong. A silver wedding band, with a thin, textured gold line running down its center. Not the normal plain silver ring he wears on his right hand.

She crosses the room to him, taking his left wrist in her hand. He lets her. She inspects the wedding band, and then shoves the sleeve of his flannel shirt up a few inches. No albatross. No tarot card. Just a neat line of small roman numerals tattooed under the black leather band of his watch.

“Okay,” she exhales slowly. “Hi. I can explain everything to you. You’re Dean Winchester, and I’m Jessica, um, Winchester or Moore, I don’t know, I never really figured that out-- anyway, but I’m not the one you know. I’m her, but I’m not… her.”

“You aren’t explaining shit,” he points out, his eyes still regarding her very strangely. Now that she knows he isn’t the same Dean she’s used to, she notices more differences-- his beard is a little thicker, and more neatly-kept. His hair is better. And he smells better than Dean usually does. He’s dressed pretty much the same as normal Dean dresses, though, in jeans and a maroon plaid flannel open over a black tee.

“Yeah, okay, I’m doing a shitty job.” She laughs a little bit again, almost uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. “Look. There are multiple universes, or something. And they’re… bleeding together. That’s what this is. You’re from a different universe. You’re a different version of the same Dean Winchester I know. Apparently this version is married. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” he says slowly. “If I’m… in a different… universe?”

She nods.

“Then where the hell are my kids?”

(kids, plural?)

She feels her eyebrows nudge up in surprise. A version of Dean who is married with multiple kids. Bizarre.

“I don’t know,” she says.

“Shit.” He turns. Heads for the back door again, and opens it, and leans out. “My car is where I left it, but… Cas! Hey. Where are the kids?”

(cas?)

Castiel wanders into the lakehouse, a look of confusion on his face as well. He looks a little less like his counterpart than Dean, dressed in khakis and a light blue sweater. His hair is its usual level of disheveled, and his heavy blue eyes are the same, and his dark stubble-- but he looks less unkempt than the Castiel Jess is used to. More put together. And he has touches of grey at his temples and throughout his stubble.

And he has a gold wedding band on his left hand, a little more ornate than Dean’s, etched with what looks like leaves or vines or something.

Jess blinks.

“Are you two married?” She asks without meaning to. “To each other?”

“Jessica, what’s going on?” Cas asks politely. His eyes follow the shape of her body before landing on her midsection for a few seconds and narrowing slightly.

(why are they both looking at me so weird?)

“We’ll figure out what’s going on later,” Dean says. “I just wanna know where my damn kids are.”

“They were just with me. We were unloading the car. I handed Jack to Benji for a second, and then all of a sudden I was alone,” Cas says. “I called their names, but they aren’t there.”

“Benji,” Jess repeats, also without meaning to. She fights the urge to laugh.

“It’s like all three of them just disappeared,” Cas says. “Should we call the police?”

“No,” Jess says. “They’re in a different dimension. Or universe. Probably still in the one you came from.”

“You keep sayin’ that,” Dean says uncomfortably, “but it sounds… impossible. Like, what is this, the Twilight Zone?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” Jess confirms. She crosses her arms over her ribcage, weirdly aware of her body thanks to both of them staring at her. “I’m sure… Benji… is fine.”

A figure appears in the back door, which Cas had left hanging open-- a teenage boy with dark hair, freckles, and a septum ring. He’s dressed in all black, and he has an adorable blonde baby in his arms.

“There you are,” Dean says, relief heavy on his words. He takes a few steps toward the kids and collects the baby out of the teenager’s arms. Sets his hand on the teenager’s shoulder for a second, once the baby is settled into his other arm.

(oh my god, jess realizes. that’s ben. that’s ben! he’s just older. like fifteen or sixteen maybe.)

A third kid wanders in behind them-- another teenager, a girl with long blonde hair and smudges of black eyeliner around her big blue eyes. She and Ben-- Benji-- have the same chipped black nail polish.

“We were freaking out. Don’t do that,” Dean criticizes. Cas comes to fuss over the baby in Dean’s arm, stroking his soft blonde hair off his forehead.

“We didn’t do anything, Dad,” Benji huffs. “We were just standing there, and then you guys were gone, and we couldn’t find you, and then we came inside.”

“Yeah, it was weird,” the girl pipes up. Jess glances her way again-- she’s half familiar.

“Why don’t the two of you go upstairs,” Cas suggests. “We need to discuss something.”

The teenagers both sort of shrug. They wander upstairs. Jess doesn’t bother stopping them or warning them that an alternate version of their uncle, and, she guesses, their dad, are hanging out up there.

“Different dimensions,” Cas says once the teenagers are gone. “Please elaborate.”

“Yeah, I don’t really… know too much about the situation,” she admits, gesturing vaguely, wishing she had something in her hands to mess around with. “Basically… we ran into an alternate version of you--” she points at Dean-- “and my husband. Sam. And I guess… you guys are another alternate version.”

(that’s a really cute baby, she can’t help but notice. he looks about six months old. not old enough to be walking, maybe old enough to be crawling. he actually kind of looks like dean.)

She wonders if it’s his baby, biologically. Maybe they used a surrogate or something. But then she thinks he also kind of looks like Cas, especially around the eyes. So maybe Cas is his biological father. Or maybe neither of them are.

(who cares, there’s bigger shit going on right now.)

“So you’re… Jess,” other Dean says slowly, adjusting his grip on the squirming baby, “but not the one I know.”

“Correct. On that note-- you seemed kind of… concerned about me?” She asks awkwardly. “What did you mean when you were saying I look skinny and asking if I was feeling better?”

“Oh,” other Dean says with half a chuckle. “Sorry about that. The Jess in my world is pregnant. I think, uh, five months?” He glances to Cas, who nods.

He says it comfortably, like it’s completely normal, like there’s nothing off about it at all. A very weird feeling swells in her chest and she freezes a little bit. She doesn’t know whether to be freaked out or jealous or maybe both.

(that’s crazy. i mean… i guess she’s older than me, though. if ben is a teenager. i guess maybe she’s like in her early thirties and she probably has a normal job and i guess that really isn’t weird at all. but. god.)

“Good for… her,” she settles for saying.

“I wasn't going to say anything about how you look,” other Cas says. “I was trying to be polite.”

Other Dean laughs a little bit. “Anyway, she and Sam were going to come up here with us. For New Year’s, and all. But she wasn’t feeling good so they decided to stay home.”

“Right,” Jess says slowly.

“Jess, where’d you get these teenagers, and why does one of them look like my kid?” Dean’s voice comes from the stairs, and it’s accompanied by two sets of footsteps. She glances over just in time to watch her husband and her brother in law make it into the living room.

“Whoa, that’s a baby,” Dean says.

Other Dean stares at his counterpart, looking confused and alarmed. He tightens his grip on the baby.

“Oh,” Sam says in surprise. He comes up next to Jess. “More… versions of us?”

She shrugs. “Looks like it.”

“You look just like my little brother,” other Dean says uncomfortably, his eyes darting from his counterpart to Sam.

“Is there a gas leak?” other Cas asks diplomatically. “Have you checked?”

“For a gas leak?” Sam asks clumsily. He looks between other Dean and other Cas, and Jess can see him trying to put two and two together. But he’s Sam, and he never assumes anyone is anything but straight, so it’s unlikely he’ll figure it out on his own.

“There’s no gas leak, pal,” Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest. He eyes the other version of himself again. Seems to notice the wedding rings. He puts two and two together, and turns to other Cas, pointing a finger at him. “Are you gay?”

Other Cas makes a bit of a startled face, and other Dean laughs again. “I sure fuckin’ hope he is. He’s married to me.”

“Dean, don’t swear in front of the baby,” other Cas says.

“Whoa,” Dean says, backing away. “And those two teens up there?”

“Claire and Benji,” other Cas says. “Our kids.”

“Your kids,” Sam repeats slowly.

“Benji?” Dean demands. “You call him Benji? For real? Do you hear yourself?”

“That’s a perfectly normal name,” other Dean argues.

“His name’s Ben.”

“What are you talking about, man?”

“Why is he so old?” Dean persists, ignoring the question. “Where’d you get a baby? Who’s the girl?”

“Dude, calm down,” Sam instructs.

“He’s sixteen, he ain’t that old,” other Dean defends. “We got the baby from… it’s a long story. The girl is Claire, like Cas said. Our foster kid.”

(claire, jess realizes. claire-- it’s her. it’s jimmy novak’s daughter. that’s why she looked kind of familiar. she’s just older than when i met her, and the eyeliner makes her look different.)

She glances from her husband to her brother in law, wondering if they’ve made the same connection. They don’t seem to have.

“So you’re a different version of me,” other Dean says. “Where’s Cas?”

“What do you mean, where’s Cas? I don’t know where Cas is. I think he’s in Michigan,” Dean says uncomfortably.

(these people, they aren’t from the books. i mean, we read all the books. we would have remembered this. what the hell, jess wonders, confused. at least i’m not dead in this world, i guess.)

“What’s he doing in Michigan?” other Dean asks, making a face.

“Babysitting a prophet,” Dean says with another shrug.

“A what?”

She glances to other Cas. He looks confused-- really confused, not just the normal Cas levels of confused.

(he’s not an angel, is he, she thinks. he’s just a guy.)

The baby in other Dean’s arms starts fussing.

“Looks like it’s time for waterworks,” he says. “I’m gonna make him a bottle. Diaper bag still in the car?”

Cas nods, and other Dean leaves, carrying the crying baby.

“Cute baby,” Dean says. Jess nods her agreement.

“Yes, he is,” Cas says. “His name is Jack. He’s seven months old.”

“Good for him,” Dean says weakly.

“Cas--” Sam hesitates, like he isn’t really sure how to ask the question he wants to ask. But then, evidently, he settles on a way. “Um, you’re not an angel, are you?”

“An angel?” Cas repeats, his eyebrows pushing upward. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re just a normal human,” Jess amends.

“Correct,” Cas says slowly. His eyes flit between Sam and Jess. “What’s going on here? Are you people on drugs?”

“No, we ain’t on drugs,” Dean says quickly. “And before you go there, we aren’t in a cult either. Everyone always assumes we’re drinking Kool Aid. But we ain’t. We’re just hunters.”

“Hunters,” Cas repeats. “Well, I hope you don’t have guns in the house. If you do, I hope they’re locked up.” He glances toward the stairs, as if two teenagers are naive enough to be playing with guns.

“Not that kind of hunter,” Dean says. “Uh, we hunt… monsters. Demons.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas says.

Other Dean comes back in just then, still holding baby Jack, a diaper bag hanging off his other shoulder. “Cas, can you take him so I can get the bottle made?”

Cas nods, and accepts the baby. Jess glances toward her brother in law for no real reason. He looks like he might throw up.

Jess, Sam, and Dean do their best explaining the situation to other Cas and other Dean. Jess makes up the bunk room for Claire and Benji, and the vacant queen bedroom for other Dean and other Cas. To sleep in together. With their baby.

(god.)

Luckily, they’d brought their own collapsible crib thing, so that isn’t an issue. They set it up in their room. And everyone seems decently happy.

Except maybe normal Dean. But Jess figures he’s just a little weirded out.

Other Dean and other Cas are appalled to hear about the supernatural. They explain that Cas just has an angel’s name because he was raised by fundamentalist Christian homeschoolers who named all of their sons after angels, and all of their daughters after biblical women-- Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Anael, Castiel, Anna, Daniel, and Rachel. Cas was one of the middle children, and he’d practically run away from home at age eighteen.

“I ran off to Kansas to become an accountant,” he says very seriously as the five of them sit around the dining table. Jess nods. Most people don’t run away from home to become accountants. Or to go to Kansas.

“Yeah, and we ended up moving to Colorado a few years back,” other Dean adds. “That’s where we came from. Hey, if this is an alternate universe… what about our house?”

“It’s probably still there in this dimension,” Sam comments. “Probably someone else lives in it.”

“Great.”

“You guys can stay here until we figure out how to get you home,” Jess adds quickly. “Don’t worry.”

“At least we left Jimmy and Snickerdoodle with your brother,” other Cas says.

“Who?” Dean asks gruffly.

“The dog and cat,” other Dean explains. “Named him after Jimmy Page. He’s the best. We were gonna board them at the vet like usual. But then Sam and Jess stayed home, so last minute, we dropped the pets at their house instead.”

“Right,” Jess says, a little uncomfortable at the mention of her other self. “Nice. Great. Good for them.”

She feels her husband glance at her sideways. She’d neglected to mention the detail about other Sam and other Jess having a baby. It hadn’t come up.

(she isn’t sure if she wants to bring it up. that’s weird, right? it’s weird if she tells him? or is if weirder if she doesn’t?)

She reaches for her beer and takes a deep swig.

“And uh, you have a Benji too?” Other Dean asks regular Dean.

“Well, we just call him Ben.” He shrugs a little uncomfortably. “But yeah. He’s eleven and a half.”

“Oh,” other Dean says, a little surprised. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two in a couple weeks. You?”

“Thirty-six,” other Dean answers. “I guess that makes sense. You were twenty when yours was born, too. But I’m a few years ahead.”

Other Cas nods sagely. As if any of this makes any sense.

“What about Claire and Jack?” he asks. “Where are they?”

(where is claire novak? jess wonders. with her mother, as far as she knows. maybe just back in illinois. maybe they rebuilt their life after losing jimmy and she’s doing fine. she’d be in middle school now, probably. she seemed around ben’s age.)

“Dunno,” Dean says gruffly. “Uh, the baby… probably ain’t born yet. Since we’re a few years behind you guys.”

“You said it was a long story, how you got him,” Sam adds. “What did you mean by that?”

Jess almost tells him not to pry, but she doesn’t. Mostly because she’s curious too.

Dean glances over his shoulder, where the older version of his son is playing with Jack in the living room, a handful of feet away. Claire is with them, sitting off to the side, looking at something on her phone.

“It’s a sad story, unfortunately,” other Cas sighs. “His mother, Kelly, was a dear friend of mine. We worked together. She told me she was in love with the most amazing man.”

Other Dean kind of scoffs. “Yeah, real stand up guy, he turned out to be.”

“They conceived Jack by accident,” other Cas goes on. “When Kelly broke the news to him, he confessed to her that he had a wife and two kids in the next city over. He didn’t want anything to do with the baby. Kelly’s parents passed away some time ago, and she has no siblings or any other family-- so she was completely on her own. When she died in childbirth after a few weeks of complications, there was no one to take the baby.”

“That sucks,” Jess says.

“We were already foster certified,” other Dean says. “So we did our damndest to get Jack. We were able to take him home from the hospital when he was three days old, and then we were able to adopt him permanently a few months ago.”

“He’s, uh--” Dean clears his throat. “He’s a cute kid,” he says for maybe the fifth time. He downs the rest of his beer in one gulp.

“Tell us more about the whole hunting thing,” other Dean comments. He leans back in his chair a little, reaching his arm around the back of Cas’, resting it there. “Monsters are real? Seriously? And ghosts and demons?”

“My mother would be delighted to hear that demons are real,” Cas comments.

“Ha. Yeah. They’re a pain in the ass,” Dean says, avoiding looking at his counterpart or other Cas. “They’re the reason both my parents are dead. Hers too.” He gestures at Jess. “We just sort of… hunt ‘em. Keep people safe from ‘em.”

“My mom died in a house fire when I was four,” other Dean says. “My dad’s alive, though.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s in prison.”

Sam laughs a little, startled but amused. Jess nudges him in the arm.

(i can totally see john being in jail, though.)

“What got him locked up?” Sam asks once he gets a handle on the laughter.

“What didn’t get him locked up?” Other Dean asks sarcastically. “Writing bad checks, stealing cars, identity theft, driving under the influence-- I’m pretty sure he used to sell pills to high school kids, too.”

“Yikes,” Jess exhales.

“He’s been in jail on and off, mostly on, since I was about Benji’s age. Me and Sam, we lived with our family friend Bobby afterwards. That’s kinda when things started looking up for us.”

“We have a Bobby,” Sam says. “Seems like everyone does. All the different versions.”

“Good thing. We’d be fucked without him,” other Dean says with a shrug. He sips his beer.

“Dean, I told you, don’t swear in front of the baby.”

“He’s all the way over there, babe, he ain’t listening,” other Dean dismisses. He shifts his arm from the back of Cas’ chair to his shoulders, kind of side hugging him, and leans over to kiss his temple. Cas smiles a little bit.

Regular Dean stands up, rather abruptly. “I’m gonna get some fresh air.”

Jess half watches him stop at the fridge for another beer before grabbing a jacket and heading out onto the deck.

“What’s his deal?” other Dean asks once he’s on the other side of the door.

“Think he’s just kinda shocked, man,” Sam replies, chuckling a little. “I mean, he’s single. In this dimension, Cas and Dean are just friends. And Cas is an angel.”

Jess holds her tongue. Nobody ever told Sam that his brother is in love with the angel, and she’s not going to be the one to do it.

“Guess that’s fair.” Other Dean shrugs. “I’m shocked too. I mean, he kills monsters? The fuck?”

(should i go out there and check on him? jess wonders. maybe not. i don’t know if he’s totally forgiven me yet or if he’s still kind of mad. i should probably leave him alone.)

If Sam were a little more savvy, she’d nudge him outside. But as it stands, she doesn’t think that would be the absolute best course of action.

“What do you do instead of killing monsters?” Sam asks.

“I fix cars,” other Dean answers. “I own an auto body shop.”

“What does your version of Sam do?”

Jess almost wishes he wouldn’t ask about other Sam and other Jess.

(it’s just kind of freaky. at least i don’t have to see her face to face like the boys do.)

(especially if she’s pregnant. that would just be weird. really fucking weird.)

She does her best not to picture a little blonde baby with Sam’s hazel eyes.

“He’s a realtor,” other Dean answers with half a chuckle. “Jess is a physical therapist.”

“He’s a realtor? Not a lawyer?”

“He dropped out of law school.”

“Oh,” Sam says. “Wow.”

(a realtor, she thinks, making a face, looking at her husband. that’s kind of douchey. at least my sam isn’t a realtor.)

(he could have been a really good lawyer, though. and i probably could have been a decent physical therapist. we could have had a normal life. god, we almost did.)

She half sees Sam, wearing a suit, coming through the door of a normal house. Half sees herself, holding the little hazel-eyed baby, going to greet him.

(maybe i am jealous of normal sam and jess.)

This whole thing is just really weird to Jess. She almost prefers the sad Winchester brothers from the world where she’d been dead for years. They were easier to get her mind around than these people.

(these people just seem happy. and normal.)

(it’s kind of nice seeing dean in love.)

She glances toward the deck door again, which he’d disappeared behind.

“Dad, he threw up,” Benji says, wandering toward the table, holding Jack, who does indeed have spit-up all down the front of his onesie.

Jess notices that both other Dean and other Cas turn when Benji says ‘dad’. She wonders how long Cas has been in his life. Their family is kind of nontraditional, but it seems to suit them. They seem to be close. Like they all love each other.

“Alright, c’mere, pukey pants,” other Dean says, taking the baby carefully. “Sorry ‘bout that, buddy.”

Benji shrugs. “It’s fine.” His big brown eyes shift toward Sam and Jess, and he regards them for a moment, still getting used to the alternate versions of his aunt and uncle.

“We oughta take him upstairs for a bath,” other Dean says to Cas. “It’s getting to be near his bedtime, anyway.”

“You’re right,” Cas agrees. “Goodnight,” he says to Sam and Jess. The two of them head for the stairs.

“Towels in the hall closet,” Jess calls after them.

(do you use towels on babies? does it hurt their skin? god. i don’t even know.)

(won’t a baby that size drown in a normal tub? maybe they have one of those blow-up tub insert things. i remember seeing those when i was babysitting, sometimes.)

Her face feels a little hot. In her world, nobody is worrying about babies or giving them baths or anything like that.

“Um, if they come back down, will you tell my parents we went out to the beach?” Benji asks Jess.

“Yeah. Sure,” she answers.

“You’re not going to smoke weed out there, are you?” Sam asks.

Benji laughs. “You really are my uncle, huh? You sound exactly like him.”

“But you have better hair than the Jess we know,” Claire comments, wandering toward her foster brother. “Her hair is kind of fried. She keeps getting Japanese perms.”

“She does?” Jess makes a face.

“Yeah. Trust me, you look better with the curly hair.” She glances at Benji. “You ready?”

He nods, and the two of them head outside. Jess watches them go. The house falls into quiet, with everybody other than she and Sam outside or upstairs.

“Man, this is weird,” Sam chuckles, sliding his arm around her shoulders. “Really weird.”

“I know,” she sighs.

“Not as weird as the other ones, though. The sad guys. It’s kinda nice to see Dean happy.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was just thinking that. It is nice.” She leans against him a little bit. “I’m kind of glad they left other Sam and other Jess at home. I mean, it would be weird seeing another version of myself.”

“Yeah, I guess she’s sick or something. That’s how it sounded, anyway.”

Jess shrugs.

Sam presses a kiss to her cheek as he stands up. “I’m going to round up the guns and knives and shit and lock them in Dean’s trunk.”

“That’s smart,” she says with half a laugh.

“By the way, listen to Claire. Don’t get your hair straightened,” he instructs as he heads for the stairs. “I always liked it natural.”

Sitting out on the deck against the cold winter chill, alone, with a cold beer in his hand, Dean tries not to think about the version of himself who’s married to a version of Cas with three kids and a dog and a house. The whole nine yards. The whole nuclear family, almost-- at least a version of it. Their version of it.

He hears the door open behind him. Hears the two teenagers pouring out, laughing at something with the breathless quality that you lose once you hit twenty or so. He expects them both to pass, to go wherever they’re going, to ignore the mopey man in his thirties sitting on the deck steps. The weird approximation of their father.

The girl does pass. But the boy hesitates.

“I’ll be right there,” he says. “Just keep going that way until you hit water.”

“Okay,” Claire returns. She disappears into the tree line.

The boy, Ben but not Ben, stops short. Hesitates, but eventually sits down next to Dean on the stairs.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Dean returns, nodding once, glancing at him for just a second.

“So you’re like… kind of my dad.”

“Guess so,” Dean allows with half a shrug. He sips his beer. “Different version, anyway. Of the same guy. I think. Kinda confusing.”

“Yeah, it’s confusing,” weird Ben agrees.

His voice is too deep. He’s too grown up.

“So you have… a son like me? Right?”

Dean nods. “Yeah. He’s eleven and a half. He’s just Ben, though. Not, uh, Benji.”

“But he’s me.”

“Think so.”

“And you’re my dad.”

“Seems that way.”

“Huh.” Too old Ben exhales. He almost sounds like Sam, a little bit. It’s kind of creepy. Kind of uncanny. Maybe not creepy-- maybe just uncanny.

“Yeah.”

“Where is he, then? Um, Ben?”

“With his mom,” Dean answers. “Lisa. They live in Colorado, like you.”

“Yeah. My mom’s Lisa, too.”

Dean nods. “I figured.”

“But I live with my dad, mostly.”

He blinks. He’d never really thought of that as a possibility. The dad taking the kid? That doesn’t sound right. He hazards a glance at teenage Ben. Benji. Whatever. Nose ring, freckles, and all. His Ben wants a nose ring, Dean remembers. Like a cow.

He wonders how closely his Ben will resemble this other Ben when he’s sixteen. How close Ben’s voice will sound to Benji’s once it settles at its final depth. Probably pretty close. Considering they’re the same person, and all. And the two other Deans he’s met look and sound exactly like him-- the only differences are aesthetic choices, like beards and tattoos. And wedding rings.

“That right?” Dean asks a beat too late for it to be normal.

“Yeah. I mean, I see my mom a lot. But I mostly live with my dad and my siblings. So I was wondering where other me is. If he’s not with you. I guess he mostly lives with his mom.”

Benji has the same choppy, blunt, sincere way of talking as Ben. Another thing that’s uncanny.

Dean nods. Exhales slowly. “Yeah. He does. It’s safer that way. ‘Cause I’m always balls deep in ghosts or monsters or whatever.”

“Sounds kinda cool,” Benji says. “I mean, right? Hunting monsters?”

“It’s not cool, kid.”

Benji shrugs. “But it's like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Or X Files. You guys save people. "

“We try to," Dean allows.

“I think it's cool," Benji says with a shrug. “My dad just fixes cars."

“People need working cars," Dean points out.

Benji shrugs again. Messes with his nose ring. He stands.

“Hey, uh, hold on a sec, kid," Dean says gruffly. ‘Can I… ask you a question?"

“Sure."

“Does it bug you that your dad is with a guy?" He asks. Shifts his shoulders uncomfortably.

“No," Benji says with half a chuckle, again sounding too much like Sam. “Course not. Anyway, Cas is like a dad to me too. I like having two dads.”

“Oh,” Dean says, unsure if he should be surprised or relieved or what. “How long…?"

“They got together when I was like nine."

Dean nods a few times. Sips his beer just for something to do to distract himself from feeling a little sick. “Do people at school, uh, bully you? For it?"

Benji shrugs. “Not really."

“Good."

“Anyway, I love my dad. I want him to be happy," Benji says easily. “Cas makes him happy.”

Now he really feels sick. Of course this version of Ben is just as sensitive and sweet as his own son. Something he always admired about the kid. Qualities he always wished he had himself.

“That's nice of you," he says lamely.

“I'm a super nice guy," Benji half-jokes, backing toward the beach and his foster sister.

Once the knives and guns are rounded up and put away, Sam and Jess head into their room to call Bobby. They update him on the situation, letting him know they picked up more strays and checking in on the other Sam and Dean, who, Bobby explains, had skipped town the other day.

“Hippie-hair Sam is a broody one,” he says through speaker phone. “Kid said he didn’t feel like sitting on his ass. So I helped ‘em find a case over in Pontiac, Illinois to keep ‘em busy.”

“They’re hunting?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Only stayed here two days. Should be a straight forward salt ‘n burn.”

“Huh,” he exhales.

“I guess that makes sense. I’d probably want to hunt too,” Jess comments. “Let us know if they turn back up, okay?”

“Will do. Hey, what’re you gonna do with the Brady Bunch?” He asks.

“They’re going to stay here,” Sam says with a shrug. “There’s plenty of room. It’s warded and all. They should be safe.”

“Good deal,” Bobby says. “Let me know if a different Bobby Singer turns up, will ya?”

“Sure thing, Bobby,” Sam says with a chuckle.

“Okay. Talk soon.” He hangs up.

“Do you think it might be… I don’t know, some kind of problem?” Jess asks Sam as he plugs his cell into its charger. “Having three different Deans and two Sams running around?”

“I have no idea,” Sam sighs. He sits back down on the bed, reaching for her, and she leans into his arm. “I think we just need to keep everyone safe until we can get everyone back where they belong. I don’t really know where to start, but I guess… we hit the lore again.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I’d like to talk to Cas about it. But I guess he’s busy.”

“Let’s just go to bed and worry about it in the morning,” Sam says. “I’m beat.”

When Jess heads downstairs the next morning, her hair still on the damp side from the shower, she almost feels like she’s walking in on someone else’s home. Other Dean is standing over the stove, flipping pancakes, and other Cas is sitting a few feet away from him, holding the baby, feeding him a bottle. They look domestic and comfortable and completely normal. Like people who have never had to fight demons or burn bones or shoot at monsters or contend with heaven and hell.

(they’re lucky, she can’t help but think.)

She wanders into the kitchen, greeting other Cas with a smile. Other Dean turns around and nods at her.

“Morning. Coffee’s in the pot, pancakes will be ready soon. I’m gonna leave some in the oven ‘cause we can never get the teens up before ten, but I figured you and fake-Sammy and fake-me probably eat breakfast, at least, right?”

“Yeah,” Jess answers with a laugh, reaching for a mug. “Sam will be down in a minute. He’s just showering. Dean probably will be too, once he smells food.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Cas comments.

“Shut your trap, I’m trying to make a good impression,” Dean instructs, pointing at Cas and the baby with a spatula before turning back to the stove.

The other adults appear soon, and they all eat breakfast together, filling other Dean and Cas in about the other alternate versions of the Winchesters. All together it’s a very confusing conversation with a lot of confusing pronoun and noun use, but they manage.

Claire and Benji wander down as Jess and normal Dean are doing the breakfast dishes, with other Dean and Cas playing with their baby on the living room floor and Sam upstairs looking through the library.

“Hey,” Dean greets the kids. “Pancakes in the oven.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Benji yawns.

Dean freezes a little bit. “Uh-- your dad’s over there. I’m… the other one.”

“Sorry,” Benji says as he reaches for an oven mitt.

“No worries,” Dean says.

“You guys look exactly the same,” Claire comments. “Jess, you and Sam, you look different. But Dean looks the same.”

“He doesn’t have my ink,” Dean replies half-uncomfortably. “Or this.” He nudges his tee shirt sleeve up to show the two teenagers the handprint scar on his shoulder.

“Holy shit,” Benji says, his eyebrows shooting up. “Dude, what is that?”

Jess shuts the dishwasher, very curious about how Dean will explain the situation without it sounding like he’s also in love with his Cas.

“In this world, y’know, Cas is an angel,” he says with a shrug. “Long story how and why I got this. Dunno if you’d even believe it. But it’s his hand print. Angels can yank people out of places. This is what happens when they do.” He clears his throat impatiently, clearly regretting bringing the topic up.

(he’s like, having trouble controlling himself, jess thinks. like he can’t pull up the tough guy facade thing he always used to do.)

Emotions are weird. Dean Winchester’s emotions are on a whole other level. She still doesn’t quite understand the guy, even though they’ve been close for years.

“That’s crazy,” Benji says.

“Did it hurt?” Claire asks.

Dean shrugs. “Not really.” He takes the syrup back out of the cupboard and sets it on the counter, grabbing two clean plates and forks for the kids too. “You guys want juice? We got orange and apple.”

“Yeah, orange juice would be great, thanks,” Benji says. Claire nods.

Dean nods too, and grabs them two glasses. The kids take their breakfast and juice to the table.

With the kitchen clean, Jess leaves Dean to marinate in his own messy feelings and his second cup of coffee. She heads upstairs to help Sam with the books.

A while after breakfast, other Cas and Claire leave. Dean doesn’t really catch where they went, but he doesn’t really care, either. He hasn’t known what to do with himself all day. Has considered leaving, too, a few times-- but he has nowhere to really go. Nothing to really do. They’re kind of in a stalemate with the whole multiple dimensions situation, and definitely in stalemate with the whole Ellen situation-- so he just kind of lurks. Watches Benji play with his baby brother. Watches the kid wander outside to ‘look for cool rocks’, which is exactly the kind of endearingly dorky thing his own son would do.

It reminds him of one of the few times he’s been to the beach-- the real Florida beach, with the ocean, not just the lake outside. Ben was maybe five or six. The three of them, Dean and Lisa and Ben, had a vacation like a normal family. Ben found ‘cool rocks’ and brought them to his parents to show them. They’d all gotten sunburns together. Dean had carefully put aloe on Lisa’s back. The two of them had spent a few hours on their hotel’s deck with room service mai thais and pina coladas, stealing kisses and maybe some hand job action while Ben slept just inside. It was nice.

The day after he left that vacation, he’d met up with Lee in Georgia to take care of a situation with a forest monster.

He tries not to watch the other version of Dean sitting on the couch with the baby, who’s drowsy, but has been fussing any time he’s put down. Finds himself wondering how that shifter baby is doing up in South Dakota with his ghost-hunting, college-teaching moms.

Maybe he’ll check in on them next time he’s in the area. See if the baby’s a redhead now, or whatever.

He sits at the dining table with his laptop open in front of him, the two Deans ignoring each other for the most part, and he pretends to research. Really, he just kind of bops around news websites and his email and half-looks for a new case. The TV drones quietly in the distance, on low volume so as not to disturb the dozing baby.

Then, the deck door opens clumsily, and he glances up on instinct. His eyes catch on Benji, stumbling into the house, his left arm hanging crooked at his side.

“Dad, I think I broke my arm,” he says uncomfortably, pain tightening his voice.

“Shit, really?” Other Dean stands up, and Jack fusses a little bit, and he seems to glance around for a place to put the baby down. “Hey, can you hold him for a minute?” He calls over to Dean.

“Me?” He asks stupidly. “Yeah. Course.”

He closes his laptop. Ignores the slight thump of his heart as he closes the distance between himself and his other self.

“Thanks.” Other Dean deposits the baby into his arms quickly and turns to fuss over his other son.

“Hey, little guy,” Dean says softly, looking down at the baby. He looks back up at Dean with big blue eyes, having given up on the fussing, happy to be held. He reaches his little hand toward Dean’s face and touches his jaw clumsily before grabbing a handful of his tee shirt instead. He’s calm in Dean’s arms, probably figuring it’s just his normal dad, probably unable to tell the difference. Just like Benji couldn’t.

Babies are always so warm and pleasantly heavy. And cute. Damn, they’re cute.

He shifts Jack a little, making sure he’s comfortable.

“How’d you do this, buddy?” Other Dean asks Benji.

“It was so stupid,” Benji sighs. He winces a little. “I was trying to climb over the deck railing. Just ‘cause. But I lost my grip and I fell all the way down and kind of… sandwiched… my arm between a stump and my body. It hurts really bad. Really really bad.”

“Strong work, butterfingers,” other Dean says, squeezing his son’s right shoulder reassuringly. “Uh… I’ll call Cas, I guess. Get him to bring the car back so I can get you to the hospital. Meantime, don’t move it or touch it, okay?”

“I can’t move it, Dad. It’s broken.”

“Yeah, yeah, hotshot. Just sit down. You’re gonna be okay. Do you want ice or something? Tylenol?”

Dean looks up from the baby, remembering something. Remembering that his Ben also broke his arm in the forest around Lake Tahoe once. That he called Cas to come fix it.

Maybe Cas hasn’t been doing so hot lately. But it’s an emergency. And anyway… now that heaven has re-initiated him, or whatever, maybe he’ll be okay to teleport and heal.

“You don’t gotta deal with the hospital,” he hears himself say. “My Cas--”

My Cas? Ew.

“The Cas in my world is an angel,” he amends. “So he can… heal people. I can call him, and he can zap on in here and fix your arm.”

“Is that safe?” Other Dean asks, making a face.

“Yeah, it’s safe. Exact same thing happened to my kid one time. Broken arm, I mean. Cas fixed him right up.”

Dean glances back down at the baby in his arms, who’s still staring at him, holding a fistful of his tee shirt.

“Okay,” other Dean says, taking a few steps toward him to reclaim the baby. “Call him, then. If it’s safe.”

He nods. Digs his cell phone out of his pocket and makes the call, aware of other Dean and Benji’s eyes on him.

It rings. It rings again. Again. Kind of starts to seem like the angel isn’t going to answer.

But then, finally, he does. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey. Cas. Hey,” he says clumsily. He rubs a hand over his mouth. “Uh, you know how I told you about the other me who was here?”

“Yes. From the other universe. I’ve had some thoughts on the matter, actually. I’ve been meaning to call.”

Then why didn’t you? Dean wants to ask. But-- bigger fish to fry.

“Okay. Well. There’s… another one here now. A third me. And his son is here too-- his version of Ben, I mean. And that Ben just broke his arm. Can you…?”

He cringes a little at how uncool he sounds. But the situation is bizarre, and too much is going on. He can’t get a handle on himself.

“At the lakehouse?” Cas asks seriously.

“Yeah, that’s right. If you ain’t too busy--”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Cas appears in front of him, phone still to his ear.

“Holy shit,” other Dean exclaims.

Cas looks between the two Deans. Surveys the blonde baby in other Dean’s arms. Surveys the teenager.

“Hello,” he says, taking a step toward Benji. “Just relax. This won’t hurt.” He sets his hand on Benji’s broken arm. His eyes glow blue, and Dean can hear the bone click back into place.

“Whoa,” Benji says, blinking, testing his fingers by wiggling them. “How the hell…”

“I’m an angel of the lord. It’s no big deal,” Cas says.

“This is so weird,” other Dean chuckles. “You look just like my Cas. You’re seriously an angel? I kinda didn’t believe him when he told me.”

“Yes, I’m an angel,” Cas says patiently. “Do you mean to tell me another version of myself came through the door?”

“Yeah, he’s just a guy, though,” Dean confirms.

“Interesting.” Cas frowns a little. Seems to consider the situation.

Dean figures maybe he shouldn’t mention that other Dean and other Cas seem to be the foster parents to the other version of Cas’ vessel’s half-orphaned daughter. He confuses himself a little, all over again, just thinking about it.

“Uh, thanks,” Benji offers.

“You’re welcome,” Cas responds.

“Do you know somethin’ about how to get them home?” Dean asks, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets.

“I’ll let you know when I do,” he says. “We are aware of the situation in heaven, but Revelation has instructed us not to interfere at this time. I will let you know when things change.”

He vanishes.

“That was seriously weird,” Benji says, looking down at his fixed arm, moving it around, wiggling his fingers.

“No kidding,” Dean mumbles, even though he knows Benji means it in a different way than he does.

Cas used to be human. Or at least, he used to act like one. But now he’s acting like one of heaven’s flying monkeys again. Listening to angel radio, and all that.

Dean exhales hard. He doesn’t like it.

“I’m gonna go see if Sam and Jess found anything yet,” he says, mumbling, heading for the stairs. His face is burning hot as he turns away from his other self.

The next morning, Jess comes downstairs mostly expecting to see another family breakfast scene. But instead, she sees normal Dean, her brother in law, pulling his jacket on. He has a duffel at his feet and an uneasy look about his face.

She blinks.

“Morning,” he mumbles when he notices her. He avoids her eyes.

“Morning,” she returns cautiously. “Where are you going?”

He shrugs into the jacket. Straightens it before reaching for the duffel. “Jess, I can’t deal with this,” he says matter of factly.

“Can’t deal with what?”

(at least he’s admitting defeat, for once. at least he’s telling me the truth instead of making an excuse about bobby demanding backup when i know damn well bobby wouldn’t just demand backup from only dean without me and sam too, out of nowhere.)

“Them,” he says, gesturing toward the stairs. “It’s getting a little too Brady Bunch for me.”

(bobby called them the brady bunch too.)

“Okay,” she says quietly. It makes sense, she figures. Maybe other Dean has exactly what he wants and he’s never thought about it in so many words before. Maybe it’s just too uncanny, too intimidating. “So… where are you going to go?”

“I dunno. Gonna swing by Denver, I guess. Visit my kid. Kinda creepy, uh, seeing an older version of him. With the face piercing and all. So I’m gonna… head over to see my Ben for the weekend. Then… I’ll find a case, or something. Maybe meet up with Lee.” He’s halfway out the door. “I already moved you and Sam’s guns out of my trunk. They’re in the Cav’s glove box. Uh… figured I should stash ‘em there so the kids wouldn’t accidentally find ‘em. I’ll see ya, Jess. Do me a favor, tell Sammy for me.”

“Be safe,” she calls after him.

The door falls shut.

Sighing, she turns toward the kitchen to make coffee.

(i guess it would be weird for him. uncomfortable. the other version of him married to the person he’s in love with. and an alternate version of his son, a few years too old. i guess that’s fair.)

(and i’m sure it would be really weird to hang out with a different version of yourself. someone who looks exactly like you, has some of the same things you have, but is different. it’s like looking into a funhouse mirror.)

(maybe he’s jealous. if i were in his position… if i saw sam married to some other version of me with kids and a dog and a perfect life, i would be burning with jealousy. i would be sick with it. so he’s probably jealous.)

She exhales slowly as she starts the coffee machine. Reaches for a mug.

(that would be fair. being jealous of them. they’re just normal people with normal lives and normal jobs and a couple kids and a dog. other dean just gets to fix cars and be a dad and be in love. that’s nice.)

(and other jess doesn’t have to worry about saving the world or getting revenge. she can just have a baby.)

Jess, normal Jess who hunts monsters and has an angry pink demon scar across her stomach, can’t help but see what their baby might look like in her head. Hazel eyes like Sam’s. Maybe blonde hair, like how she was blonde when she was little, before her hair went brown and she started bleaching it a few times a year. A little baby, half him, half her, all theirs.

(maybe i’m a little jealous too.)

“Jess?”

She turns, her eyes falling on Sam, standing in the kitchen doorway. He has his laptop in his hand, and it looks comically small compared to him.

“Hey,” she says.

“I think this whole thing with people hopping dimensions is bigger than we thought,” he says, turning the laptop toward her-- one of the supernatural chatrooms he frequents to find cases is pulled up, with a whole thread dedicated to people running into their doppelgangers. She skims the first post. A man’s double showed up, and they’ve just both been living in his apartment for a week.

“Great,” she sighs. “I was afraid of that.”

“Yeah. It seems to be localized, for now. Like, just the west coast. These posts, they’re from California, mostly. Some from Oregon. One or two from Washington. It seems like the whole thing started around Monterey.”

“What do you mean, started there? Like… people are coming out of the ocean?” She asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She offers the pot to Sam; he shakes his head.

“Not the ocean. They aren’t coming out of anywhere. But even before the other Sam and Dean showed up here, like two weeks before, people were seeing their doubles in Monterey. Since then, it’s just been spreading. It’s not that they’re coming out of Monterey-- it’s that something in Monterey is triggering it, I think.”

“So we should go,” she says. “I mean, right?”

“I think so. I’ll tell Dean.”

“Uh-- Dean left,” she says awkwardly. Sips her coffee.

Sam blinks. “What?”

“Yeah, he said he was going to go visit Ben and then work a case with his friend Lee,” she recounts.

“Did Lee call him asking for help?”

Jess shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Then… why?”

She gestures upstairs. She’s about to say that he feels uncomfortable watching his other self exist, happily living out his life, in a comfortable and loving relationship with a three kids. But said family seems to be coming down the stairs, so she elects not to say anything.

“We’ll talk in the car. We can leave after breakfast and stuff,” she says instead of answering the question.

Sam nods his agreement, closing his laptop just as other Dean and other Cas wander into the kitchen, the baby in Cas’ arms.

“Morning,” Jess greets them.

“Morning,” other Dean says.

“Coffee?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“Jess and I are going to head to Monterey to investigate the origin of the dimension hopping,” Sam tells other Cas and Dean. “You guys have a key to this house, right?”

“Yeah. Same key from our world works.” Other Dean shrugs, reaching toward Cas, stroking Jack’s hair off his forehead. It’s an almost sickeningly domestic scene.

(they really are just normal and happy, jess thinks, watching other dean and other cas and their baby. just normal people with a normal life. kids. normal jobs. these things have become so foreign to her.)

“Good. I’m going to leave a couple credit cards with you, since yours won’t work and you’re going to need to buy groceries and stuff.” Sam sets his laptop down and takes his wallet out of his pants pocket, removing two credit cards and setting them on the kitchen counter.

Other Dean frowns, picking one up. “This says Dale Cooper. That’s the dude from Twin Peaks, right? Kyle Machlachlan?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Dean,” other Cas says, his tone equal parts amused and annoyed. He turns to face Sam. “He loves Twin Peaks. He knows exactly who Dale Cooper is.”

(she’s pretty sure she’s heard normal dean talk about twin peaks too. some things are just universal, she figures. other jess probably listens to greenday in the car, too.)

“Yeah, ha, Dean uses rock star aliases or TV characters for our cards,” Sam says with a shrug. “There’s a five hundred dollar limit on that one, I think it has about four hundred left for the month.” He taps the second card. “That one has a three hundred dollar limit and I haven’t used it at all.”

“Where did you get these?” Other Cas asks. “This seems fraudulent.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jess says. “Victimless crime.”

“Credit card fraud is not a victimless crime,” Cas insists. He glances down at Jack, frowning, as if the baby is going to notice the crime and be influenced by it.

“Don’t worry about it either way,” Sam suggests. “It’ll be fine. We do it all the time. Just lay low and only go into town for groceries, and you’ll be fine.”

“And don’t worry about guns and knives and stuff, there’s nothing dangerous for the kids to find,” Jess adds, sipping her coffee again. “I mean, there’s knives in the kitchen. For cooking. In drawers. But that’s it.”

Jack babbles happily from Cas’ arms. Jess glances his way. He’s a seriously cute baby, all big blue eyes and duckling-soft hair and chubby hands. Cas sets him in the travel high chair they’d brought.

“Okay,” other Dean says a little uneasily. “Keep us updated, alright?”

Jess nods once. “Sure. We’ll leave our numbers.”

“Wait, shit. Our phones don’t work,” other Dean says. “We can connect to your wifi but we can’t make calls or send texts. Benji was trying to call his mom the other day and he couldn’t get through.”

“Okay,” Sam says with a nod. “I guess that makes sense. Pick up a burner phone next time you go for a grocery run. Until then, email if you need something.”

Jess grabs the magnetic note pad off the fridge and jots down her phone number, Sam’s, and her email address. She also writes Bobby’s number for good measure.

“If you can’t get a hold of us and you need something, call Bobby. He knows what’s going on.”

“Wait, your Bobby is a hunter like you guys?” Other Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. “Could this get any weirder?”

“Yeah, he’s a hunter. Ha. Okay. I don’t know when we’ll be back, but reach out if you need anything.” Sam takes his laptop and goes to pack. Jess follows.

Monterey is about a five hour drive, and Jess texts regular Dean an update once they’re on the road. Lets him know he can meet them there, if he feels like it. He doesn’t respond.

Once they’re in the city, they stop at an internet café so Sam can trace the IP address of the first person who’d posted on the message board about meeting their double. Sam drinks a mango banana smoothie as he works on his laptop. Jess people watches and sips a cold brew coffee with a splash of almond milk.

They usually like choosing chain restaurants and cafés for anonymity’s sake, but this one is a little indie place. Its walls are covered with record sleeves-- Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Nirvana, ABBA, all kinds of things. She’s just wondering if there are actual records inside the sleeves when she overhears a young woman talking on the phone as she waits for her coffee order.

“What do you mean, you were at work late last night? You came to my apartment! I made us grilled cheeses for dinner and we watched Keeping Up with the Kardashians!”

Jess suppresses a laugh, sipping her coffee again. (i guess her boyfriend’s double showed up. god. i wonder how many there are, just stumbling around confused.)

“Jacob, I swear to God. Why would I lie about that? Just to prank you or some shit? I’m not like, trying to make you feel like you’re going insane. I feel like I’m going insane.”

The barista sets the girl’s coffee down, but she ignores it, pacing a little, frowning at whatever Jacob is saying on the other end.

“Hey, I think I got it,” Sam pipes up from the other side of the booth. Jess turns her attention back to him. “It looks like she made the post from an apartment building. I have the address.”

“We don’t know what apartment, though,” Jess points out.

“Yeah. Good point. I’ll see if I can hack the building’s renter database or something. The username was hannahbanana52, so I figure her name’s Hannah-- I’ll see which apartment is being rented to a Hannah.”

Jess nods, sipping her coffee, glancing over her shoulder to the woman on the phone again. She’s maybe college age, with long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, which swishes back and forth a little as she paces.

“You’re freaking me out, Jacob. You came to my apartment last night. You slept over.”

(yikes, jess thinks, facing forward again. hopefully they used protection.)

The girl hands up, frustrated, and snatches her latte. She leaves the café.

“Okay. I got it,” Sam says, shutting his laptop. He stuffs it back into his laptop bag. “Let’s go see if she knows anything.”

Hannah’s apartment building is on the outdated side. Its hallways are coated in itchy-looking grey carpet that looks like it maybe used to be beige, its walls papered over with a rounded diamond floral pattern that suggests at least a few decades have passed since the place was decorated. Sam and Jess find her fourth floor apartment door and knock on it a few times.

Hannah answers a moment later, a woman a few years older than Sam and Jess with curly hair dyed cherry red and a pair of silver nose rings pierced into her left nostril. She gives the Winchesters a once over before speaking.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“Are you Hannah Hoover?” Jess asks politely.

“Yeah.”

“We’re FBI,” Sam says, showing his badge-- Jess does the same. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about your post on the web forum about meeting a girl who looks like you.”

“What is this, X Files?” Hannah jokes. She nudges the door open wider, though. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” Sam says. She shuts the door behind them.

“Come sit down. I was the first one, right? And now everyone thinks they’re seeing their double.”

“Correct,” Sam sighs. “Do you know where to find the other Hannah?”

“Um…” she hesitates. Glances between the two of them. “Look, I’m not usually… one to trust cops... and you guys don’t have, like, a warrant? I’m assuming?”

“We aren’t real cops,” Jess says on instinct.

“Jessica,” Sam mutters through his teeth, in the impatient tight way he sometimes says it where he kind of drops the middle syllable.

“What?” Hannah’s brows, also dyed bright red, pull together.

“Yeah, we deal with freaky things,” Jess goes on, ignoring her husband’s annoyance. “We help keep people safe, and stuff.”

“So those FBI badges you flashed…”

“Fake,” she confirms.

“Jess, come on,” Sam huffs.

“What?” She asks. “We don’t always have to do the law enforcement thing. She wasn’t going to tell us anything if she thought we were law enforcement. Right?”

Hannah shrugs, then nods.

Sam huffs a little. “Fine. Whatever. We’re hunters, Hannah. We take care of supernatural things. We’ve seen other versions of ourselves too. Or, I have. My wife hasn’t.”

(she scrunches up her nose a little bit as she thinks of physical therapist japanese perm jess, probably comparing different models of car seats or cribs at this very moment. probably looking at her fried straight hair in the mirror and frowning and wondering how to make it look shiny and healthy. probably wishing she could eat sushi, maybe counting down the months until she can. although she’s probably more excited about the baby thing than the ability to eat sushi.)

(maybe we can get sushi for dinner tonight. that sounds good.)

“I knew something paranormal was happening,” Hannah says triumphantly. “Right?”

“We don’t actually know for sure,” Jess says. “But it seems that way. Can you tell us about your experience?”

“Actually…” Hannah makes a face that almost suggests guilt. “I’m… not the Hannah from this universe, or reality, or whatever. I’m the visitor.”

“What?” Sam asks, taking a step away from the woman.

“Yeah. Other Hannah made the post online. I sort of ended up here a few weeks ago, and we talked everything through, but we couldn’t figure out what was going on. So she made that post.”

“Where’s the Hannah who belongs here, then?” Jess asks.

“She’s gone. I think she might be in my reality,” Hannah answers. “The other day, we were watching TV, and I left the room to pee. When I came back she was gone. Didn’t take her keys or her money or her phone.”

“Shit,” Jess says under her breath.

“So people from our world are dimension hopping too,” Sam says.

(this is bad. this is worse. i mean, i could end up in another dimension. sam and i could get separated. or we could lose track of dean. fuck.)

“Yeah, they definitely are,” Hannah confirms. “One of the other Hannah’s co-workers went missing a little while before Hannah did. Just like, without a trace. Poof.”

“Tell us about your normal world, Hannah,” Sam says. “So far, we know of two other versions.”

“The main difference I noticed so far is that you guys had all these natural disasters last year, and like weird mass murders, that didn’t happen where I’m from.”

(so no apocalypse. maybe she’s from the world with japanese perm jess. or maybe not. i guess i don’t know how many different worlds there are. maybe the apocalypse only happened in a couple of them.)

“Okay,” Jess says slowly.

Hannah’s eyes narrow. She cocks her head to the side, staring at Sam a little bit, as if she didn’t really notice him before. One side of her mouth curves back a little in the beginnings of a smile.

(he’s taken, come on, stop checking him out, jess thinks. don’t you see his wedding ring? didn’t he just refer to me as his wife a few minutes ago?)

“You look familiar,” Hannah says.

“Me?” Sam asks. “Maybe you know the version of me in your world.”

“No, I don’t think I do. You’re like, really tall. I’d remember it if I knew someone that tall. What are you, like, six and a half feet?”

Sam shifts his weight on the couch a little uncomfortably. He doesn’t like being singled out for his height. Jess remembers the first time he’d mentioned that to her in college. He’d said he didn’t need one more reason for people to think he was a freak. As someone who shot up to five feet, eleven inches in high school-- taller than all the other girls and at least half the boys she knew-- Jess understands.

“Uh, I’m six four,” Sam answers. “So… not quite.”

Hannah exhales slowly, thinking. “I swear I saw you on TV once.”

“I’ve never been on TV,” Sam shrugs. “And I’m pretty sure the version of me in your dimension is, um, a real estate agent in Colorado.”

“No, I’ve definitely seen you on TV. You’re in Gilmore Girls, and that one ghost show,” she says. “The one with… shit, what’s it called? My little cousin is obsessed with it. She has a poster of the guy with the green eyes and the spikey hair in her room.”

(she has a poster of dean in her room?)

Jess isn’t sure if she should laugh or not.

(wait, did she say he’s in gilmore girls? i used to watch that show in college. sam obviously wasn’t in it. did he play jess? or logan? or did rory have some different boyfriend in her verison of gilmore girls?)

“TV shows,” Sam exhales. “Great. So the over version of me is an actor. Good for him.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Sam Winchester. And this is my wife, Jess.”

“That’s the name of the guy in the show! Winchester. Like the Winchester house.”

“Like the what?” Jess asks.

“The Winchester house. You know, Sarah Winchester? Her husband made all these guns, and then after he died, the ghosts of everyone who had been killed with a Winchester rifle came and haunted her house. So she kept building on more and more additions to it, like hallways that lead to walls, or staircases that lead nowhere, or third floor doors that just open up to outside.” Hannah shrugs. “It’s super famous.”

(haunted house, super famous, called the winchester house? i think we would have noticed that. if it existed. i mean how could we not notice a haunted house, our kind of thing, with our last name? i mean, the boys’ last name? and maybe my last name. god, i still don’t know how i feel about that. anyway-- it must not exist in this world. because we would have known about it somehow.)

Jess makes a mental note to google it when she gets the chance.

“I’ve never heard of that,” Sam says, a little uncomfortable. “So the Sam Winchester in your world is an actor playing some character in a show about ghosts. Great.”

“No, the character’s name is Sam Winchester,” Hannah corrects. “I can’t remember the actor’s name. Jared something, I wanna say.”

(wait, what?)

Jess frowns, turning her eyes from Hannah to Sam.

“You’re saying… there’s a TV show with a character named Sam Winchester in it… who looks like me?” Sam says slowly.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “And the brother with the spikey hair.”

“Dean,” Jess supplies.

“Yeah. That’s who my cousin is in love with. Dean. And the angel with the trenchcoat. What’s the quote she’s always saying? Hey, assbutt? I don’t know. This whole thing is totally insane, right? I feel like I’m on mushrooms.”

“Great,” Sam says again, ignoring the ‘assbutt’ comment. “Alright. So you don’t know anything about how you got here?”

“Nothing. I was walking home from work, and I got to my apartment, but it wasn’t my apartment. It was decorated all different. And my girlfriend who I live with wasn’t anywhere to be found. Or my cat. God, I miss my cat. It was just other Hannah living here all alone. But then she disappeared, and I’ve just been staying here since, going to her job, pretending to be her.”

“So it wasn’t like you blacked out, or walked through anything weird?” Jess asks.

“Nope.”

“Okay,” Sam says, standing. “That’s all we need from you. Thanks. Good luck.”

He reaches for Jess’ hand and leads her to the door.

“TV show about me and my brother and Cas,” he mutters as they head back to the stairs. “Could this get any weirder?”

“Don’t say that. You jinxed it. Now it’s definitely going to get weirder.”

“I’m being serious, Jess.”

She sighs. “We’ll figure it out.”

Sam and Jess spend two weeks tracking down the first crop of doubles in Monterey, hoping for an answer as to why this is happening, asking them about their worlds-- so far, it seems like there aren’t necessarily any repeats. Everyone is from a unique dimension. In one of them, 9/11 never happened. In another, JFK wasn’t assassinated-- that dimension hopper, a middle-aged man named Steve, is happy to be in a different world. He won’t elaborate too much on what exactly is so different about his world. But as far as Jess can tell, it’s bad.

(the butterfly effect, and all, i guess, she thinks.)

For at least half of the dimension hoppers, they don’t know what exactly sets their world apart. They haven’t figured it out yet. Sam and Jess leave some of them with more questions than answers.

Most of the doubles are helping each other-- sleeping in each other’s guest rooms, both versions living among the regular version’s roommates and family. Jess would have thought there would be a psychological block against interacting with your doppleganger, but apparently there isn’t. Apparently it’s kind of the other way around. People want to look after their own.

Although, one man admits very calmly to shooting his double in the face and burying the body out behind his garage.

Sam and Jess figure there isn’t really much they can do about that one. So they just kind of leave.

The final set of doubles on the list they made from the chat board and other social media posts is a twenty seven year old man named Daniel. He’d posted a selfie on Facebook with his double. Both of them tanned, toned, and shirtless, standing at the Monterey beach, throwing up peace signs. The picture almost looked like it was just cloned and flipped. For a second, Jess thought it was, but then she noticed a thick scar on the side of Left Daniel’s arm that Right Daniel didn’t have.

Sam knocks on the door of the apartment belonging to whichever Daniel is native to this universe. Loud music booms from inside the apartment, but it shuts off a moment before the sandy blond man answers the door. Again, shirtless.

(kind of douchey to answer the door shirtless, jess thinks. like, just grab a shirt.)

The man’s face changes a little bit. His eyebrows nudge upward. He gives her a onceover so heavy she can feel her skin rising goosebumps. His eyes linger on her chest, despite the fact that she’s wearing a round neck, relaxed fit tee shirt that really isn’t showing anything off.

“What can I do for you?” Daniel asks her chest.

(stop staring at my boobs, maybe.)

His lip twitches as Sam responds.

“Hey, man. We saw your picture on Facebook with your double. We just want to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Since you’re not cops, come on in.”

(how does he know we aren’t cops? we could be cops.)

He leads them into the living room, which is decorated exactly the way Jess would expect a twenty seven year old douche bag living alone to decorate his apartment-- futon couch, video game setup, discarded beer bottles hanging around the windowsill and the coffee table, a sports jersey of some kind tacked onto the wall, and so on.

“Sit down. What do you guys wanna know about me?”

“For starters, are you the Daniel from this world or the dimension hopping Daniel?” Jess asks.

“I’m the hopper. I just ended up here one day.” He shrugs. “Other me is at work.”

“How long ago did you show up?” Sam asks.

“Three, four weeks. Been kicking it with my other self since then. Kinda been the best month of my life-- dude can hang.”

“Right,” Jess says. “What can you tell us about your world? How things are different, and all.”

“Honestly, I’m not so sure I should tell ya,” Daniel says with a shrug. He scratches at his bare abs. “You might throw me in a box and try to experiment on me.”

“We won’t,” Sam says with half a chuckle.

“Okay, well, don’t try shit. ‘Cause my buddy other me, he’s armed. And I know where he keeps it stashed.”

(uh, yikes, jess thinks uncomfortably. but then again, she figures she and sam are armed, too.)

“You don’t pull yours, we won’t pull ours,” Sam says calmly.

Daniel nods once. “Where I’m from, some people have certain skills. Seems like nobody in your world does. Or if they do, they hide it really, really well.”

“What kind of skills?” Jess asks.

“You think it’s douchey to answer the door shirtless,” he says. “And then you thought I was staring at your tits. And you were judging my apartment decor.”

She recoils, almost knocking over the lamp on the table next to the couch. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah. I can read minds.” He shrugs. Points at Sam. “You’re pissed at me for looking at your wife’s tits. Well, I wasn’t trying to, okay? I was just looking at her ‘cause she looked familiar, and I got a little distracted. You got a nice rack,” he adds, glancing back over at Jess.

“Um… thanks?” She says, mostly because she doesn’t feel like confronting this guy about being weird.

“Dude, that’s really uncomfortable,” Sam says clumsily.

Daniel shrugs again. “Not my fault. I mean, you’re married to her. You know what she’s got.”

“That’s not-- I mean, that’s uncomfortable too,” Sam fumbles to say. “I meant it’s uncomfortable that you’re listening in on our thoughts.”

“I can’t help it, okay? It’s like getting mad at someone for hearing what you’re saying on a phone call, when you’re standing right next to them talking out loud. I can’t hear everyone’s thoughts ‘cause some people don’t think in words. But you both do. So I can hear what you guys are thinking. I’m not a freak, don’t be a dick,” Daniel adds at Sam.

Sam throws his hands in the air defensively.

“Wait, you said I looked familiar,” Jess says. “Do you know… the version of me in your world?”

“Know her personally, no. Know her face, yes. Most people do.”

(so i’m… famous?)

“No, you’re not famous,” Daniel answers as if she spoke out loud. “Well-- infamous. You were murdered, like, really brutally, and it was on national news and all. Happened a few years back. They still don’t know who did it.”

“Oh,” she says uncomfortably. “Great.”

“Someone tried to stash your body in a lake in Oregon. But you washed up on the shore a few days later. Naked, with this like, huge cut across your stomach. Kind of Black Dahlia, but you weren’t cut all the way in half.”

She tugs at a stray thread on the cuff of her denim jacket sleeve.

“Look, Daniel--” Sam shifts impatiently on the couch, picking up on Jess’ discomfort, setting his hand on her back. “Do you know anything about how you got here, or why?”

“Not really. I figure the universes just started bleeding together.”

(i guess that wouldn’t be all that weird to him, if he comes from a world where people can read minds.)

“Not everybody can read minds,” he adds. “You-- or, you know, the one who died-- your name is Jessica Moore, right?”

She nods.

“Anyway, the Jessica Moore in my world, after she was murdered it came out that she had premonitions. The leading theory is someone killed her because she knew something that hadn’t happened yet. Something that could get whoever killed her in trouble.”

“Does that kind of thing happen a lot?” Sam asks. “Where you’re from?”

“Oh, yeah.” He lifts his arm. “See this scar? I overheard some dude thinking about how he got away with embezzlement and he sort of threatened me to keep my mouth shut.”

“How did he know you overheard?” Jess asks.

“You kinda learn to look out for what people might be capable of,” Daniel answers with a shrug. “You get used to how it feels when someone can read your mind. Some people who can do what I do are really good at staying on the DL. I don’t want to be ashamed of how I am, though. So I don’t bother trying to hide it.”

“Right,” Sam says slowly. “Okay. Um. Anyway… we should probably go.”

Daniel hardly reacts. “See ya.”

They let themselves out. Jess shudders a little. Picks up her pace as they head down the outdoor hall of the apartment building.

“I don’t think we’re going to find a lead just by talking to the dimension hoppers,” Sam says with a sigh. “Think we exhausted that resource. I guess we go back to the drawing board.”

“Yeah. Can we just go home?” Jess asks, crossing her arms over her chest. It can’t be colder than sixty degrees, being California and all, but Jess feels freezing. “I know normie Dean and Cas and their kids are there, but like… I don’t… really want to be here anymore. I don’t know.”

(something about hearing about your own murder that just makes a person uncomfortable.)

“Sure,” Sam agrees. He touches the small of her back again, just for a second. “Let’s head back to the motel and check out.”

After a brief trip to Colorado to hang with Ben for a weekend, Dean stops for a new tattoo. A sigil he found in one of Bobby’s books a while back, that he’d copied onto a scrap of paper and kept in his wallet for the next time he was free and felt like getting inked. The sigil is sort of demon repellent, allegedly. He watches the artist ink it onto the empty spot on his left wrist, equally under the albatross and the tarot card, maybe the size of a lime slice. Once it’s wrapped in plastic and the artist is compensated, Dean lets his car take him to a small cabin in Missouri Rufus and Bobby bought together years ago when they needed to hide out for a while. Bobby sends the key to a nearby post office for him to pick up on his way. And he doesn’t talk to anyone for a week.

He sits around inside. Watches Rufus’ abandoned collection of classic horror VHS tapes. Reads the old magazines, mostly copies of Reader’s Digest from the 80s and 90s. Hits up the newspaper vending machine thirty minutes away every other day to check for cases nearby. There are none.

He checks his missed calls and texts when he goes to town to grab the papers. Messages from Jess and Sam, updating him on what they’re doing in California. Messages from Bobby, just checking in, you sounded weird on the phone. Nothing from Cas.

Never anything from Cas.

He makes it nine days before catching a voicemail from Kevin Tran.

He listens to it outside the gas station where he buys the newspapers, sitting in his parked car, a burnt gas station coffee cooling down in the cupholder.

“Hey, Dean. It’s Kevin. Um, I’m calling you because Cas won’t pick up the phone and I haven’t seen him around in, like, a while. Which is concerning. Because he’s supposed to be protecting me from demons, right? I don’t want them to brainwash my mom again.”

Dean exhales slowly. Poor kid.

“Anyway, so, uh… I dunno if you’re gonna believe this. But I found this like, alt version of me. He was all dirty and his hair was cut short, like, he seemed to have done it himself with safety scissors. And he said in his world, demons are trying to open purgatory. They kidnapped him and forced him to translate this tablet that had instructions on how. And they… um, they killed his mom. To get to him.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters to himself. Purgatory. Nothing he’s heard of before. Nothing he wants to find out about. But he figures he isn’t going to have a choice.

“So other Kevin is staying in the guest room. I tried to keep him hidden from my mom, but she found us talking one time, and she freaked out but then she was like okay he can stay ‘cause he’s you. So he’s here. He doesn’t seem evil or anything. I--”

The voicemail ends.

But there’s another one. Dean clicks it.

“The voicemail got cut off. Anyway, the thing is, other Kevin told me the demons in my world… like, this world… don’t even need me anymore. Because they can get to purgatory through… the dimension… doors? I don’t know. He didn’t really get it either. And neither of us know what purgatory is but it doesn’t sound good. So um, call me back, please?”

The call ends.

He hits redial. It takes Kevin a moment, but he answers.

“Dude, I’ve been trying to get in touch for like ten hours.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I was in the woods,” Dean answers.

“In the woods? What, like, did you get cast in the new season of Survivor?”

“You guys okay?” Dean asks, ignoring Kevin’s frustrated question. “You and Kevin number two?”

“Yeah. We’re fine. My mom is making dumplings.”

He blinks. “Okay. Good for her. Cas is ignoring you?”

“Yeah. I think I pissed him off or something, when that other angel lady kidnapped me.”

“You didn’t piss him off, kid. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He shakes his head at nothing.

“Um, anyway, do you know what we should do about… other Kevin?”

“No. I don’t. I’ve already met two of my other selves. Seems like a bunch are bleeding through. Cracks in the universe, or some shit.”

“But they aren’t evil?”

He thinks of fake Dean with his steady job fixing cars and his pet dog and his little baby, unrelated biologically to him or to Cas, but resembling the angel nonetheless. Heavy blue eyes, and all. He sighs. “Far as I can figure, no.”

“Good,” Kevin says. “He didn’t seem evil. But I wasn’t sure. Oh-- there was one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Monterey, California. That’s where this whole thing started. Don’t ask me how I know-- I can’t explain it. I just know stuff, sometimes. I guess because I’m a prophet. Usually it’s not important stuff. But uh, I figured maybe you would want to know about Monterey.”

“Yeah, good call, Kev.” Monterey-- that’s where Sam and Jess have been. “Do you know where in Monterey? My brother’s there now.”

“Yeah. It’s a hospital.”

“A hospital?”

“Like, a mental hospital.”

He frowns. “Great.”

“It happened in a mirror,” Kevin goes on. “In room c43. The hospital is called Horizons Mental Health Center.”

“Horizons Mental Health Center in Monterey, room c43,” Dean repeats. “Thanks, Kev. Good work.”

“Um, do you know if Cas is okay?”

“Don’t worry about Cas,” Dean says instead of answering. “See ya.”

He hangs up. Dials for his brother next.

Sam and Jess spend two days at home. She tries not to think about how two thirds of the other versions of herself that she knows of are dead. Horribly dead in terrible ways.

(all of the sams and deans are alive. why do i always have to be dead? what if japanese perm jess and me are the only ones left?)

She goes back to trying not to think about it. She and Sam play with Jack on the living room floor while other Cas takes the teens hiking and other Dean cooks dinner.

He chucks a plastic stacking toy across the room. Sam laughs a little. She forces a smile, too. The baby really is cute. And mostly, she should be totally charmed watching her husband play with a baby-- but she’s preoccupied. By the thing she’s trying not to think about.

And then the next day, less than thirty-six hours after making it back to the lakehouse, regular Dean calls telling them to go back to Monterey. So they do.

He’d said he had to head over to Michigan, where Kevin lives. Hadn’t really said why. Jess figures it might have something to do with Cas.

“Room c43,” Sam reads off the sticky note he’d stashed in his pocket. The two of them regard the mental hospital and its looming excess of height.

(what about people who are scared of heights? she wonders. that looks like twenty floors or something.)

They’d done a little bit of background research in the car. It’s a long term mental care facility and rehabilitation center with programs lasting from four weeks to four months. The building looks old and daunting, wrought in heavy brown bricks and thick framed windows, each one with an X of metal bars across it which only serves to make the place look creepier.

“How do we do this?” She asks, crossing her arms over her ribcage.

“It would be easier if we knew the patient’s name. We could pretend to be family members or friends coming to visit.” He exhales slowly, thinking.

(we should have figured this out in the car.)

(she realizes sam had tried to. had started the conversation about five times. but she’d been too scattered to contribute, so they’d never made it anywhere.)

(she just has a bad feeling about this.)

“Do you think they’d believe we want to tour the place because we’re looking for a hospital to send our kid?” Sam asks.

She frowns a little. “I mean… maybe if we say it’s an elementary school age kid. I don’t think they’d believe we had a teenager. They probably put little kids somewhere else.”

“We could say we need to put my brother somewhere,” Sam suggests.

She would laugh a little, were she not so preoccupied by general vague unrest. “Yeah. Let’s do that. We won’t even have to lie that much.”

Sam laughs. Tucks the sticky note back into his pocket. “You ask to go to the bathroom and slip off and find room c43. I’ll distract whoever they leave to guide us.”

She nods her agreement, and they make for the hospital entrance. After a brief chat with the receptionist, they’re led to a waiting room for twenty minutes before someone comes to show them around the facility. Luckily, the guide’s first move is to hand them each a pamphlet featuring a map of the facility. Jess scans it as they start the tour, easily finding room c43 on the west side of the third floor.

It’s not the most welcoming place. Doesn’t exactly seem like it would promote healing. But then again, Jess doesn’t really know how these things work.

Their tour guide feeds them a spiel of canned lines about how tranquil the hospital is and how the patients’ needs are all perfectly attended to. She shows them around common areas and mentions taking them outside to the gardens before Jess asks her where the bathroom is.

“Go around that corner and you’ll see it,” the guide says cheerfully, gesturing with a manicured hand. “And then come back and come out these doors, and you can meet us on the patio. I’ll just start showing your husband around.”

“Perfect,” Jess says, returning her smile. “Thanks.”

She turns around the corner. Lingers until she hears the door shut.

Then she makes for the stairwell and quietly heads up to the third flight of stairs. The hall is empty, save for a bored-looking security guard who doesn’t even react as Jess passes.

(he’s probably more concerned about the residents escaping, or something.)

C43 is one of the last rooms in the hall. She comes upon it. Reads the names tucked into the plastic pocket on the front of the door.

Lily Franklin | Bethany Spencer

(bethany spencer. i know that name.)

She freezes. Tries to dig through her mind for the memory.

(who is bethany spencer? i know i’ve heard that name before.)

She meets a lot of people, in this line of work. Usually sees them one to three times before never seeing them again. Bethany Spencer isn’t a hunter. Bethany Spencer isn’t a vampire or werewolf or kitsune or some other monster Jess has slain. Bethany Spencer is just a normal person. But she still can’t pinpoint the origin.

She clears her throat. Knocks on the door.

“Yeah?” A tired voice comes from inside the room.

She nudges the door open. On one of the twin beds is a young woman with dark bags under her blue eyes. Her hair is pulled back in a loop bun at the nape of her neck, and her skin is pale, dull, like she hasn’t seen the sun in months.

(bethany spencer who lived with her grandparents. bethany spencer who you used for the fifth trial to charge the delilah blade. bethany spencer who was in such bad shape afterward, dean didn’t even take her home, he just dropped her off at a hospital.)

Jess’ breath catches in her throat.

Bethany blinks at her. “What?”

“Are you the new art therapist?” Lily, the other girl, asks from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the further bed.

“I--”

Jess tries to find words.

(she doesn’t recognize me.)

(how does she not recognize me? i fucking traumatized her.)

(god. that’s for the better, though. otherwise i would be re-fucking-traumatizing the poor girl.)

Her chest tightens hard. Burns with guilt and grief and regret.

“I think she’s a new patient,” Bethany deadpans. Lily laughs.

“I’m here about the mirror and the body double,” Jess chokes out. She clears her throat. “Um-- one of you… saw… a clone… of yourself?”

“Yeah, me,” Lily says, shrugging her shoulders. She pushes her thick black hair off her face and points to the mirror above the sink in the corner of the room. “She appeared right in front of there. It was fucking creepy. Like, there was nothing, and then I was there. But I was also sitting right here.”

Jess turns to Bethany. Doesn’t look the girl in the eyes. “Did you… see it too?”

“Yeah. Two Lilys. It was a real hoot,” Bethany says flatly. “Do you need something, or?”

“Where did the other Lily go?”

“Dunno. She left,” Lily answers.

“She left,” Jess repeats.

“Oh my god,” Bethany says suddenly, perking up, scooting toward the wall-- “you… you’re the one who did this to me.” Her voice is completely different-- shaky, and higher pitched, and less adult.

“It was an accident,” Jess says clumsily. She backs toward the door too. “I’m really sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Bethany demands. “My grandparents had to ship me here ‘cause the place at home couldn’t even help me.”

Jess tries to speak again, but nothing comes out.

“I saw the other worlds before Lily’s doppelganger stepped out of one. I dream about them every time I close my eyes. Or nightmares, I guess, not dreams. There’s too much. It goes on forever. I haven’t seen all of them. Some of them are okay, but some of them are so bad. Some of them are--” Bethany cuts herself off, shaking her head, scoffing. “Some of them are worse than anything you could imagine. I can’t-- I can’t relax for a second. Because new doors keep opening up. All the worlds are pouring into this one.” She sounds hysterical.

(this whole thing. it’s my fault. i caused it, jess realizes sharply.)

“Jess?”

She turns toward the doorway. Sam steps into the room, frowning.

(oh, god.)

Her eyes burning, her chest tight, she pushes past him and lets her feet carry her to the stairwell.

(what else did i ruin? who else did i hurt?)

(the church, the tulpa… not to mention whoever john killed before our final showdown. his three vessels, plus whatever other vessels i didn’t know about, plus whoever he had to kill to get what he wanted, plus those three people i know he killed. and ben noticed he was being stalked by a demon and it probably terrified him. and the zombie thing. i don’t even know what happened with that. i don’t know if rowena just left him to his own devices and he started killing people.)

She stops trying to count. The list is swelling with every second she spends thinking about it, and it’s making her dizzy.

(i need to help bethany. i have to. i have to find some way. i cursed her, right? maybe it’s something cas can undo. maybe rowena can reverse it. i mean, if it’s just a curse, a witch should be able to fix it, right?)

(if rowena will even help me. i’m the one who owes her a favor.)

(maybe tasha banes will help me. because she’s a good witch. rowena is… i don’t know what rowena is. but tasha is good. so maybe i can ask her.)

(i have to do something.)

She exhales slowly, her face in her hands. She’d all but run out of the hospital, and stumbled around the corner and down the next street a little bit until she found an alley, where she is now sitting on a ledge. Her head slams uncomfortably under her hands, thick with guilt and anger at herself, waterfalls of it gushing so hard and loud she can’t hear anything over it.

(how am i ever going to make up for this? it’s too much.)

(i did too much. i went way too far.)

Her eyes burn. She draws a shaky breath.

“Oh my god, Jess.” Sam’s voice comes, half frustrated, half relieved, from a few feet away.

She stiffens. Looks up at him after quickly wiping her face with her sleeve. “Sorry.”

“You scared me,” he says quietly. Comes and sits down next to her. “I was freaking out. I thought you ran off again. I’ve been looking for you for fifteen minutes-- I was so worried.”

A fresh fill of tears burns in her eyes, and she covers her face again, leaning back down. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Sam. I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” he says evenly. Sets his hand on her back.

“I can’t even fix my marriage right,” she mumbles into her damp palms.

He pulls air into his lungs tightly, and she feels his hand twitch a little on her back. “Jess, there’s nothing to fix. We’re not broken.”

“I’m really sorry, okay? I’m trying to be good and stuff but it seems like I might just be bad.”

“You’re not bad. You made some rough choices, okay. Did some… bad things. But that doesn’t mean you’re bad.”

She shrugs a little.

“You made those rough choices out of love,” he goes on. “You were trying to protect me. I mean, if you hadn’t done those things… I’d still be out. Right? Or maybe dead. You pretty much saved my life. I’m never going to be mad at you for that, or think you’re a bad person.”

(i really don’t deserve him. i’m never going to be as good as him. and the past year-- i’m never going to be able to make that up to him.)

“Thanks,” she mutters.

“Bethany filled me in. About the mirror ritual, and what happened after it.”

“I want to help her,” Jess says immediately, straightening out and looking at him, in spite of the damp, pink mess her face has become. The winter breeze kicks against the drying tears uncomfortably. “I… there has to be something I can do. I didn’t realize it would be a long-lasting thing, what I did to her. I didn’t think…”

(i would have done it anyway.)

She sighs.

“I know,” Sam says, rubbing her back. “I read the instructions Kevin emailed you. Everything was really vague. You couldn’t have known.”

“I knew it was bad,” Jess says, sighing again. “No getting around that.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes we have to do unsavory things, in this line of work.”

(what if i don’t want to hurt people anymore? or make rough choices? or get tangled up in supernatural messes? what if i just want a normal comfortable life?)

(sam will never go for it. and i’m never leaving him again. so i guess i’m stuck here. like this. forever.)

He slips his arm around her shoulders, and she leans into it, resting her head against his shoulder. “We’ll figure out a way to help Bethany. We’ll figure out a way to get everyone back in the right dimension. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says quietly.

He presses a kiss to her temple. “So come on. We have work to do.”

After a couple days of driving, Sam and Jess meet Dean a few towns away from Kevin’s home in Michigan.

“You heard from Cas?” Dean asks as soon as everyone is out of their cars.

“No. He calls you, not me, man,” Sam says with a shrug.

“Kev couldn’t even get a hold of the guy,” Dean huffs. “I just barely had a whole heart-to-heart with Cas, like a real chick flick conversation, where he was saying he felt like he failed as Kev’s guardian. And that he vowed to do better, blah blah blah. And now he dips. Who does he think he is? The dad from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air?”

Jess’ eyebrows crease a little. She doesn’t know what that means.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighs. “But we could really use his help on this.”

“No kidding.” Dean shakes his head a little. “Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Glad she didn’t have to be the one to say it, Jess follows Dean to the lobby of the motel. They get a pair of rooms and park themselves in Dean’s to try calling Castiel again.

(maybe i should call asa and ask if he thinks tasha could help with bethany, she considers as dean holds the perpetually ringing phone out between the three of them. she hasn’t talked to asa since she called to apologize for acting insane and to fill in the holes about what was going on the whole time-- and she hates to think she only ever calls him to ask for help with stuff, especially since he never seems to need her help with anything. but it might be weird to just call tasha directly. he’s the one who knows her.)

(maybe tasha can’t even help me. maybe i should just skip right to rowena.)

She exhales slowly, thinking.

Cas doesn’t answer.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean says under his breath. He tosses his phone onto one of the tightly made beds. Closes his eyes. Bows his head. “Castiel, I hope you have your ears on. I’m praying. I don’t give a shit if one of your higher-ups overhears me. I need your help. And we need to talk about Kevin. Ha. So please. Breaker, breaker?”

The three of them wait expectantly.

“Dammit.” Dean rubs at his face in frustration.

“Maybe he’s busy,” Jess suggests.

“Yeah. Busy being heaven’s bitch, all over again.”

“Heaven’s bitch,” Castiel repeats, his voice low. Jess flinches in surprise.

“Holy shit, dude,” Dean exclaims, turning to face the angel, who stands behind him, rigor-mortis stiff.

“You should show me some respect, Dean. I saved your life,” Cas says, and it almost sounds like a threat. He takes a few steps, settling in front of the TV stand so he can face all three of the Winchesters. “And I am busy in heaven. I can’t just come every time you need help. Every time your son breaks an arm or the prophet has a question.”

“What the hell’s going on with you?” Dean demands. “You used to care about shit. Care about Kevin. Now you’re Spock all over again.”

“I was wayward,” Cas says flatly, his unblinking eyes almost blank, empty of emotion. “I was misguided. Now that I am no longer banished from heaven, I have other priorities.”

“I liked you better when you were banished, Cas.”

The angel’s face shifts slightly. Jess glances between him and Dean. There has always been some weird weight between them, but now it just feels like tension. In spite of heaven and his orders and everything else, Castiel has always cared too much about what Dean thinks of him.

“Say your piece so I may get back to my work,” Cas instructs.

“We gotta get people back to their dimensions, man. You have to know something about it,” Sam cuts in. “You’re an angel.”

“Yeah,” Jess agress. “I caused this. There has to be a way for me to reverse it.”

Jess can feel Dean’s eyes on her, confused, and she realizes unhappily that she’s going to have to explain it to him.

“Jessica, we are well aware that you caused it. And I already told you three not to intervene,” Cas says stiffly.

(what the hell has gotten into him?)

“Why the hell not, Cas?” Dean demands.

“Because--”

“If you say because you have orders, I’m gonna deck you,” Dean huffs.

“Because I have orders,” Cas says, tilting his chin upward defiantly. He waits for Dean to punch him.

Dean just stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“Cas, people need to go home,” Sam says. “There are versions of us-- versions of you, displaced. We met a guy from another dimension who can read people’s minds. Who knows what else is going to come through? Or already has come through? We have to fix it.”

“Cas, come on,” Dean pleads, sounding more defeated than before. Sadder. “Don’t fall for the whole conversion therapy gambit or whatever Kool Aid they’re feeding you upstairs. You gotta come back to us. We need you, man. I need you.”

His face changes. His shoulders soften. He blinks.

“Cas?” Sam asks quickly.

He inhales slowly. Shakes his head once. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

His voice sounds normal again.

“Then prove it,” Dean says. “Help us clean this mess up.”

He shakes his head a second time. “I can’t.”

He’s gone.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean snaps, sinking onto the edge of one of the beds. He wipes a hand over his mouth.

“We’ll just have to figure it out without him, man,” Sam says.

“Yeah?” Jess asks. “How?”

Sam sighs.

(there’s nothing any of us can do, she thinks, frustrated.)

With everything in stagnation, the three of them find a couple cases to work over the next few weeks. They end up west of Springfield, Illinois, dealing with a vengeful spirit situation.

All three of them get a little banged up in the final showdown-- scrapes and bruises and maybe a broken rib on Dean’s part. But they don’t bother calling Cas for help.

“Broken ribs heal on their own,” Dean says through a cringe.

Jess is about to remind him hospitals exist when the closet door opens. And a man stumbles out.

All three of them are on their feet instantly, and Dean has a gun in the guy’s face before Jess can even blink. The man is probably around Dean’s age, maybe a few years older, and he’s handsome. Jess wouldn’t normally think the word ‘handsome’, but there isn’t any other way to describe him-- he has stunning sea foam eyes, neatly parted dark hair, bright skin, and strong shoulders. He’s around six feet tall, dressed in a pressed grey suit and a tie with a little gold pin tucked under the knot. He blinks at the boys, regarding them, ignoring her.

“Which one of you is John Winchester?” He asks calmly.

Neither of the boys respond. Jess doesn’t either.

(john winchester. why would he think that? they’re both way too young. and way too… not awful.)

She scans her eyes over the stranger again. He really is good looking. Kind of a Frank Sinatra vibe.

“Please, time is of the essence! Which of you is John Winchester?” He demands.

“Um, neither,” Sam fumbles to say.

“That's impossible. That's absolutely... What did I do wrong?” The man shakes his head. He doesn’t seem to mind that Dean is pointing a gun his way.

“You wanna tell us why you’re coming out of our closet?” Dean demands. “How you ended up there, maybe? Oh, I dunno… wanna tell us who the fuck you are?”

The man stiffens primly. “Now, there’s no need for language like that,” he says. “One of you must know John Winchester.”

“You answer our questions, we’ll answer yours,” Sam asserts.

“Yeah, seriously, where did you come from?” Jess adds. (like, a funeral?)

“If neither of you gentlemen are John Winchester, I'm afraid this has been a marvelous, tragic misunderstanding. I'll be on my way.” His eyes finally flit to Jess, catching on hers, and he takes her in from top to toe. Frowns a little bit as he notices her dark grey leggings. She looks down at them. Wonders if they’re ripped or stained or something. They aren’t.

“Hold on there, pal,” Dean says. “I’m the one with the gun. So you’re gonna sit down.”

“There are things of grave importance. I do not have time to deal with the likes of you.”

“Okay, well, don’t be a dick,” Sam suggests. “You’re the one who popped in on us.”

“Yeah, 007. You ain’t leaving ‘til you give us some answers.”

The man sighs, impatient, and he straightens his tie. It hadn’t really been crooked. “This is all beyond your understanding, I’m certain.”

“Try us,” Jess says. “We aren’t as dumb as we look.”

He glances her way again, taking her in with confusion. Then, he looks at Sam. “My name is Henry Winchester.”

(henry-- what?)

“Henry Winchester,” Sam repeats.

The man nods. Now that he’s identified himself as a Winchester, Jess can see it-- the eyes, the hair, the set of his shoulders. He looks like a slightly shorter, darker-haired Sam. And he has Dean’s eyes, but his eyelashes are darker and not as thick as Dean’s. “I came here for John. If you could just take me to him, all of this could be cleared up. I assure you.”

“John’s dead,” Dean says gruffly. “Has been a few years now.”

(and let’s not mention the thing about him coming back as a demon, she silently adds. let’s leave that out.)

Neither of the boys mention it. Sam just nods his agreement.

“No,” Henry says quietly. “What year is it?”

(oh, great. time travel. perfect. that’s just the development this whole dimensional bleed thing needs, jess thinks bitterly.)

“2012,” Sam answers. “What… year… are you from?”

“1958,” Henry sighs.

“Yeah, right. Seriously? Dudes time-travelling through motel room closets? That's what we've come to?” Dean shakes his head.

Henry shakes his head too, sinking down on the motel room couch, his head in his hands. “He’s dead. I can’t believe it.”

“What’s it to you?” Dean asks.

“Everything,” Henry says, sighing again. “I’m his father.”

“Oh, shit,” Dean says under his breath. “I’m… sorry, man.”

Jess glances to Sam, a little nervous. He meets her eyes and shrugs.

(i killed him. i killed that guy’s son.)

(i mean, kind of. in a way. partially. the most recent time he died, i killed him.)

(let’s maybe not tell him that detail either.)

(i’ve never heard the name henry winchester in my life. never heard the boys talk about any grandparents. i assumed they were all long dead. and they didn’t seem to recognize his name when he mentioned it. have they ever even heard of him? jess wonders.)

“How did you know my son?” Henry asks quietly.

“We’re his sons,” Sam answers. He sits down on the side of one of the beds, and Jess sits next to him so she isn’t looming over everyone. Dean stays put, though.

His head snaps up, and he stares at Sam for a moment before answering. “You are?”

“Yeah, man.” Sam shrugs. “I’m Sam. That’s my brother Dean. And this is my wife, Jess.”

“Hey,” she says weakly.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks. He finally puts his gun away. “Playing Back to the Future two, I mean.”

(how old was john in 1958? jess thinks. maybe five? why would henry come to the future looking for his son?)

“Are the two of you men of letters?” Henry asks instead of answering Dean’s question.

“Men of… what?”

“Men of letters,” he repeats.

“Uh, no. Never heard of it,” Sam says with a shrug. He glances to his brother, whose face confirms he hasn’t heard of it either. Neither has Jess.

“You’re serious?” Henry asks, looking between the two of them.

“Serious as a heart attack.” Dean shrugs too.

Henry wipes a hand over his lips, the same way Dean always does. “Then I’m in a world of trouble.”

Henry remains tight-lipped about what exactly brought him here. Dean offers him John’s journal to look through. The pre-fire family picture he keeps tucked into his wallet-- a happy couple with a baby and a four year old, smiling underneath the Kansas sun. And then he sort of steps away.

Sam seems more interested in talking to the guy, so Jess leaves him to it. She cautiously lurks around Dean, trying to gauge his mood-- he doesn’t always respond well to family other than his little brother.

One motel room really isn’t big enough for leaving much space, but luckily, Sam and Jess have the room right next door-- and there’s a doorway between the two rooms, if both residents are so inclined to unlocking their side. So they’re able to get a little distance.

Jess can hear Sam and, she guesses, his grandfather (his very young, very good looking grandfather) talking from the next room over. Can hear Sam telling Henry about growing up, about John teaching him and Dean how to hunt, about how their dad’s life had ended up after, she gathers, Henry disappeared around John’s fifth birthday. Which must be now. Since he said he came from 1958.

(time is weird.)

She also overhears Henry comment that the leatherbound journal before them, the one John had written his hunting notes in, was one Henry purchased for himself the day before he disappeared. His initials are stamped into its inside cover.

As she tries not to eavesdrop further, Dean ices his cracked or broken rib, though Jess isn’t too sure that’s going to help very much. He also dry-swallows a few Excedrin from the period cramps bottle she keeps in the glove box of Sam’s Chevy Cav.

“Would you stop staring at me, blondie?” He huffs from the untouched bed, which he’s sitting on.

“I’m not staring.” She averts her eyes. Picks up the corner of the messed-up sheet from the bed she and Sam had slept in.

“You’re staring. Oh, poor Dean, he’s such a hero, he’s just too strong to need to go to the hospital,” he mimics in a ridiculously pitched up voice.

“That is not how I talk,” she chides. She’d shove him in the shoulder if he didn’t maybe have a broken bone.

“It’s how you sound to me.”

“At least I don’t growl my words out.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I--” his phone rings. Frowning, he fishes it out of his pocket. “It’s Bobby. Hey, Bobby, you’re on speaker.”

“Hi, Bobby,” Jess adds, scooting closer to hear better.

“You kids are not gonna believe this,” Bobby’s voice comes. “Jody Mills showed up the other day.”

“Bobby, I can believe that just fine,” Dean says.

“No, smartass, it wasn’t that Jody Mills. It was another one. Looked just like her, plus a few scars and a beardy fella. They’re from a different world.”

“Oh, shit,” Jess says.

“Yeah. Jody-- regular Jody, I mean-- she called me to tell me. The other Jody and the fella showed up at her place.”

“Who’s the guy?” Jess asks. “Anyone you know?”

“His name’s Asa Fox.”

(alternate asa and alternate jody are together? good for them, she thinks, partly amused. she wonders if normal asa and normal jody have even met.)

“Yeah, Bobby, we know Asa,” Dean says. “Or, uh, the Asa from this dimension. What kind of world are they from?”

“Said there’s some kinda war going on between demons and angels. Apocalypse type thing, far’s I can tell.” Bobby sighs. “Kinda sounds like what we narrowly avoided.”

“That’s comforting,” Dean says.

“I got somethin’, though. We were talking over a few beers, and Jody told me she killed Crowley in her world. Said she knows the guy’s real name.”

Jess perks up. “Yeah? Did she tell you it?”

“She did. Fergus MacLeod.”

(macleod, jess thinks. rowena's last name. weird coincidence.)

“That’s one step closer to ganking Lucky Charms and getting Ellen home free, then,” Dean says with a nod. “Good work. You tell Jo?”

“She’s already headed up here with Ruby. I got the general time period he was from, too, and his village. That’s Scotland, not Ireland, Dean, you big dummy.”

“I didn’t go to college,” Dean dismisses, as if Bobby did. “But that’s good to hear. Anything for us to do to help out?”

(we’re kind of in a situation over here, jess thinks, glancing toward the open door-- henry and sam are still sitting at the table, talking as henry flips through his late son’s hunting journal.)

“Not at the moment. Once Jo gets here, we’re gonna see if we can get our hands on old funeral records from Fergus MacLeod’s hometown. Find out exactly where he’s buried.”

“Tread lightly,” Jess says. “He has eyes everywhere.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

“And let us know if there’s anything we can do. Tell dark Jody I say hey.”

“Oh, speaking of-- you’re dead in that world,” Bobby comments.

“Me?”

“Yeah. You and Sam. And me. Dunno about you, Jess. Jody’s never heard of you.”

“That’s freakin’ delightful,” Dean says. “She say how we went?”

“Normal demon-angel crossfire stuff. Said you were a good fighter.”

“Great.” Dean pulls a face. “I’ll let you go. Thanks for the update.”

“Sure. Talk soon.”

He hangs up.

“Well, that’s good,” Jess says. “That’s one less thing.”

(one less thing holding me to this life. maybe i won’t be stuck here for very much longer, after all. maybe i can be normal. get my own japanese perm.)

(not that i necessarily am ready for a japanese perm. it would just be nice to have the option.)

(it would be nice to live the kind of life where i could worry about whether i want a japanese perm yet or not. the kind of life where i can feasibly get one if i want one. and be able to maintain it and stuff-- focus on that instead of saving lives and killing monsters. and even bring up the subject to sam without it being totally hypothetical. there are only so many years of your life where you can even successfully get a japanese perm. i don’t want to wait too long.)

“Yeah, one less thing,” Dean agrees. “But we still got too many Deans kicking around. And now we got Atticus Finch over there. So we ain’t out of the woods yet.”

The four of them go out for dinner at the restaurant next door to the motel. Over burgers and fries, Henry explains that he used a blood sigil to travel through time. It was supposed to lead to his closest blood relative-- his son-- but since his son is dead, it led to the next best thing. As far as Jess can tell, it doesn’t have anything to do with the other dimension hopping that has been going on. But Henry still won’t explain why he did it.

“If you were men of letters, you’d understand,” Henry sighs. “At least tell me you’re well versed in the knowledge of demons and such.”

“Yeah, we’ve been up close and personal with those sons of bitches more times than I could list for ya,” Dean confirms.

“Right. Because you’re hunters.” Henry says the word as if it’s going to give him a rash.

(okay, well, don’t be a dick about it, jess thinks.)

“What’s wrong with being hunters?” She says instead.

“Aside from the unthinking, unwashed, shoot-first-and-don't-bother-to-ask-questions-later mentality, not much, really.”

“Well, don’t bother holding back, Gene Kelly.” Dean reaches for the ketchup.

“We take showers,” Sam says.

“Yeah, and we think before we shoot,” Jess adds. “We do a lot of research. Like, most of what we do is research.”

Henry raises an eyebrow as he regards Jess. “Times really are different, aren’t they?”

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. “What, ‘cause I’m not wearing pearls and spending the day cleaning the house and making my husband dinner? Do you want me to roast him a ham? He wouldn’t eat it.”

Dean laughs a little. Sam thinks it’s funny-- she can tell by the way his mouth twitches-- but he doesn’t laugh.

“In my day, women didn’t hunt,” Henry says primly.

“Times have changed,” Dean says.

“Yeah, Jess is a great hunter,” Sam agrees. “Anyway, what exactly do men of letters do?”

“Yeah, are you guys like, the Yodas to our Jedis?” Dean asks. Henry’s face shifts into confusion, so he waves a hand to dismiss the reference.

“We're preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that which man does not understand. We share our findings with a few trusted hunters – the very elite. They do the rest.” He sips his coffee. “It’s a patrilineal organization. I learned from my father. He learned from his. And I was meant to teach my son, as well. But I believe I must have bungled that.”

“Huh,” Dean says.

“If the men of letters are such a big deal, why have we never heard of you?” Sam asks. “I mean, Dean and me, we’ve been hunting our whole lives. We have friends who are hunters, too. A bunch. Why has the men of letters never come up?”

“How far are we from Normal, Illinois?” Henry asks instead of answering Sam’s question.

“Not very,” Dean answers. “Probably be a quick drive.”

“And you have a vehicle?”

“Yeah, I got a ride.”

“Then rather than explaining things to you, I will show you.” Henry sets his coffee down. “Let’s go.”

The four of them make the hour drive to Normal in the Impala, and between complaints about Dean’s driving, Henry directs them to an address downtown. The storefront his directions lead them to features a loud, colorful sign boasting the store’s name: ASTRO COMICS!

“No,” Henry says under his breath as Dean parks. He hurries out of the passenger seat, and Sam and Jess follow from the back. “It can’t be. What’s going on here?”

His shiny loafers carry him to the store. He runs the pad of his thumb over a faded carving into the stone, and Jess takes a step closer to look at it-- the same insignia he wears pinned to his tie, a six point star, all folded up into itself.

“It must be a facade,” Henry says. “A way to rook our enemies into believing we are housed elsewhere.”

“Enough decoder talk,” Dean orders hypocritically.

Henry pushes through the door and into the shop, which is probably closing soon, Jess thinks, since it’s evening. But she follows him.

It appears to be a completely normal comic shop, with a young woman behind the front desk, a few shiny piercings sticking out of her nose and eyebrow. Her hair is choppy, and dyed jet black, except for her bangs, which are bright teal.

“Can I help you find anything?” She asks lazily.

“Do you have the time?” Henry asks seriously. “I need to set my watch.”

(uh, what? sam and dean are both wearing watches, why wouldn’t he ask them?)

“It’s 6:37,” she answers after glancing at the computer in front of her.

“Dammit.” Henry turns away dramatically.

“What’s your problem?” Dean asks, catching up with him as he leaves the store. Jess catches the door as it starts to fall shut, and the four of them pile back outside.

“That was the men of letters countersign,” Henry explains. “If you’re unsure about your company, you ask if the other person has the time because you need to set your watch. If they tell you the time, you know they aren’t in the fold. The proper response is ‘I’m afraid my watch is three minutes fast’. I had hoped--” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. A piece of his slicked-back hair dislodges, falling onto his smooth forehead.

“That’s kind of cool,” Sam comments.

“That address was our headquarters. It used to front as a gentlemen’s cigar club,” Henry says. “The symbol-- it’s still here, albeit faded.” He rubs his thumb over it again. “The Aquarian star.”

“Okay, well, that was a long time ago,” Dean says. “Maybe you guys relocated. Maybe it’s behind a Chuck E. Cheese now.”

“A what?” Henry asks impatiently.

“Chuck E. Cheese. Arcade for kids with pizza. My son used to live for that shit.”

“You have a child?” He asks, taken aback. “I’m a great grandfather?”

Dean shrugs. “Congrats, old man.”

“We’ll talk about that later. For now-- I must use a phone. There used to be a booth just there, on that corner-- it appears to have been removed.”

“Yeah, we don’t really have, uh, phone booths anymore,” Sam says with half a chuckle. He produces his cell phone from his pocket and offers it to Henry. “Here ya go.”

“What is this?” Henry asks, turning it over in his hand. “A walkie talkie?”

“It’s a phone.”

“Where are the buttons?”

Jess laughs a little bit. She takes it from Henry and clicks the screen on before opening the number pad. “Try it now.”

He holds it to his mouth. “Operator, I need Delta 457.”

“You didn’t call anyone,” Jess says. “We don’t really do the delta thing anymore.”

“That’s our emergency number, though.”

“Not anymore, hotshot.” Dean shrugs again.

Henry sighs, shaking his head, and shoves Sam’s phone in his direction.

“Hey, uh, Henry, we can try looking up your friends from the men of letters,” Sam suggests, almost dropping his phone. “If we go back to the motel room, we can use my computer.”

“Computer?” Henry demands. “There’s no way a computer would fit in a single room at a motor court. What are you talking about?”

“Welcome to the 21st century,” Dean says, clapping his grandfather on the shoulder.

The Google search confirms what had already become evident: the Men of Letters have been wiped out. The night Henry left, August 12 1958, their Illinois HQ went up in smoke.

“They can’t all have died,” Henry says quietly as Sam reports his findings.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says with a sigh. “All the names you gave me. Dead, according to this news article.”

Henry sighs too, running a hand through his slightly disheveled black hair. “And my boy-- I never made it back. I gathered that much when you showed me his journal-- my journal, with my initials. He grew up thinking I died in that fire?”

“Negative,” Dean answers. “He grew up thinkin’ you walked out on him that night ‘cause you wanted nothing to do with him. I guess they didn’t hear about the fire.”

“Oh, no.” Henry sinks to the motel couch, his face in his hands.

Maybe just because he looks so much like Sam, or maybe because she has an excess of sympathy now that her soul is back to normal, Jess sits down next to him and sets a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Henry.”

“He never knew what became of me. And he never joined the fold,” Henry goes on, speaking into his palms. His thumbs press into the sides of his temples. “And poor Millie… tell me, did she cope with it alright?”

(that must be his wife, jess thinks. john’s mother. i’ve never heard anything about her)

“She thought you skipped town,” Dean says gruffly. “Eventually married some other guy. Had a temper, died of a heart attack while my dad was in Vietnam. She lived in Maine back then. Dunno if she’s still around, or what.”

Henry draws a ragged breath, and Jess figures he’s probably crying, trying to conceal the tears just like a good Winchester man does. “Vietnam?”

“Yeah,” Sam answer. “He was a marine in the war. In the, uh, the early 70s.”

“My god,” Henry says under his breath.

(poor guy, jess thinks. i mean, other than being old fashioned and a little stuck up… he kind of seems cool. if he had been around, maybe john wouldn’t have turned out the way he turned out.)

“I should have been there for them-- John and Millie. They deserved better,” Henry says. “And all for the sake of protecting some box, the contents of which I am unaware.”

“A box?” Sam asks.

Henry nods. Straightens up, wiping his irritated eyes. Jess takes her hand back as he reaches into his inside jacket pocket for a small, flat box, etched with the same insignia as his pin. “I suppose I may as well tell you. The night of my final initiation-- August 12-- a demon showed up. A demon named Abaddon. She came for this. I orchestrated the blood sigil to take it to safety.”

“But you don’t even know what’s in the box,” Dean says. “You left your kid to protect you don’t even know what.”

“That’s correct,” Henry sighs sadly. “I know very little about its contents. I didn’t think it would end this way. I thought I’d make it home, but clearly I never did. I’ve missed out on my son’s entire life. Even missed knowing my grandsons as children. And poor John… grew up thinking I left him willfully. I would never do that by choice. Never. I can see now that I made a grave mistake.”

(that sounds like a winchester thing to do, jess muses to herself. dramatics first, questions later.)

Dean’s face shifts a little. His eyes deepen. He frowns, nodding once, accepting that Henry means it, and Jess watches him extend a crumb of grace to his grandfather. “Well… at least we know the truth now.”

“But John never will.”

“Maybe you could get back after all,” Sam suggests. “Just because you didn’t… doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“I would need time for my soul to recharge. At least a week. Maybe more.”

“Your soul?” Jess repeats. “You harnessed the power of your soul?”

(that isn’t good. that can’t be good.)

“Yes,” Henry says simply. “And other than my soul, there are ingredients I would need. A pinch of the sands of Time. An angel feather. A tear of a dragon.”

“Angel feather, I might be able to nab,” Dean says. “Sands of time, dragon tear… not so much.”

(angels have feathers? jess wonders, her eyebrows pulling together a little bit. i guess they do. i mean, cas has wings, or whatever. i just can’t see them. or something.)

(jess realizes she isn’t even concerned about messing with history and accidentally changing something. the angels had made it clear that sam and dean were destined to be born, that they’d do anything to push mary campbell and john winchester together. and she knows she and sam would always find each other no matter what.)

“I believe I know where we can secure the other necessary ingredients,” Henry says seriously. “But for now… I suppose it’s getting late, and I should secure a room of my own so we can all turn in.”

“I’ll get you one,” Sam says with half a chuckle. “You, uh… you probably don’t have a working credit card.”

Dean shuts himself into his room, and Sam is back around fifteen minutes later-- longer than Jess would have thought it would take. She’s about to go out looking for him by the time he comes back. But he lets himself into their room, and she relaxes.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

“Henry get situated?”

“Yeah.” Sam slides the chain lock shut, securing them in for the night. He moves slowly, thinking. “Jess-- I mentioned the whole… dimension bleed thing to him. And he said it happened before.”

It’s been a seriously long day, and she’s tired, and still sore from the hunt earlier-- but she perks up. Stands up off the side of the bed, taking a few steps toward Sam. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Sam confirms. “Back in the 1920s. Everyone’s memory was wiped or something, but the men of letters recorded everything meticulously, so they had written record of it even though they all forgot too. Henry learned about it from his father.”

“Did the men of letters fix it?” She asks eagerly.

“Yeah,” he says. “And Henry thinks he can help us figure out how. We’re going to do that as soon as we get the ingredients and figure out how to get him home.”

“That’s awesome,” she says. “That’s… holy shit, Sam. That’s perfect.”

“I know.” He grins a little bit, a shy flicker. “Kind of perfect timing, right?”

“No kidding,” she half-laughs, reaching for him, pressing herself against his chest for a moment. He wraps his long arms around her too.

(maybe we can get out of hunting after all. maybe this can be the end.)

As she showers the next morning, Jess wonders what exactly they should do with Henry. Normally she would probably suggest taking him to the lakehouse, but that solution is a little complicated at the moment.

(because we’d have to explain to him that another version of one of his grandsons, along with said grandson’s husband and three children, are staying there. the other dimensions thing, i think he understands. but the two guys being married with kids part, he might have a little bit of trouble with.)

(damn 1950s.)

She squeezes half the contents of the tiny hotel conditioner bottle into her palm and starts raking it through her hair, trying to come up with a better solution. They could just stay here until Henry’s soul is recharged. Whatever that means. They could maybe take him to Bobby’s, but then again the other Winchester brothers might be there, or Bobby might be off with the Harvelles, dealing with the Crowley situation.

(why isn’t anything ever just easy?)

She finishes up, dries herself, and gets dressed. Scrunches her shoulder-length curls dry with a tee shirt to keep them from frizzing up under the cheap motel towels. When she steps back into the main part of the hotel room, Sam is sitting in front of his laptop, reading something on the screen. He’d showered first, and as usual hadn’t bothered towel drying his hair at all, letting it drip onto his shirt like a crazy person. His hair is mostly dry now, but his tee shirt has soak spots on the shoulders.

(why does he do that? it’s so weird. like, who does that? god.)

“There isn’t a single trace of the men of letters ever existing online,” he comments as Jess shoves the pajamas she’d been wearing into her duffle.

“None at all? How is that possible?”

Sam shrugs. “Secret organization, and all, I guess. I just thought there’d be some trace of something.”

“Huh. I guess they were good at keeping themselves hush hush.”

“Guess so.”

“Did Henry mention how many members there were?”

“No, he didn’t say.”

She zips her duffel shut just as a loud thud smacks into the wall to their left-- Henry’s room.

“What was that?” Sam asks, already on his feet.

“Maybe he dropped something.”

Another thud.

“Yeah, twice?” Sam asks, going to bang on the door between their room and Dean’s. “Hey, dude, open up, we gotta go check on Henry.”

“Meet ya there,” Dean calls through the door.

Jess grabs the room key and their guns. She tosses Sam his silver Colt as they head outside. Dean is holding his gun, too, when they make it to Henry’s door.

“Henry?” Sam calls, knocking on it.

No answer.

“Okay, well, guess we’ll do this hunter style instead of men of letters style,” Dean says. He kicks the door open hard with his steel-toed boot.

A red-haired woman in a 1950s evening gown stands over Henry, one of her high-heeled feet on his chest. “I’ll ask nicely one more time,” she snarls, ignoring the three of them. “Where is it?”

“I don’t have it,” Henry gasps. His eyes shift to his grandsons, fearful. “You three, get away from here.”

“Not gonna happen,” Dean says, slamming the door shut behind them. He cocks his gun and points it at the woman.

“That won’t hurt me,” she says with a laugh. She blinks, and her eyes flicker black.

(we don’t have the stupid demon knife. god dammit, jess thinks wildly. it’s in the trunk of the impala.)

“Dean, keys,” she says.

“Nightstand,” he replies, gun still pointed at the demon.

She shoves back out the door and into the cold Illinois morning, fumbling for the room key, which she’d stashed in the skin-tight side pocket on her leggings. She fumbles the door open and goes through the middle passage into Dean’s room, snatching his keys off his night stand before going back outside to the parking lot.

He almost always has his car parked right outside his room, but of course, just this once, it’s all the way across the lot. She sprints for it. Twists the key into the trunk lock, rummaging for the demon knife. Once she has it, she hurries back for Henry’s room. The lock had broken when Dean kicked it in. She nudges it open easily.

The demon is trapped in the corner of the room in a haphazard salt circle. Henry is slumped on the floor a few feet away, his white shirt soaked through with crimson blood, his face pale, with Sam half-holding him up.

(oh, fuck.)

Dean is closest to the demon. She tosses him the knife, handle-first, and he catches it. Stabs her in the chest. Her lights go out, and she crumbles to the floor, disrupting the salt circle.

“What the hell happened?” Jess demands.

“The box,” Henry manages. He sputters, and blood drips from his mouth. “She… she wanted the box. She followed me here, somehow.”

“Henry shot her with a devil’s trap bullet,” Dean says, chuckling a little in astonishment. “Trapped her long enough for us to lay a salt circle. Not so bad for a glorified librarian.”

“That knife-- will it kill her? Permanently?” Henry asks, gasping for breath.

“Yes,” Jess confirms.

“Just hold still,” Sam suggests. “Jess-- get a towel, or something?”

Exhaling, she turns to the bathroom and grabs one. Her heart slams fast in her chest. She wads it up and presses it to the bloodstain on Henry’s midsection, unsure of exactly where the blood is coming from.

“It’s no use,” he says weakly. “Listen-- the box--”

“Where is it?” Sam asks gently.

“Between the mattress and the box spring,” Henry manages. Sweat beads on his pale forehead, and he coughs, choking out blood. “Protect it. Swear to me.”

“I swear,” Sam says.

Dean nods. Jess does too.

“Take it to the center of the country,” he goes on, coughing again. “All I… know… is the secrets… it’s in the center of the country. Take it there.”

“Center of the country,” Sam repeats.

Henry nods. He looks into Sam’s eyes. Then Dean’s. Shaking, he closes his hand around Sam’s hand. “I’m… glad I was able to… meet you.”

His body goes still.

“Son of a bitch,” Sam says under his breath.

Jess’ feet carry her a few paces backwards. He’s dead.

Unsure of what else to do, she turns toward the bed. He’d remade it after sleeping in it-- imperfectly, but neatly nonetheless. She reaches her arm between the mattress and the box spring like he’d said. Feels around until she finds the small box he’d been holding before, about the size and shape of a deck of cards, but made from carved wood.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Dean says, sighing. “Take him some place we can send him off the right way.”

They burn Henry the same way they burned John-- a hunter’s funeral. Sam keeps the gold pin he’d worn on his tie, turning it over in his left hand, frowning at it instead of watching the flame.

“Center of the country,” he finally says as the three of them head back to the cars, the last dregs of smoke from Henry’s funeral pyre dying out behind them. “That’s Lebanon, Kansas.”

“Is there anything you don’t know, you big nerd?” Dean grumbles.

“We should go,” he says quietly, ignoring his brother’s dig. “It’s what Henry wanted. We… we should go.”

“Yeah,” Jess agrees. “Um… should we try to open the box he gave us?”

“Couldn’t hurt, I guess. Our grandfather died for it, I guess we should figure out what it is.” Dean sighs. Digs it out of his jacket pocket. It slides open easily, revealing an iron skeleton key, the teeth of which are in a bit of a weird shape. Its handle bears the same insignia as Henry’s pin, as the faded etching outside the comic book store. The men of letters crest, the Aquarian star.

“I guess it opens something in Lebanon,” Sam says.

“Question is… what?” Jess asks. “How are we going to find the thing it opens if all we know is the town it’s probably in? I mean… is it a lock box? A house?”

“Lebanon’s tiny,” Dean comments, looking down at the key. “Like, seriously miniature. It’s, uh… it’s a couple hours from Lawrence. I drove past it once or twice.”

“Okay,” Sam says with a nod. “Let’s head out, then. See what’s locked up in Lebanon.”

It’s about six and a half hours to Lebanon, Kansas. Dean takes the lead, with Sam and Jess trailing behind in the Cav, Sam’s hands steady and even on the wheel, a perfect ten and two. His shoulders are straight as he watches the road and his brother’s car. He stays quiet.

The radio rambles NPR, volume a little too low to really hear most of what the speaker is saying. But Jess figures if she turns it up, Sam will stay silent the whole drive, and she doesn’t want that.

She gives him a quiet forty-five minutes before she speaks up. “You okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” he says, half sighing into the word. “Just, uh, it’s kinda sad, I guess.”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Makes me think of, um… something Dean said one time. When I was trying to make a family tree for this stupid assignment in the fourth grade. He said to just draw a big grave stone and turn that in instead. It’d be more accurate.”

She bites her lip a little bit. Pries his right hand off the steering wheel so she can hold it. He lets her. “Yeah. I kinda know the feeling.”

“Do you ever wonder how we ended up like that?”

“I kinda think it’s better not to bother.”

“I guess.” He sighs again.

“You never knew any of your grandparents, right?”

“My mom’s parents, they died back before Dean was born. I don’t know how. And my dad’s mother, I never met her. I figured she was dead, but Dean made it sound like he doesn’t even know. Mom and Dad were both only children. So… it’s just me and Dean.”

“Maybe we don’t have parents or aunts or uncles or grandparents, but, I mean, we have a family,” she says, squeezing his hand. “Me and you and Dean and Bobby. And Jo and Ellen. I mean, it counts.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“And, I mean… maybe we can have our own family someday, too.”

Her cheeks warm a little as she speaks, trying to keep her voice light and casual, trying to pretend she hasn’t been a little bit fixated on the topic lately. But Sam notices, and he glances her way for a second before turning his shallow-lake hazels back to the road.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “I hope so.”

(he hopes so?)

(that’s more than i’ve gotten out of him on the subject before.)

“Me too.”

“I have a lot of anger toward my dad,” Sam says. “I always have. We always butted heads a lot. As a kid, I felt like he hated me because I wasn’t like Dean. But now that I’m older I realize he made Dean feel like shit too. I mean-- he made a lot of mistakes with us. I know he did. But… I never really looked at things from his perspective.”

(are you serious? she thinks, her mind playing a supercut of all the bullshit john put his sons through.)

“I didn’t consider what he’s been through,” Sam amends, hearing himself. “Losing his father, the war, and then losing my mom… having to raise two little kids on his own… There’s… I don’t know. I feel like I see him a little more fairly now, but there’s still a lot I would want to do differently. If we have kids. I think it would be kind of satisfying. To do things differently than my dad. Like I’d be making up for my own childhood, in a way. Making up for some of the shit my dad went through, too. And Henry missing out on being around for my dad.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Jess agrees, her heart slamming a little in her chest.

“I see Dean with his son… I mean, he’s a good dad, right?”

Jess nods.

“I never really thought he’d be one. Never thought either of us would, I guess. But he’s a good dad, and it’s kind of cool that he gets the chance to treat his kid differently than our dad treated us. Kind of… makes me want to do the same.” Sam half-chuckles, maybe a little tiny bit embarrassed to admit it. There isn’t a lot of room for thoughts like those, in the life they lead.

“I think you’d be a really good dad,” she says, voice pulling a little quieter. She bites her lip again after speaking.

“Yeah?”

“For sure.”

“Thanks,” he says. Brings her hand to his lips to kiss it. “I think you’d be an amazing mom. I think we’d make a good team.”

“Yeah. We would. We do make a good team. I mean, with hunting and stuff. So we would with kids, too.”

He smiles a little. Nods his agreement. They lapse back into quiet for a while, but it’s a quiet Jess feels better about.

After stopping at one of the very few restaurants in Lebanon, the three of them split up to look for the lock that pairs with Henry’s key. Dean drives around the north and west sides of town, Jess drives around the south and east sides, and Sam hits up the post office and bank and other downtown areas on foot. In the end Dean is the one who finds the answer-- a weird, half-underground structure outside of town, a little ways off from the marker for the geographic center of the country. He calls Jess to let her know, and she goes to pick Sam up before meeting him there.

It’s just about early spring. Though the midwestern sun is high in the sky, the air is still frigid, and she shivers a little as Sam opens the door to get into the Cav. She reaches for the heat as she drives away, Sam dictating Dean’s texted instructions to her as she drives.

Dean is waiting next to his parked car when she rolls up and parks next to him. The structure is wrought in thick concrete, an easy-to-miss rectangle that looks more like a warehouse than anything else. The door is half-sunken, with a few concrete stairs leading down to it, thick iron tucked into a brick circle. Beyond the door frame, the entrance is concealed by the hillside.

(what is this place? she thinks, looking from the hillside door to the concrete part that sticks out above ground. some kind of supernatural artifacts warehouse?)

“It’s like a bunker,” Dean comments as the three of them head for the iron door, which is marked with the men of letters insignia. The top stone of the arch above it notes a year: 1936.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. He takes the key from his pocket and looks at it for a second before trying it.

It works. The iron door creaks with lack of use as he pulls it open.

“Gonna need this,” Dean says, handing Jess one of the two flashlights he took from his trunk.

“Thanks.” She flicks it on.

The three of them step inside. The entryway is only a few feet down from the tall ceiling of the main room, and as they shine their flashlights around, Jess notices more and more details that seriously date the place: a switchboard that looks like it belongs at a world war II base, a few typewriters, a telegraph. Abandoned coffee cups and ashtrays full of cigarette butts.

“This must have been their nerve center,” Sam comments, astonished, as they head down the stairs and into the main room.

“Looks like they up and left without any notice,” Dean adds, shining his flashlight on a coffee cup that hadn’t been empty when it was abandoned.

“Henry didn’t seem to know much about this place. Like he hadn’t been here. I guess they stopped using it by the fifties,” Jess says. “I wonder why.”

“Yeah, good question.” Sam reaches for a typewriter. Trails his thumb along its spacebar.

Dean wanders off as the two of them examine the communications equipment.

(where did this connect to? jess contemplates as she looks at it. henry mentioned they had a few trusted hunters out in the field-- is this how they communicated with them? god, this is kind of awesome. how big is this place?)

The lights above their heads flick on. She turns around-- sees Dean standing up the stairs by the door again, messing with the breaker box.

“Dude-- how does this place still have power?” Sam asks.

“Dunno.” Dean shuts his flashlight off. Jess does too, setting hers down.

There are a few hallways going off the room they’re in, and another set of stairs just below the main entryway, leading down another level. And behind them, a library.

“Whoa,” Sam says, moving toward it, his shoulders rising a little in excitement. “This place is awesome!”

“What, a room full of books?”

“Dude, imagine what kinds of things they have in them. Knowledge that might have been lost since this place was closed down. Solutions to who knows what problems. Including our current one with the multiverse,” Sam raves, stopping at the table in the middle of the bookshelves. He clicks a switch on its side, and the whole table lights up-- its surface is a map. “This is awesome,” he says again.

Jess follows him in. “How big is this place?” There’s a telescope nook at the back of the library.

“Dunno,” Dean says. “I’m gonna explore. You two nerds, enjoy your new nerd cave. Holy shit, is that a scimitar?”

Jess reaches for a book at random. It’s nothing she’s seen before, not in their collection in the lakehouse library, not at Bobby’s. Its pages have been neatly cut, and the inside cover has been stamped: PROPERTY OF THE MEN OF LETTERS.

“No wonder they were trying to protect this place,” Sam says as he flips through another book. “Who knows what they’re keeping in here.”

“We have to find the records they wrote themselves,” Jess says, tucking her book back into the shelf. “Henry said it was the 20s, right? We have to find records from then.”

Sam nods, and they scour the library. Aside from the map table, there are a few wooden work tables with lamps and chairs, and some leather armchairs with side tables between shelves against the walls. On one of these tables is a chessboard, a half-finished chess game set up, flanked by another ashtray full of cigarette butts and a pair of coffee cups.

(they really did leave this place in a hurry. and they shut the power off and locked it up. why?)

The place springs a million questions in her mind, but right now, they need the records Henry had mentioned. And they find them, a few moments later-- a shelf dedicated to dozens of volumes, bound in red leather, each stamped with a year.

“Okay, you take the second half of the decade, I’ll take the first,” Sam says, scooping the books out.

“Sounds good.”

(i really hope this is the solution we need, jess thinks as she hauls her five books to the table.)

If she thought it would help, she’d pray. Instead, she just takes a deep breath and opens the book labelled 1920.

Dean takes his time investigating the bunker, his pearl-handled Colt at the ready just in case anything is lurking in the shadows. But he already likes the place, to be honest-- already feels weirdly safe here. Maybe it’s the lack of windows, or the fact that the place hasn’t been touched in decades. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s just down the street from the only place that he ever thought of as home-- the cozy little house where his mother tucked him into bed, telling him angels were watching over him, where she took pies from the oven and cut him a big slice with ice cream, where he first stared at his baby brother, fresh from the hospital, laying asleep in his crib. Maybe the proximity to his home feels kind of nice, after all these years. Maybe he’s always meant to get back to Kansas somehow.

And Lebanon is closer to Denver than Lake Tahoe. He could get there in five hours, if he speeds like he always does. He’s already planning on setting up here. It’s the center of the country, that’s the perfect place for a home base. Better than Lake Tahoe. Better than a borrowed guest room hidden in the woods.

The men of letters bunker really is cool. As he wanders the hallways, poking his head into doors, he counts thirty-two bedrooms, each with a double bed, a dresser, and a sink, which seems a little weird to him. He tests a sink in one of the last bedrooms. It sputters for a second before spewing ice-cold water, spraying him a little. Then it settles into a neat downward stream. He shuts it off. Electricity, and running water, even though the place has been abandoned for at least fifty years?

The place is also peppered with little water closets housing toilets, and a couple shower rooms with six stalls each. Beyond the residential area, he finds multiple store rooms with shelves of crates and boxes, a shooting range, an industrial kitchen, and the above-ground level-- which is a garage.

“Holy shit,” Dean says under his breath as he wanders inside. Four gorgeous vintage cars, a few motorbikes, a workshop-- there’s even room for his car, and a loading door he can open to drive her in.

Working on his car, out of the hot sun, or even in the middle of the night if he wants to thanks to the overhead lights-- this place is looking more and more like paradise. Maybe the men of letters aren’t so bad.

He fights the urge to check out the cars right now. Figures he should probably check in on Mr. and Mrs. Geek and see if they’ve found what they were looking for in the library. Even though it’s his first time here, and the place is sprawling, he finds it back to the entrance easily.

“Figure anything out yet?” He asks once he makes it back.

“Yeah, man,” Sam says. “We got it.”

“Turns out you have to harness the power of a soul as part of the ritual to close the portals,” Jess says with a sigh. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“You did it once,” Dean points out, wandering closer so he can look at the book open between the two of them.

“Only kind of. More like… I covered most of my soul in tin foil,” she says.

“Weird visual.”

She shrugs.

“I think we gotta try to get Cas in here, man,” Sam says. “Will you call him?”

“Why do I gotta call him? You both have his number,” Dean says, shifting his weight between his feet, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sam stares for a second, like he doesn’t quite understand why he suggested that, but then Jess rolls her eyes. “Because he’s more likely to answer if it’s you.”

“That ain’t true,” Dean grumbles.

“Can you just try?” Sam asks.

“Fine. Yeah. Whatever.” He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and makes the call, a little surprised there’s even service in the bunker.

“This is my voicemail,” Cas’ pre-recorded voice comes from the phone. “Make your voice a mail.”

“Dammit,” Dean mumbles. He ends the call. Shoves his phone back in his pocket. “He didn’t pick up.”

“Okay. We’ll try again later,” Sam says patiently. “In the meantime, I’m going to call the lakehouse. Let the other Dean and Cas know they’re gonna be heading home soon, if everything goes to plan.”

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” Dean hears himself say, his feet already carrying him toward the bunker door.

(if we can’t get cas, we’re kinda fucked, jess thinks as she and sam search the library for some other solution. soul magic-- i don’t feel good about that. not at all.)

(but then again… i guess henry was fine after he did soul magic to time travel.)

(fine until he was stabbed in the stomach the next day.)

(poor guy.)

She sighs, turning the page of the book in front of her. And then, a handful of minutes after he disappeared outside, Dean comes back in. With Cas.

“Hey,” Sam says a little excitedly, stumbling out of his chair. “Cas! Good to see you, man! Thanks for coming.”

“I owe you all an apology,” Cas says seriously, his voice sounding normal, instead of the forced gravelly quality he’d adopted before. Though they’re walking next to each other, Jess notices that Dean is purposefully not looking at the angel.

“No, come on, no worries,” Sam says in good nature.

“Can you help us?” Jess asks.

He nods once.

(dean… what did you say to him?)

“We’re gonna use my soul,” Dean says.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jess asks, frowning. Her eyes flit from Dean to Castiel.

“It’s safe,” he assures her. “It’s nothing like what you did to your own soul.”

“Yeah, if Cas says it’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean says easily. “I trust him.”

(well, if you do, i do, i guess, jess thinks, glancing between the angel and her brother in law. not that she feels all that good about the situation. but they have to do something.)

“It won’t hurt Dean-- it’ll just wear him out a little bit. Is there a place here he can rest?” Cas asks.

“There’s thirty two bedrooms, so, probably,” Dean says.

Cas nods. He takes his trench coat off and lays it across one of the library chairs, adding his suit jacket to the pile before rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.

“Hold on a sec,” Sam says. “There’s a few things we need.”

“Like what?” Dean asks.

“Salt from the dead sea,” Sam reads, picking the book up again. “Blood of the kin of the person whose soul you’re using. That one’s easy, we can use my blood. Uh… dried damiana leaf. And hair of a camel.”

“Hair of a camel,” Dean repeats, blinking. “Great. Let me just go outside to where I tied up my pet camel at the camel stables and ask if he minds me plucking one of his hairs.”

“Yeah… I don’t know where we’re gonna get any of that stuff,” Jess says. She frowns. But then she remembers where they are. “Wait-- Henry had access to the sands of time and an angel feather and a dragon tear when he did his spell in the fifties. Maybe there’s some stuff like that here. Maybe the men of letters kept spell supplies on hand. We could look.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Dean says. “I saw a bunch of storage rooms when I was wandering this place. It’s worth checking out.”

“Lead the way,” Sam says, closing the book, keeping his finger on the page they need.

It takes a couple hours of sifting through the men of letters’ archives, but the four of them manage to find every item on the list. As they look, Jess loses track of what time it is-- whether there’s still daylight outside, or not. (kind of a weird side effect of this place, she notes as they haul out another crate. without windows, it could be any time of day or night. if i stayed here long term, i would completely fuck up my sleep schedule.)

Although the place is admittedly really cool, Jess has absolutely no intention of staying long term. As long as she can convince her husband of the half-baked plan she’s been dreaming up.

“How much of my blood do we need?” Sam asks as they stand around the table holding the dried damiana leaf, the salt of the dead sea, and the camel hair-- all tucked into little glass containers and neatly labeled with handwritten numbers and titles.

“Only a little,” Cas says. He offers Sam a small wooden bowl. “I’ll mix the ingredients in here. A tablespoon or so should suffice.”

Sam nods. He takes his butterfly knife from his pocket and flicks it open, making an even slice along the palm of his hand so he can make a fist to force the blood out faster. He cringes a little bit as his blood drips into the bowl. Once he’s released enough, Cas reaches a hand to his arm and closes the cut.

“Thanks.”

“You should be laying down for this, Dean,” Cas comments.

“Okay. Room’s right there.” He clears his throat and leads the others out of the library and down the first hall, already seeming to have the place mapped out in his head, unfurled and earmarked.

As Dean lays down on the bed in the middle of the room, on top of the neatly-tucked covers, Jess wonders again what he said to Cas to snap him back to reality and convince him to help. But she figures it also doesn’t really matter. He’s here now, and they’re going to correct her second to last mistake.

“Is everyone going to forget again?” Sam asks. “Like how it ended in the twenties?”

“Yes,” Cas says. “That is the nature of these things.”

“So… the other versions of us, they’ll go back to their own worlds, having missed a couple months with no explanation?” Jess shifts her weight between her feet, tugging at a string on the cuff of her denim jacket. “And nobody will remember meeting their double-- they’ll just have holes in their memory? Won’t that freak everyone out?”

“Not exactly. Anyone from another dimension will be returned to the moment they left. The physical states they were left in. As for the people here who met their counterparts-- they might have some gaps in their memory, yes.”

(that’s probably good. other dean and other cas’ baby probably grew a little bit while they were here. it’s better if everything goes back to how it was supposed to be.)

She nods.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Dean says.

Cas undoes his belt and slides it from the loops of his pants. Dean’s wide eyes flick down, noticing the action, and then move back up to meet Cas’ eyes. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” He asks nervously.

“I don’t want you to bite your tongue in half, Dean.” He folds the belt a few times and offers it. Dean takes it, a little stiffly, and bites down on it.

“The two of you should wait in the hall,” Cas comments, turning to face Sam and Jess. “He’s going to be in pain for a moment. It’ll 0nly upset you.”

Sam catches his brother’s eyes. Dean nods his approval. So he takes Jess’ hand, and the two of them head into the hall, closing the door behind them.

(if this works, i’ll call tasha. see if she can help me. if she can’t, i’ll call rowena. if that doesn’t work… i guess i’ll beg cas to help me.)

She sighs. Glances toward the hall. It’s been nearly half an hour, and they’re still shut up in the room. She hasn’t heard any muffled cries of pain-- but then again, the walls seem thick here, so maybe the place is just soundproof.

Sam paces around the library, hands in his pockets, occasionally stopping to read the spine of a book.

It’s getting late, she notices, glancing at her phone. Their day had been thick with the unexpected. It feels like it went by impossibly fast, and that she’s been awake for a full year at the same time.

(i guess we’re going to sleep here. if dean needs to rest, it’s not like we’re going to ditch him. kind of weird, sleeping underground.)

Eventually, Cas wanders back into the library, still just in his white shirt and blue tie. He re-fastens his belt.

“Is he okay?” Jess asks immediately.

“He’s fine,” Cas confirms. “He took it well. He’s sleeping now. I mean to stay and watch over him-- I just thought you two might appreciate an update.”

“So it worked?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, giving up on the pacing, sitting back down in the chair next to Jess’. “Thanks for coming and helping us with that, Cas. Seriously. I don’t know how we would have done that without you.”

“I owe you all an apology,” the angel says, a little uncomfortably. “I… I’m confused about some of what has transpired over the past few months. But I think it best if I stay away from heaven. I think… Dean might be able to help me sort it out.”

“No worries,” Jess says. “I’m just glad you were here when we needed you.”

Sam nods his agreement.

(dean needs you, she wants to say, but she doesn’t. dean needs you, if sam and i are going to stop hunting. and even if we aren’t, he needs you nonetheless.)

Cas nods once. “I appreciate your forgiveness.”

He turns toward the hall again, heading back toward the room Dean is passed out in.

“Uh-- Cas, wait a sec,” Jess says, clumsily standing up from her chair, taking a few steps toward him. “If everyone… forgot about the multiple dimensions thing, why do we still remember? I mean, you remember, right?” She adds, glancing toward Sam. He nods.

“Because it was your fault,” Cas says diplomatically. “I thought you three should remember. So I saw to it that you did.”

She bites her lip a little bit. Nods. “Yeah, you’re… probably right.”

(well, hopefully i’m done fucking up now.)

“I actually have a question too,” Sam comments from the table. “How come we met a few Deans and a few Sams, but we didn’t meet any other version of Jess?”

Her cheeks heat up. She crosses her arms over her chest, only for a second, and then she uncrosses them and goes back to messing with the loose thread on the cuff of her jacket. She kind of wishes he wouldn’t ask that.

“I’m not familiar with the specifics of every universe, obviously, but as far as I understand, there aren’t very many living versions of Jess,” Cas answers. “Dozens-- maybe hundreds, of you and your brother. The same is true for most people. But based on what I learned in heaven when they were trying to quantify the situation, there are only a couple living Jessicas.”

He continues on his way down the hall, and disappears behind Dean’s door a second later.

(so i’m just dead. i’m just a dead person, usually. the fact that i’m alive here is an anomaly. japanese perm jess and her baby are probably anomalies too. that’s awesome. that’s great. i’m supposed to just be sam’s dead girlfriend, snuffed out at twenty two.)

She realizes she’s biting her bottom lip again, hard. Hard enough to leave a mark and the ghost of pain when she forces her jaw to relax.

“We should get some rest,” Sam suggests, coming up behind her. He sets his hand on her shoulder. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah,” she says, thinking about her to do list for tomorrow, trying not to think about being mostly dead. “Good point.”

Sam sleeps easily next to her that night, his long arm tucked around her waist, his warm breath on the back of her neck. The bunker falls pitch black when the lights are shut off, and deadly silent. It doesn’t let you forget you’re underground, not for a second.

(i should probably find the right moment to tell him i want to quit, she thinks. maybe i should wait until we go back to the lakehouse and make a nice dinner and bring up the idea like it just barely popped into my head. maybe i should get a few drinks in him first.)

She knows she has to do it fast. The longer she waits, the more likely it is that they’ll be pulled into some new supernatural quandary that sets them off on another complicated, lengthy mission. And who knows if they’ll survive the next one.

(because apparently, it’s an anomaly that i survived this long at all, and i guess i should stop pushing my luck.)

There are other things she wants out of life. For a while, she kind of forgot them, too concerned about avenging her parents’ death and then saving Dean’s life and then stopping the apocalypse and then saving Sam’s life and then cleaning up her mess with John. It’s been one thing after another for most of her twenties, and she’s tired of it. Ready to go back to being normal. Ready to quit while they’re ahead.

And Sam wants those things too, she figures. He basically said as much while they were driving.

He twitches next to her. His breathing catches a little. She freezes under his arm.

“No,” he mumbles. “No, you can’t…”

He shifts again, a bigger movement, almost pushing her off the bed. She nudges him in the shoulder. “Sam. Wake up.”

“Please,” he begs in his sleep, almost a whisper.

“Sam!”

“Huh?” He sits up, breathing heavily, and she reaches for him. Finds his hand in the dark.

“I think you were having a bad dream,” she says.

“Yeah. I was.” He sighs. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for a while.”

He brings her hand to his lips. Kisses it gently. Lays back down. She does too.

“What was your dream about?” She asks him.

“Um, Lucifer,” he admits. “And my dad. As a demon.”

“...Oh.”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “It was just a dumb dream.”

“Sam, I think we should quit hunting,” she hears herself say all at once.

(maybe… that wasn’t the best thing to do.)

“What?” He asks, surprise in his voice, settling back into the bed.

“I… I was thinking about it and… we’re going to die some terrible bloody death if we keep hunting,” she says. “We’re going to get pulled into one thing after another and eventually one of the things is going to kill us. I’m already supposed to be dead.”

“No, Jess, you aren’t supposed to be dead,” he says quietly. “You’re supposed to be alive. Right here. With me.”

“Cas said basically all the other versions of me are dead,” she points out, her heart thudding heavily. “I want to stop killing things. I want to have a normal life and a normal job and I want to just… be happy and safe. I want both of us to.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. You’re right. What we do is dangerous. And losing you for a while… it made me understand that all I really want out of life is for us to be together and be happy. So if you’re ready to throw in the towel, I’m right there with you, Jess.”

She stares up at the dark ceiling, unable to make out the outline of the ceiling fan she’s pretty sure is there. She turns onto her side, facing Sam, and sets her hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I love you,” she whispers, touching his face in the dark, kissing him.

“I love you too.”

“There’s just one thing I need to do first. That girl, Bethany-- I need to find a way to help her. I think this witch I know, Tasha Banes, can maybe tell me some kind of spell to do to break the curse.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “We can call her and see.”

“I don’t want to drag you along with me. It’s my mistake. I should fix it alone,” she says. “You can just go back to the lakehouse and pack up anything we’d want to take to… wherever we go.”

“No. I’m coming with you. We’ll fix it together. And then we’ll pack up our stuff together, and then we’ll settle down somewhere and be normal.” He kisses her again. “You don’t have to fix it alone. We’re a team, remember?”

“Yeah,” she says, grateful for him, scooting closer-- “we’re a team.”

A couple weeks later, just as a bitter winter is giving way to the early pull of spring, Sam and Jess make it to Denver. Their two-bedroom two-bathroom duplex half doesn’t feel like home yet, but Jess figures that’s just the leftover hunter instinct. They have plenty of time to settle in and make the place feel like home. All the time in the world.