All Worlds Converge To Where You Are (4/8) SGA/Supernatural crossover
Chapter 3 :: Master Fic Post
John's cleaning his gun, pieces all spread out on his bed, when there's a knock on the door.
"Come in," he shouts, wondering if someone's looking for one of his roomies because he sure had nothing on his schedule this morning.
It's Castiel, who looks intently at John for a moment, and John feels suddenly guilty of having outed the poor guy. He's almost ready to apologize when he realizes that Cas is most probably looking at him like that because he shaved and cut his hair.
"Dean asked that you'd be present for strategy meetings. Follow me," he says, and is about to go out again when John stops him.
"Wait a sec," he can't leave his favorite gun in pieces. "Just a second, I'll just..." He reassembles his gun, sliding the pieces in place before loading it and putting it in his chest holster. He'll polish the chrome later. Castiel waits patiently while John puts on a long sleeved plaid shirt on top of his tee.
"I don't think I'll ever understand the love of firearms," Castiel says as they get out.
John snorts.
"Well, when they've saved you a couple of times, you get attached to the things."
They're walking towards Dean's cabin, and John wonders why he's now asked to attend planning. He supposes it has nothing to do with the extracurricular activities he's had with Dean but more that he's now privy to what's going on, or at least the fucked up apocalypse version those guys believe in. And an angel came to get him. John wonders how his life got so weird that even fighting aliens doesn't seem that much of a deal anymore. But still. A bona fide angel, which means...
"Hey Cas... I don't wanna twist the knife or anything," John starts, making sure he doesn't speak too loudly as to be overheard, "but did you have wings?"
He's half afraid his question is going to get Castiel mad or sulky - he would certainly be heartbroken if he once had wings but didn't anymore - but to his surprise, Cas turns to him and grins. It's unexpectedly dorky and makes his whole face light up.
"I knew that would be the first thing you asked me."
Is he so predictable? John fakes a pout.
"Hey! No fair, you can read minds."
Castiel is still smiling, and he shakes his head.
"I just do it when I have to, Dean says it's an invasion of privacy. I only read you once, but I got, loud and clear, your love to fly."
True, he misses it every day, like a phantom itch. John knows his smile must be wistful, but he nudges Castiel with his elbow.
"So?"
Castiel's own smile turns wicked as they climb the stairs going to Dean's door.
"My wings are awesome," he croons.
Which means he still has them and man, talk about cool. As they get through the door, John feels like he's 8 years old, and he tugs on Castiel's sleeve, intent.
"You'll show me, right? Pretty please?"
The way Castiel grins back at him, pleased, makes John beam right back, because who knew that making an angel look happy for a second would feel so good? Cas nods and John has to repress a fist pump, then realizes that they're the focus of the room's attention. Dean's looking at Cas and him with his eyebrows raised, wondering what the fuss is about and possibly with a hint of annoyance. John tries to school his expression in something more serious, and nods at Bobby, Jim and Chuck who are also in the room.
"Hiya, boss," he drawls at Dean. "Sorry if I kept you waiting."
"We were just about to start," Dean says. "I've asked John to join us because he can be not totally useless on occasions," he adds with a smirk.
John smirks back and puts a hand to his heart.
"Flatterer."
Dean winks at him in return and John knows they'll be alright. He's had awkward morning afters before, and this is not even pinging on the radar.
"If you boys are finished flirting..." Bobby grumbles and John almost chokes in surprise while Dean rolls his eyes.
"Please," Dean says, as Jim chuckles and Cas does his little head tilt of confusion, squinting at John. "I'll cut down to the chase. We lost trace of Crowley and the Colt. Again. What’s the latest Intel on the infection and Lucifer? Bobby?"
Rolling his chair near the table where a plastic covered map of the United-States is laid, Bobby grabs a marker and draws X's and O's as he talks.
"Canada and Mexico have officially blocked all frontiers tighter than a bull’s ass at fly time. The virus has spread to a couple more major cities: Chicago, Cincinnati and Indianapolis," the O's are drawn almost viciously around the towns, in black. "We've lost almost all means of communication and the government is monitoring the rest closely. Last I heard, Lucifer is closing down on his target pretty fast. Again," he adds a big X mark right over Detroit.
At that Dean has a tiny shudder, but now that John knows that what the Devil wants is to possess his brother Sam as some kind of vessel, he doesn't miss it. He's the first surprised, though, when Dean takes a deep breath and asks, while passing a hand on the map on the table, as if trying to smooth it when there's not even a crease.
"Any news of Sammy?" he asks, as if it's a regular question. Just because of the altercation the night before, John knows it's nothing but, and the way everyone gapes would be a dead giveaway none the less. Bobby's the first to react.
"Oh, what? We're talking about Sam today?" he asks.
"Yeah," Dean says, jaw tense as he raises his eyes so they look at each other, stone faced. "Got a problem with that?"
All the fight seems to go out of Bobby at once and he makes a face, before looking at the map intently himself. His hands are closed tight enough so his knuckles go white around the wheelchair armrests. When he finally talks, his voice is rough.
"Of course not, idjit. When his cell phone still worked, Sam used to call me every couple of weeks, and since that went to shit it's been once in a while when he caught a phone. And mine happened to work. Haven't talked to him in 3 weeks now, and I'm worried. Kid's exhausted and at the end of his rope."
"Fuck," Dean says, racking his fingers in his hair, as if the enormity of the situation just made itself bleaker. "How do you know he's in Detroit?"
"Because the weather patterns and omens have been stuck around there for two weeks now, while they used to follow on Sam's heels. I don't think Lucifer lost him."
"Sam has stopped running. He doesn't have the will to fight anymore," Chuck says and they all turn to him.
"You knew something and didn't think it was relevant to share?" Dean asks, voice cold as much as there seem to be pure fire underneath. Chuck recoils in his chair, blushing and putting his face in his hands.
"I didn't know, okay? I thought, I thought it was a regular nightmare, I haven't had a vision in years. It's also possible that I was a little bit drunk and it's just when Bobby... that I realized it fits, and, and..."
This, John thinks, is something he should have seen coming, that Chuck was more than the guy in charge of inventory and logistics. Clearly, Chuck's known Dean and Cas for a while, so John had figured that's why Chuck had scored the relatively prestigious position of supply tech - always be chummy with the supply guys is the thing every grunt learns really fast. Chuck is an all around nice guy and efficient at his job, that's for sure, but looking at how the camp was run from the outside of the command circle, John had always wondered why the inventory guy was always present in the rumoured big meetings, and not just when logistics and camp maintenance were discussed. But on the other hand... visions? Really?
"You are still hearing the Gospel!" Cas says, as if it's the best news he's heard all month.
"Where was he?" Bobby asks, and if he could get over the table to get at Chuck, it seems he would.
"Is he okay?" Dean says, over them all, and yeah, another one that would rattle Chuck for answers if he could.
Chuck is shaking his head, pulling at his hair a little.
"Let me think, let me think!" He takes a deep breath. "Shit, I haven't done this in years. Okay, so I saw Sam, he was arguing with a girl. Well not really, Sam was sitting on a bed and the girl was yelling for him to get up his ass and move, that Lucifer was near and he had to get away."
"And?" Dean says, when Chuck stops talking, as if he'd love to be able to extract the words right out of him.
Chuck finally meets his eyes, but looks torn. He shakes his head.
"He just stayed there. Looking at nothing, not moving and she stormed out. That's it, I woke up. I really thought it was a normal dream, Dean." The poor guy is practically wringing his hands.
"Shit," Dean says, hitting the table which makes the markers skittle. "Okay. Okay."
"Maybe I could try to help Chuck remember details," Castiel proposes and Dean gives him such a grateful look that the tension in the room goes down a notch.
"Yeah," Dean nods. "Thanks Cas, get on that right now."
Chuck and Castiel leave, one speaking of booze and the other of meditation but Dean seems comforted that someone is doing something at last. He asks Jim, who's been observing everything since the start without a word - and John knows by now that's a feat - to go prepare a vehicle, gas and food for the long drive to Detroit.
"Got it," he drawls, before leaving. It leaves John, who thinks he's been forgotten but won't mention it, Bobby and Dean, whom are staring at the X on Detroit as if it's going to tell them its secret.
"Do you think we can locate Sam?" Dean asks Bobby.
"I've been thinking about that. With the runes that Cas carved on you boys, he's pretty much undetectable with the usual stuff. But maybe we can reach him otherwise. At least give him a message." Bobby looks a bit weary, though, which must mean it's not a fail proof plan.
"Shoot," Dean says, intent.
John can't help it, this is fascinating, even if way over his head. It's like he's living in an episode of the Twilight Zone, with extra religious content. He wonders if it's only their reality that is fucked up and if the alternate universes that McKay used to talk about are a little less rock and roll. In his humble opinion, space vampires were already quite a bit to deal with to begin with.
"The dream root," Bobby proposes and Dean gapes for a second.
"You want us to go traipsing into Sam's mind? Do you have any idea how fucked up it must be in there? How powerful he'd be?"
Okay, so John's missing a piece here again and he can't help himself.
"Dream root?" He repeats and both Bobby and Dean turn to him, surprised to see him there. Okay, so maybe he should not have brought the attention on himself.
"With a bit of Sam's DNA, we could make a potion and go walk in Sam's dreams. Not the easiest experience at the best of times. But if we die there, we're toast," Dean explains. He sags down in a chair and sighs.
"I don't like the idea any more than you, boy, but do we have another option?" Bobby asks.
"I guess it's worth a shot." Dean looks at Bobby. "Who goes? Me and you? Cas?"
"I'm not sure Cas would be a good idea, who knows how the root would work on a half angel, too dangerous. I say we go, and hope Sam believes it's really us."
"Why wouldn't he?" John asks.
"A dream walker can take or summon any shape," Bobby says.
It makes sense that for Sam, seeing Bobby or Dean in his dreams would seem normal, so he could dismiss them as not real.
"Maybe I should go too," John proposes. "He doesn't know me, maybe he'll let me talk."
"No," Dean says just at the same time that Bobby declares "I've heard worse."
Turning to Bobby, Dean shakes his head.
"No way. He's got nothing to do with this."
Raising his eyebrows, John cuts over him.
"Hey, sorry, but I do. The fucking apocalypse concerns me, Dean."
Dean crosses his arms and glares.
"It's too dangerous."
That's rich. John knows it comes from a good sentiment, but John doesn't like to be babied. He's starting to get pissed off.
"I can take care of myself."
"This is nothing like you've ever dealt with before, Sheppard," Dean argues.
"So what? I've seen fucked up shit, Winchester. I'm still here." Yeah, so the deference to authority is starting to go out the window as they eye each other, metaphorically puffing up for a confrontation. It's Bobby who diffuses it.
"Stop it, morons. We'll think about it. But before anything, we're talking for nothing if we don't have a bit of Sam's DNA."
With a sigh, Dean lets the budding fight go and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Fuck, I don't know. Maybe. Yeah, I think I might have something. Do you have the dream root with you?" he asks Bobby.
"Not here, no. But I still have some at the house."
"Maybe Chuck and Cas will know how to find Sammy without..." Dean gestures near his head, making his fingers walk in the air.
"Dream walking's a last resort, but we should be prepared," Bobby says, bending over the map some more, tracing roads with his index.
Putting on his coat, Dean goes for the door.
"I'll check the Impala. If I have what we need, we'll get the root."
Bobby nods and John decides to follow Dean. He's right on his heels when they get down the stairs and as soon as John sees they're out of ear shot, he hisses.
"Don't you fucking dare treat me differently because..." he starts and Dean turns to him with raised eyebrows and a pinched mouth, as John gestures crudely between the two of them. Dean rolls his eyes.
"That I fucked you has nothing to do with this," Dean declares, and John's not used to hear the words being said out loud, not where someone could hear, even if it's not like it would be of consequence like it once was. John feels the tip of his ears go hot. "Sam's a true Winchester, therefore what's inside his head won't be a picnic," Dean adds, sardonically. "I've dream-walked a couple of times and believe me, it's not a good trip and really, really dangerous. I'm afraid to go there. I won't risk Cas, and if I could, Bobby wouldn't do it either. So I'm sorry John, but a noob like you? A really fucking bad idea. No disrespect to you."
Said like that, it's a bit better, so John just nods, showing he understands and anyway they're nearing their objective. John had noticed the black Impala near one of the fences as he walked around camp, thinking it was a pity that such a car was going to waste like that but didn't know it was Dean's. When they reach the car, Dean caresses the black top, as he walks to the trunk.
"Shit baby," he murmurs, as if pained.
The car is on 4 flat tires, and it's dull and with several dents and a twisted front bumper. One of the windows is broken, so obviously it got in some kind of a crash. Still, it's easy to see that it was once a beast to recon with, which makes John think of his beaten up Camaro, who definitely died in the desert that day with the Wraith, even if he survived. That car might have looked as bad as John felt at the time, but it still had power under the hood, which is why he had kept it then, knowing he was riding a very bad metaphor about his life. John stays a couple of feet away, circling the Impala. It wouldn't take that much maintenance to bring it back to a very nice shape, but give nature free reign for a while still and it's going to be too late.
"What happened?" John asks.
"The Apocalypse," Dean says with a sigh, popping up the trunk. "Should have seen her, best car ever. Got smashed a couple of years ago, and I didn't have time or the parts to repair her. And now..."
"A shame," John says as he goes to see what Dean's doing in the trunk. It had a fake bottom with leather straps that must have been used to hang weapons, and Dean's pushing aside junk, among others wooden stakes, shovels, salt, tin cans and finally he brings forward a small duffel. Old clothes and what looks like cheap suits and ties get pushed aside as Dean ruffles in it.
"Pretty sure I put it in here somewhere," he mumbles, before finally he extirpates a small hairbrush with a victorious flourish. "Ah ha! Knew it!"
"Sam's hairbrush?" John guesses, as Dean observes it and nods, satisfied.
"Yeah, one I hid in one of our stupid prank wars," Dean says, then grins. "He was so pissed." This obviously seems to have been a good point in Dean's book. "Sammy's hair has always been one of his weaknesses," he says to John seriously but with eyes dancing with mirth, as if it's top notch Intel.
"I'll keep that in mind," John says to humor him, but he does like this playful Dean. He supposes that he must have been a handful as a kid.
Dean closes the Impala's trunk way delicately for a car looking like it's half way to the junkyard, pats the car with a promise of doing something for her soon, then starts walking back to his cabin.
"How does it work? Going into dreams?" John asks.
Funny how he doesn't even doubt this shit is real anymore. John figures that after you reach your weird quota, you start to roll with it. Dean doesn't seem to mind explaining it.
"There's a disgusting potion, made with an African dream root and the DNA of the person you want to visit. As soon as you drink it, you fall asleep yourself but get into the dreams of the person you spiked the potion with. Once in, what you get to see depends on the dreamer, and if you die, it's for real. To get out, the person who's dreaming must wake up, or someone shake your body so you wake yourself. The tricky part is to hang on until then."
"And you think Sam's going to try to kill you? Or me if I go?"
"Who knows what shit lurks in Sammy's head. You sure wouldn't want to take a stroll in mine," Dean says with a grimace. "Anyhow, maybe Cas will save us the trouble."
***
It turns out that even if Chuck managed to remember enough with Cas' help to at least have an idea of where Sam is hiding in Detroit, Dean and Bobby decide that warning Sam by dream walking that they're going to go get him is still worth a shot. They make the detour to Sioux Falls to get to Bobby's for the potion's ingredients, and decide to do it that night, past 3am, to have the best chance to catch Sam asleep. After much argumentation, it's decided that Cas will stand vigil as Dean, Bobby and John will go dream-walk. Dean's still not convinced that bringing John along for the ride is a good idea, but he's out-voted and he decides after a couple of hours that it's no use to scowl anymore.
John takes a stroll into Bobby's house while the others check out old mouldy books - and there's a shitload of mouldy books all over the place, that's for sure. John notes those circles with symbols drawn in several places in the house, on ceilings and floor, and sneaking into a file left on a desk he sees notes about monsters and clippings from newspaper reporting deaths or missing persons. When John is sent to the kitchen for a beer run for everyone, he notices a row of telephones labeled with 'police', 'CIA', 'FBI' and wow, there's trouble in the making right there. John supposes that since most landlines don't work, those phones probably aren't in use anymore. He tries, for fun, and the police one is still working for some reason, for today at least. He's dialling McKay's number before he can think properly why he'd want to. After a couple of rings, a message starts.
"If you have at least two brain cells, you've noticed that you've reached my voice mail. I'm either too busy to answer or the signal can't reach me." John smiles at how McKay the message is. "You can leave a message, and I'll call you back as soon as I can. Or not. Oh and if it's you, I hope you're ok and came to your senses."
The last words make John gape, because he's 90% sure that they're meant for him. Surprised by the beep, John leaves a silent blank of a couple of seconds before hanging up. Heart beating hard, John curses himself, knows that McKay will trace the number and somehow will know it was him - which will make him look like a fool - so he dials the number again and when it beeps this time he speaks.
"I'm fine. If I ever change my mind, you'll know. Stay safe, Rodney."
Upon hanging up, John sees Dean who obviously overheard from the kitchen's doorway.
"That snotty Doctor wants to enroll you in whatever he does, too?" he asks.
John frowns, then remembers that Rodney said something about Dean not joining the light side of the force. Maybe the last part of the message was not for him, after all, and John half regrets calling back.
"McKay's an okay guy," John says with a shrug.
"He called me, you know," Dean says.
"Yeah, he said something about asking you to join his program or something."
Shaking his head, Dean precises.
"Yes, a while ago, but that's not what I meant. Must be 10 days ago now? Well McKay called, offering some supplies as if he does that every other month. I didn't quite get why until he tried to be casual about telling me how he spoke of us to this guy he knows, who was looking for a place to fight the Croats a couple of months ago."
"Rodney called to check if I'd made it?" John's surprised at this. He knew there was some concern about his wellbeing involved, but John would never have thought Rodney would check on him.
"Yeah. Then he sort of implied that I had a responsibility to keep you alive," Dean says, amused. "Why does he show such an interest in you, Sheppard?"
"He wants me to go back in the Air Force and all," John says with a shrug. "Thinks I'd make more of a difference with them." Which is not a lie, just not all of the truth.
Dean goes to the fridge to get the beer, eyeing him as he passes.
"Why don't you?"
John sighs.
"I don't wanna do bomb runs on Chicago."
Twisting the cap of his beer off, Dean visibly shudders. John thinks it's about the idea of bombing civilians, but then Dean mutters:
"Ugh, planes," before taking a couple of swallows.
Heresy! John goes to help him take out a couple more bottles and leans in to whisper in Dean's ear, getting just close enough to feel body heat.
"I'll have you know that doing barrel rolls in a jet is better than sex," John teases.
"Then obviously I did something wrong," Dean replies with a snort.
Grinning, John shrugs and goes back to the living room. They play cards waiting for the right time and it turns out that both Dean and Bobby are twice as devious at poker than John ever thought he was, even counting cards. Cleaning out poor Castiel is way too easy, though, especially when they gang up on him. Although at one point, John's pretty sure Cas cheated by "accidentally" touching him, the sneaky son of a bitch. When the hour gets near, Bobby prepares the potion and they all go in the living room to be in the same place while doing this.
Castiel is pacing around, which is pretty out of character for the guy; he's usually pretty mellow.
"I don't think I'll be able to know if you are in trouble. Maybe I should wake you up after 10 minutes."
Dean and Bobby look at each other, considering.
"Thirty?" Dean says and Bobby nods. Cas doesn’t look too happy at the extended period of time, but agrees.
They all drink at the same time and the mixture tastes even fouler than John imagined. It doesn't help that he knows there are human hairs in there. John closes his eyes and when he opens them up again, they're still in Bobby's living room but Cas isn't there. They look at each other and John wonders why the angel suddenly left when with a look of determination Bobby stands up from his wheelchair. Bobby can't quite help the way the emotion washes on his face, longing and heartache, and John can't quite look at him, giving him a moment. Dean's face is not a safe place to look at, either, so John observes his blue jeans and wonders if he could have thought about wearing something else. When they turn black, he lets out a little 'huh' of surprise, then does the same with his shirt, changing it for the soft black one that used to be his favorite. When he looks up, Dean's observing him with raised eyebrows.
"Pretty cool," John declares.
"C'mon, we don't have time to accessorize," Bobby says, and he's walking to the door, peering outside by lifting a curtain. "Let's go find Sam."
If the house is safe and somehow familiar, as soon as they pass the threshold, it's a whole new ballgame. It's dusk, veering towards night time, and they're on a street in a city that is so destroyed, there is barely a structure left standing intact, which makes it hard to recognise. They walk for a block and finally see a man, standing still but with his back to them. Bobby and Dean don't say anything, slowly walking past him without paying him much attention apart from a courtesy glance that makes Dean scowl. When John passes near, a step behind the others, he looks back too and sees the man's eyes are pitch black and fixed on a point ahead. The more they advance on the street, the more bystanders they cross and they're all demons, all still and all looking towards the end of the street, as if waiting for someone.
Dean's fidgety, walking faster and faster, and John wonders if he's not going to start to run when he suddenly stops short. They've reached a curve and can see a crossroad in what seems to be the center of the desolate city, the street now packed dirt, and demons all around, maybe fifty of them. John can see a black Impala, Dean's Impala John realizes, beautiful and shining, stopped there in the middle of the crossroad and there's a man lying on the car, back against the windshield, long legs crossed on the hood and an arm thrown over his face to block out what's around. They have to slalom between the demons to make their way out of the small crowd and Dean finally speaks.
"Hey, Sammy," he says. Dean doesn't have to raise his voice because the place is silent, which makes it extra creepy.
John stays a bit behind, figures he better let them handle the thing if they can. Sam tenses up, it's noticeable even from 30 feet away.
"Son, we don't have much time, we just want to tell you..." Bobby starts, but immediately Sam sits up on the car and raises his hand, stopping him. It's like he blocked Bobby's ability to talk altogether, as his lips move but no sound come out. He doubles up, as if he's having trouble breathing, too.
"Oh, shut up. A double whammy, now? Dean and Bobby?" Sam says with a cruel little smirk.
Funnily, at that moment John can only think that he hadn't thought Sam would look like this: pretty in a way but with a very hard set to his jaw, a pointy nose and longish brown hair falling into his eyes. He doesn't look much like Dean physically, apart from the way he seems to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dean seems to be stuck in non-talking mode, too, which doesn't please him at all. He takes a couple of steps towards Sam, gesturing angrily the universal sign for timeout, but that just makes Sam flip his hand some more and both Dean and Bobby end up tied up and lying flat on the dirt, with gags, trussed up like sausage.
"I told you that I didn't appreciate you taking my brother's appearance. I told you I've had enough," Sam says it softly, as if he's said it again and again, and from one moment to the next he vanishes from the car and appears crouching down right next to Dean, looking at his brother, vibrating with rage. "Why won't you leave me alone?"
Sam waits for a second, as if Dean should be able to answer even tied up like this, and seems a bit disappointed when he doesn't. John wonders if he should say something.
"You're really doing a fine impression of a pissed off Dean, I must say," Sam muses as he looks at his brother arching and twisting on the dirt, shooting glares. "I'm in no mood to play, I haven't been in a while. C'mon. What do you want me to do? Prove once again that I won't hesitate mock-killing you, even when you're wearing Dean's shape? Metaphorically kill Dean and Bobby at the same time, all that is left of my family? So I prove to myself that I'm just that gone? You know I am. Heck, I dream of being surrounded by demons, hearing the blood pulse in their bodies, remembering the rush..."
The scary thing is that Dean and Bobby writhing on the ground won't be able to stop Sam, if he ever decides to stop monologuing and get to the killing part, which might be under way with the way the two of them are starting to change color. John figures he should at least try something, maybe even now.
"Um. I advise against the killing, if that's alright with you," John finally says.
Sam does his ninja move thingy again and whoa, he's looming over John now, a lot taller than a little brother named Sammy has any right to be. His eyes are a bit crazy and John takes a step back, raising his hands in a placating fashion.
"Who the fuck are you?" Sam says, head tilting. "And why should I let you live, here or otherwise?"
So this talking thing is not going so well. John takes a deep breath.
"I'm John, Dean's friend," he says, trying to sound as non-threatening as can. "You should let us all live because Dean said if we die dream walking, we die for real."
At the mention of dream walking, Sam frowns and looks at Dean and Bobby, who are nodding with pleading eyes. He squints back at John.
"Doesn't make any sense. Dream walking? What for?"
"The only way to reach you, to tell you..." John starts to say.
Deep suspicion passes on Sam's face and suddenly John can't talk either, absolutely no sound coming out even if he forms the words. Air is pretty thin, too, so bad he has to fight to get enough oxygen. John breaks out a cold sweat, terrified and wonders how they're going to get out of this if Sam won't even hear them out.
"Bullshit. It's mind games again. To play with me, as if Dean gives a shit anymore." There's so much resignation and sadness in the guy, the way he truly believes he's all alone and surrounded with enemies that it's heartbreaking. John wishes he'd just let them speak, clear it out. "Anyway, Dean wouldn't bring along a civilian. It's all a ploy."
A civilian? John might be out of the Air Force, but he knows deep down he'll never be a simple civilian. All of a sudden, things get even darker, although he sees Sam raise his eyebrows in surprise. In a flash, John realises he's wearing his aviators and takes them off, looking at himself now dressed in his desert fatigues complete with name tag. Holy shit, that's so weird. His bewilderment must show on his face because Sam has a half smile.
"Creative. Okay, so maybe not a civilian," Sam says, and snaps his fingers. "You can talk. What's the message?"
John gasps, his throat freed. He puts his hands on his knees, takes a couple of breaths and straightens up.
"We're coming to Detroit." Sam looks suspicious again, and behind him Dean disappears. For a second, John's terrified Sam obliterated him, but he looks totally surprised at the turn of events himself, especially when Bobby follows suit.
"What's going on?" Sam asks, agitated, starting to get mad again.
Fuck, John doesn't have much time left.
"Castiel must be waking us up! Hang in there, Sam, don't give up. In two days. Dean says to find us like your Dad..." He doesn't manage to deliver the rest of the message that he's being shaken awake. He tries really hard not to let go, but it's like the link goes with a snap and John groans. The sudden change from dream to reality comes with nausea and a massive pounding headache, and judging from the two sets of pained groans coming from across the room, he's not alone. Castiel hovers over him, and probably satisfied John's breathing on his own then goes to Dean's side, helping him to sit up.
"Fuck, Cas," Dean says, voice wobbly. "I don't know if you have the best or the worst timing ever."
"Your bodies were not breathing well, Dean, I could not take the chance..." He's agitated and the lamps in the room do their change in intensity dance John noticed the last time Castiel was worried for Dean's life. Dean pats him on the arm.
"It's okay. Thanks for pulling me out," he says, and gradually the lights go back to normal as Castiel flops on the sofa beside Dean, looking shaken. Dean turns to John. "So?" He adds with a pleading look and John winces.
"I think I got through to him. But I'm not sure." If he only had had a couple more seconds to speak to Sam. "I could go back," he offers.
Bobby shakes his head.
"He probably woke up too. And not twice, not so close," he says and Dean nods, resigned. Bobby adds: "You did well, John."
"Yeah, thanks," Dean adds.
It wasn't much, and he could have done more, so John smiles tightly.
"I told Sam we'd be in Detroit in two days," he says.
"Oh, don't worry, we're leaving now and I'm not stopping 'till I get there," Dean declares, getting up and making a bee line for the kitchen. "We'll need coffee. Where's the good stash, old man?"
When Bobby starts to roll after Dean, John has to avert his eyes. Fuck. Must be hell to have walked again, even less than 30 minutes, and have it taken away again. Although, John figures, maybe Bobby dreams of walking every night. John sure still flies, sometimes, when he's lucky.
***
Chapter 5
Master Fic Post